Inspiration Archives - Author Gabriel Farago | Official Website

Masterclass in self-publishing with author Gabriel Farago

Gabriel Farago — Sat, 02 Jan 2021 01:07:23 +0000

Author Gabriel Farago presents a Masterclass in self-publishing.

Have you written a book or short story and wondered how to get it published? Join us for an online class with award-winning self-published author Gabriel Farago to learn about the skills to self publish your work.

Becoming a self-published author doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It is a journey of discovery, with highs and lows, many challenges – sometimes disappointments – but also triumphs and success. Self-published international thriller author, Gabriel Farago, shares his journey to demystify self-publishing, and provides a practical guide to help you understand this complex, and often misunderstood subject.

Going It Alone: Why Just Writing Your Book Is Not Enough!: A Personal Guide To Self-Publishing is now available on Amazon Kindle Store Here

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Professor K: The Final Quest; “Journey of the Book” 3

Gabriel Farago — Wed, 24 Oct 2018 12:16:26 +0000

Two dwarfs entered the secret underground chamber. ‘Where are you?’ whispered one of them. ‘Over here,’ mumbled Osman. Still a little weak and feeling disorientated from the effects of the powerful drug, he began to wriggle inside the sack.
One of the dwarfs untied the rope at the top and helped Osman crawl out. ‘Here, put this on,’ he said, handing Osman clothes usually worn by the cooks in the kitchens. ‘Quickly! Everything is ready.’

Safiye Sultan sat in the walled courtyard garden which only a few days ago had been the late sultan’s favourite place in the entire palace. Elated, she looked thoughtfully across the still waters of the Golden Horn and contemplated the dawn of a new era in which she and her son, Mehmed, would rule one of the largest empires of their time. Immeasurable wealth and absolute power were at last within her grasp and years of careful, dangerous plotting were about to bear fruit. The thought of her rivals cowering in fear as they awaited their fate which she, as the new valide, now held in her tiny hands, made her heart beat faster.
She was about to close her eyes to savour the moment, when one of Gazanfer Ağa’s dwarfs approached. At Safiye’s signal, the dwarf walked over to his mistress and whispered something into her ear. Safiye paled. ‘Get Gazanfer Ağa; quickly!’ she commanded and hurried inside. If what the dwarf had just told her was true, her new world was under serious threat and could collapse at any moment, burying her dreams forever.

Gazanfer Ağa stood in the secret underground chamber and counted the sacks containing the bodies of the murdered princes. 19, he thought, it can’t be! and counted them again. ‘Open them!’ he barked at last. Two dwarfs stepped forward and opened the sacks. Gazanfer Ağa walked slowly along the row of bodies lined up on the stone floor and carefully looked at each of the faces. Some—with sightless, glassy eyes bulging like the eyes of a curious fish and tongues hanging out of mouths wide open in silent terror—were so contorted by a sudden, violent death, that Gazanfer Ağa had to look twice before he could recognise the once familiar features. One is missing, he thought. Osman isn’t here!

When Safiye heard the dreaded news, she knew exactly who had to be behind it all; Fatma, Osman’s mother. She also realised that Fatma could not have acted alone. This was a carefully planned conspiracy involving officials at the highest level. Safiye knew that there were many at the palace who despised her and Mehmed with a passion, and would prefer another sultan. She also realised that Fatma’s plan was as simple as it was brilliant. By having removed all of Murad’s sons except Osman, Safiye had unwittingly placed Osman next in line after Mehmed. Should something happen to Mehmed, Osman would become sultan. That was the law. Safiye’s head began to spin as one word throbbed through her aching brain and refused to go away: assassination! Her son was in serious danger!
‘How could this have happened?’ demanded Safiye, seething.
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ replied Gazanfer Ağa calmly.
‘You have a plan?’
‘Yes. Osman must be hiding somewhere inside the palace, so much is clear. I have already alerted the guards, and my most trusted deaf-mutes are searching every corner of the Harem right now. We’ll find him. Not even a mouse can leave this place without being discovered.’
‘What else?’
‘The three deaf-mutes who carried out the executions are in irons …’
‘And Fatma?’
‘Being interrogated right now; persuasively. It won’t be long before we know everything.’
‘Good. I don’t have to remind you that we are not safe as long as Osman lives. Mehmed is in great danger. We must protect him!’
‘Already taken care of.’
Not entirely convinced, but feeling better, Safiye looked at Gazanfer Ağa. He’s the most ruthless and ambitious man I know, she thought, and therefore my best protection. He knows exactly what will happen if he fails … And so do I …’

