Robb Lucy - elevator pitch and sample story.

ELEVATOR PITCH

What do you do, Robb?

I’m an author. And I help people create their legacy stories, their footprints in the sand.

These stories can be entertaining, informative, emotional, or scary! They tell our descendants in the future who they came from – which is us!

My new book will tell 30 of my own short stories – my experiences from early life to now... from joy to extreme fear… all forming me into the person I am now.

I’ll convince the reader to start telling their stories, stories that hundreds of years from now will be given to their descendants.

These will be their footprints in the sand.

A sample Story

Ants in my pants!

It was 1971. I was 20 years old, standing on a desert road north of Alice Springs, Australia.

I was hitchhiking, and I wanted to get to Darwin so I could catch a ferry to Kupang, Timor. There hadn’t been a car pass me by for three hours. My mood was glum in the 105 degree heat. Will anyone pick me up?

And then, on the southern horizon, dust plumes became closer. A car was coming. I took off my hat and combed my hair. I tucked in my shirt and leaned my pack straight up, with the Canadian flag very visible. I had to look like, not a long-haired hippy, but a decent looking young man who could do no harm, who just might be good company.

I stood up straight and pointed my index finger to the road – the way you hitchhike in OZ.

The car, with one driver, flew past me. I’m sure the driver muttered ‘no way hippy boy!’ In a few seconds the car was gone, over the hill the dust plumes settled.

It was another two hours before I saw the dust rise again. It looked like a Holden, OZ’s proudly designed car. There were hundreds of thousands in the country.

Again, I combed my hair, tucked in my shirt, threw my bug hat behind my back, smiled and pointed to the road.

The car slowed. ‘Oh my god, I’m going to get a ride’ I thought, smiling a bigger smile. And then the worst reality of hell descended upon me. Or, rather, ascended upon me.

I was standing right on top of a Jack Jumper ant hill, the worst, most vicious, biting, blood loving creature in OZ. They rushed up my legs all the way, and I mean ALL the way. I had no choice but to rip my pants off, then my underwear, then my socks and shoes, for they also liked to go ‘low’!

I was screaming, dancing, swearing, spinning like a top. I took off my shirt and used it to swat all parts of me, slowly gaining the upper hand over these tiny six-legged vampires.

The driver? I was just gaining control when I looked up to see him slowly drive away. He had seen enough of the show. He would, no doubt, tell all who would listen ‘there are some strange people on the road. Don’t even think about picking them up!’

I waited another hour before I was finally picked up by a fellow my age, he heading to Three Corners to begin a job as a mechanic. ‘Good for me’ I said, ‘that’s about halfway to Darwin’.

We talked for an hour and then, for no reason, I pulled a writing pad out of my pack. I had brought it to write on, but I hadn’t written a word in four months.

I wrote about the experience I just had, and then, surprisingly, started to write about my family. I wrote a note to each of my four sisters, telling them I’m glad to be their brother. I said thank you to Dad, asking him how I could be a hero to someone, just like he was a hero to his artillery regiment in the war. I wrote to Mom, confirming her drinking was hurting the family, the arguing downstairs woke us up at night, then to sleep in tears.

And I wrote to Joanne, my girlfriend, who I never told how I felt about her. I wrote ‘I love you Jo’ and I smiled because it was the first time I had told anyone I loved them. It felt good.

I put down the pad. I was exhilarated. I never felt so unburdened, so clean, so fresh, so light in my body and soul.

I wrote in that pad and six others as I travelled around the world for the next eight months. I wrote every day.

That day in the Australian desert was a turning point. I liked the power of words. It was the beginning of my life in journalism and communications. It taught me the power of telling the truth.

All thanks to the ants!