My blog has been quiet for a while, but I hope to give you news soon about publication of my biography of Bert Hinkler, a pioneer aviator. In the meantime, here is the opening paragraph from the introduction to the book:

‘Museums are full of wonders, especially for children, and a particular marvel at the old Queensland Museum in Brisbane when I was a boy was one of Bert Hinkler’s record-breaking little planes, hanging from the ceiling like a giant moth dangling on a spider’s sticky strands. Decades later, I read a piece about his life, and was reminded he was only 40 when he died, an age these days when many men are poised at mid-career, with high aspirations and expectations. I wondered what hopes and dreams Hinkler might have had, that were cut short when his plane fell from the sky while he was on his way to Australia in 1933. What inner urge spurred a country boy from Queensland to pursue a career in aviation with so much passion, flitting across the world in flimsy planes not much bigger than the average family car, eventually to his own destruction?’

The Avro Avian Hinkler flew from England to Australia in 1928 (Queensland Museum)

There are two of Hinkler’s planes in the new Queensland Museum, at Southbank, Brisbane, and re-creations of the four of them in the Hinkler Hall of Aviation at Bundaberg. Against the planes that have been developed since he flew, such as the bombers of World War II and the huge jumbos of today, Hinkler’s planes seem even tinier than they did to my boyhood eyes, and his achievements all the more amazing.

The two push-pull engines on Hinkler's 'dream machine', the 'Ibis', which never made it past the trials stage. (Re-creation, Hinkler Hall of Aviation, Bundaberg)

In my book, I have tried to convey the wonder of the feats as well as the strengths and frailties of the pilot. It is a remarkable story of adventure, mystery,  romance and tragedy.

I saw in the New Year in Launceston, Tasmania, complete with fireworks, and have been reflecting on what 2012 might bring for me as a writer. As regular readers will know, I’m waiting to hear from a publisher about the latest version of my narrative non-fiction book about the pioneer aviator, Bert Hinkler. That is my No. 1 publishing priority for this year.

While that manuscript is bubbling away with the publisher (I hope), I’ve been writing a couple of fiction short stories and am working intensively on my non-fiction book about not retiring: Extending your use-by date. I expect to have that book ready to send to a publisher very soon.

My mind is always whirring with possibilities for stories, fiction and non-fiction, and that’s the way I like it (as KC and the Sunshine Band said). That’s why I’ve titled this particular blog, ‘A new year but an old song’. The old song for the new year is my ongoing commitment to writing, but of course, I’ll be writing fresh new lyrics. And I’m always ready to challenge myself, to extend myself in my writing. Beyond that, publication continues to be my goal.

So, as 2012 begins to develop pace, I look again for inspiration at the two clippings tacked above my desk:

‘Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass’ (Anton Chekov)

and

‘You must keep sending work out; you must never let a manuscript do nothing but eat its head off in a drawer. You send that work out again and again, while you’re working on another one. If you have talent, you will receive some measure of success – but only if you persist.’ (Isaac Asimov)