Gazanfer Ağa’s janissaries—the sultan’s bodyguards—searched the palace with ruthlessly efficiency, interrogating anyone without mercy, suspected of having information about Prince Osman’s whereabouts. Soon, a trail of torture-blood led to the palace kitchens. There, in one of the huge, vaulted chambers, they discovered something ominous.
‘We’ve found something,’ said the captain of the bodyguards, ‘come.’
Surprised, Gazanfer Ağa followed the captain to the massive kitchens. ‘Good news, I hope,’ he said. The captain did not reply. Instead he pointed to a wretch lying in a pool of blood on the stone floor. Barely alive, the man—a cook—was staring at Gazanfer Ağa with his remaining eye, blood oozing out of the empty socket of the other which had been gouged out earlier.
‘What did you find?’ demanded Gazanfer Ağa impatiently.
‘This,’ said the captain and pointed to a rope dangling from a hook in the vaulted ceiling next to a chimney high above the kitchen floor.
Gazanfer Ağa looked up at the tall ceiling and the open chimney at the top—just wide enough for a man to crawl through—a shiver of unfamiliar fear tingling down his spine. ‘Do you think he could have …?’ he asked, shaking his head.
The captain pointed to the man on the floor. ‘He just confirmed it,’ said the janissary.
‘When?’
‘Two hours ago.’
‘The roof’s been searched?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘We found another rope.’
‘Where?’
‘On top of the palace roof, near the main gate.’
‘To help scale the wall leading outside?’
‘It would appear so.’
‘And Osman?’
‘Nothing.’

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Zoo Story: Elsa and the Springbok; a Writer’s Journey 4

Gabriel Farago — Fri, 11 Aug 2017 09:21:27 +0000

Without doubt, Sydney’s Taronga Zoo is one of the most spectacular zoos in the world. Situated right on the harbour, it enjoys breathtaking views over the city, the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge.

Because it’s only a short walk from our Sydney apartment to the zoo, I go there often either to write, or just to stroll through the beautiful grounds. As you can imagine, I have many friends I like to visit along the way… Here are a few of them; look.

My favourite time is early in the morning before the tourists arrive. I have done this for many years, and have been fortunate to befriend some of keepers. A zoo is an amazing place. It’s a small, self-contained community – just like a village I suppose – where everyone knows everyone else’s business, where there are few secrets, lots of gossip and many amazing stories … Here’s one of them:

Just like zoos everywhere, Taronga is a popular destination for school excursions. Not a day goes past without busloads of excited schoolkids swarming over the grounds, busily taking notes and photos for their projects. At times their behaviour leaves much to be desired, and the exasperated teachers find it difficult to keep them under control.

On that memorable morning, which is now etched into Taronga’s colourful history and has made headlines in the local paper, a group excited 12-year- olds was making its way through the zoo. The kids had travelled for hours in a hot, crowded bus, and it was time to have fun …

Jimmy, a tall, skinny lad with a freckled face and curly red hair, had been warned. He had a fearsome reputation for pranks, and had made teasing the girls in his class into an art form. He had spent more time on detention than in the classroom. ‘Listen here, Jimmy, if there’s the slightest bit of trouble, this is definitely your last excursion,’ the teacher had told him in the bus. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes Miss,’ said Jimmy, grinning infuriatingly. The teacher didn’t believe him. Just two weeks earlier, 3 girls had fallen into a duck pond during an excursion, and the finger of blame was pointing squarely at Jimmy as usual. However, Jimmy was a resourceful chap who knew how to cover his tracks. Once again, there was no proof, only suspicion…

‘I’ll be watching you …’

‘Yes Miss.’

Elsa, the old lioness, was the matriarch of the pride. She occupied the best spot – a heated rock – in the lions’ enclosure, and enjoyed the respect due to a senior member of the popular African exhibit during her twilight years. On that particular morning, she was dozing on her rock as usual and ignored the excited schoolchildren on the other side of the fence. The enclosure directly next to hers belonged to the springboks, the one behind her to the zebras and the giraffes.

Bored, and feeling hot and hungry, Jimmy stood right at the back, well away from the giggling girls taking notes and asking questions about the lions. He took off his backpack and pulled out his lunch; sandwiches his mother had made for him and neatly packed in a brown paper bag. He wolfed down his sandwich, looked at the paper bag in his hand and smiled. He saw that teacher was busy with the girls. Perfect, he thought, the coast was clear.

The springbok, a splendid male in his prime, stood proudly on top of his favourite rock right next to the lions’ enclosure, and was surveying his domain. Life in the zoo was good. His mortal enemy – the lion – was asleep next door, the sun was shining and the keepers would soon bring fresh feed. Life was good indeed. That’s when it happened. A loud bang cut through the stillness of the morning like a gunshot, destroying the peace of the lovely day. Startled by the unexpected sound, the springbok panicked. He did what springboks do; he jumped. Not just any jump, but a jump so powerful and high that it carried him right over the electric fence.

Elsa heard it too. Bang! Sleepily, she opened her eyes, but at first couldn’t quite believe what she saw. That arrogant springbok from next door who had mocked her for years was right there in front of her! Long forgotten memories of daring hunts in the Serengeti came flooding back with alarming clarity. Elsa kept staring at the terrified springbok staring back at her. Astonishment met fear. Elsa felt her claws straighten and her thigh muscles twitch. After that, everything happened very fast. Elsa moved forward with lightning speed. Before the springbok could move away, Elsa had him by the throat.

At first, there was stunned silence among the mesmerised schoolkids watching Elsa’s every move. Then the screaming started – high-pitched and hysterical – as the happy lioness began to rip its kill apart right there in front of them, turning the rock crimson with blood.

‘I know it was you,’ said the exasperated teacher, looking sternly at Jimmy. ‘This is your paper bag; admit it.’ Smiling infuriatingly, Jimmy shook his head. ‘What have you got to say?’ demanded the teacher, barely able to speak.

‘I do like the zoo,’ replied Jimmy. ‘Are we coming again, Miss?’

Jimmy had done what most of us had done once or twice as kids to startle grandmothers, aunts or little sisters. He had blown up the paper bag like a balloon and then crushed it, making it pop with a loud bang.

3 months later, Elsa passed away peacefully in her sleep. The vet was certain he could detect a smile on the old girl’s face. Perhaps he was right, or perhaps he just remembered the springbok story … We’ll never know.

The post Zoo Story: Elsa and the Springbok; a Writer’s Journey 4 appeared first on Author Gabriel Farago | Official Website.

Zoo Magic; Vivid Sydney at Taronga Zoo

Gabriel Farago — Fri, 14 Jul 2017 09:12:23 +0000

Impressions of a stroll through Taronga Zoo with my camera. These spectacular exhibits are part of the Vivid Sydney at Taronga Zoo 2017 – Lights For The Wild exhibition.

Come with me and enjoy! I will let the images do the talking …

The post Zoo Magic; Vivid Sydney at Taronga Zoo appeared first on Author Gabriel Farago | Official Website.

Science and Thriller in New Novel; Article in the Blue Mountains Gazette; 19 June, 2017

Gabriel Farago — Mon, 19 Jun 2017 11:46:59 +0000

Farago has long served on the board of the Garvan so when he was contemplating his third novel he looked for – and found – inspiration among the scientists and researchers at the institute.
He did all the work of the novelist, creating the characters and story line for his thriller, The Hidden Genes of Professor K, but when it came to the science, he consulted with his Garvan contacts to ensure he was spot-on.
“When it came to matters of science, I would put questions to them – is this scenario feasible? Is it possible?” he said.
“I would submit the chapter and they helped me make the science accurate.”
When the book was finally finished, it seemed only right to approach Professor John Mattick, the institute’s executive director, to contribute.
Professor Mattick’s foreword reads: “The Hidden Genes of Professor K combines imagination, history and a knowledge of the leading edge of medical science to weave an epic tale of greed and intrigue. It takes the readers into the recesses of the human psyche, the hidden corners of history, and the dark matter of the human genome. The secrets are all there.”
Farago also found a new audience with the book – the scientists he had sought advice from turned out to be mad keen thriller readers.
“They’ve loved it,’” Farago said. “They’ve even asked me about a sequel” (which is already in the pipeline).
Farago’s third novel continues the adventures of a key character, journalist Jack Rogan. Each of the three books stands alone but anyone who has read the earlier ones will understand nuances and references to previous adventures.
This is the first time Farago has tackled a medical thriller but, with the help of his expert team, he believes he has produced a book that is both exciting and scientifically accurate.
“The idea behind it was how to engage the thriller readers with cutting-edge science without losing them because it’s complex. People are learning [the science] but in an entertaining way.”
Farago, a former barrister, promotes his books through social media, including his 3,000 Facebook friends and 17,000 Twitter followers. And his promotion for The Hidden Genes of Professor K also contains links to allow readers to make a donation to the Garvan in the back of the book.
The Hidden Genes of Professor K is available both in print and as an eBook. For details see, see www.gabrielfarago.com.au.

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The Key to the Attic; a Writer’s Journey 1

Gabriel Farago — Fri, 02 Jun 2017 06:00:14 +0000

The attic in my grandfather’s hunting lodge in Austria was a wonderland; especially for a young boy. Just to get to it was an adventure. You could only reach it by way of a narrow set of winding stairs which always creaked.

Gabriel Farago author explores his European history.

Once you made it to the top, you were met by a low, wood-panelled door with solid, wrought iron hinges. The door was usually locked, and the huge key resided in grandpa’s study. In the bottom drawer of his beloved desk; until it became mine that is.

There were no shelves or bookcases, the books were all in old trunks covered in cobwebs. As a career soldier — a high ranking officer in the Austro-Hungarian army — my grandfather travelled a lot. He was stationed in various parts of the Empire, often for years, and his most treasured possessions travelled with him in those trunks.

A leather chair — armrests worn and faded — faced a dormer window with a splendid view down into the garden. Next to it was a wooden table with intricately carved legs. On its polished top lived two very special objects: my grandfather’s wonderful old typewriter, and a gramophone. And, I almost forgot, his reading glasses in a flat metal case and a silver pocket-watch.

The typewriter with its many moving parts became an item of great fascination. I experimented for hours, pressing the keys, watching the ribbon move and the spools turn, always waiting for the little bell to ring, until one of my aunts took pity on me and actually showed me how it worked.

Sadly, I never met my grandfather — he died many years before I was born — but in that attic I believe I got to know him through his books and his music. I became a voracious reader. After school, I headed straight to the attic. Not to do homework, but to read. It was my introduction into the wonderful world of books, a passion which has never left me, and which today, more than ever, guides my life. I believe this was my grandfather’s legacy; a gift to the grandson he never met: literature and music.

I still have that typewriter and that gramophone, and I still have the key to my grandfather’s attic and his reading glasses and his watch. Memory links us to the past. Without memory we are rudderless, adrift in the turbulent sea of life without compass of anchor. Special objects are little memory-triggers that can conjure up thoughts and ideas hidden in the recesses of our minds.

They are little souvenirs of life’s little stops along the journey.I am surrounded by them up here in my own attic in the Blue Mountains on the other side of the world. I still type the occasional page on that typewriter, and listen to an old, scratched Caruso record or two on the gramophone. They give me a great sense of peace and joy, and most importantly, inspiration to do what I love most: writing.

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