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Welcome to Crack-A-Story Publishing
Crack-A-Story Publishing is an independent publisher that is bringing a fresh approach to children’s book publishing and storytelling across other mediums. Under the guidance of best-selling author James Knight we invite youngsters to be part of the creative process for Crack-A-Story books, e-books, and audio books. Spirit of the Warriors is the first in a series of middle-grade books that will uses fictitious sports narratives to promote multiculturalism in Australia and overseas.
Coming in October 2024
It’s the start of an Australian summer, and a drought is raging in the bush. For strapping farm boy, Jack Riordan, swinging a cricket bat is the best way to escape from daily hardships. But what happens when an Indian family arrives in the small town of Stony Creek to begin a new life? Suddenly, Jack is no longer the number one player in the district. That honour belongs to Ajeet Sharma who quickly becomes the star of the local school.
Despite jealousies and misunderstandings, the boys must somehow work together on the field. As their journey progresses, they learn each has painful secrets that have affected their lives. What are they? And what can the boys learn from them? The answers come from the strength of human spirit.
From the author of My Life: Brett Lee comes the story of Ajeet and Jack, and the unpredictable fortunes of the Stony Creek Public School cricket team.
'Spirit of the Warriors brings diverse characters from different cultures together to play cricket. Challenges are met, respect is gained, and in the end we all have a greater understanding of what can be achieved when we come together and learn from each other.'
Josh Hazlewood
Australian fast bowler
Member of
Chapter 1
Jack Riordan drew a line in the dust with the toe of his grease-stained boot. Sweat dripped from his freckled face, and his eyes stung. His plain blue T-shirt and shorts were soaked. He’d been playing in the sun all morning, crafting his way to this very point.
The crescendo.
He gripped his cricket bat with one hand, and with the other he held a worn ball, his only six-stitcher. He was just a few strides from a fence — a shimmering line of picket posts, wire, and rows of barbs that ran further than the eye could see. Beyond it, there was nothing but brown. Brown tufts of grass. Brown bushes. And brown dust. Paddock after paddock of brown dust.
Jack settled over his bat and took his stance. His feet were shoulder width apart, and his knees slightly bent.
He looked over his left shoulder and tapped his bat against his back toe. Once. Twice. Three times lucky. He
imitated his favourite television commentator, Ricky Ponting.
‘One ball left, six runs to win. Jack Riordan on 94.
The World Cup all comes down to this delivery.’
Chapter 2
Hello. This is the first thing Im writing in my diary for our school project. All of Year 6 are doing diarys until the end of the year. Ive never done a diary before. Im not sure what to write.
But here goes.
Dad killed another brown snake today. Its the second one that’s got into the chicken yard this week. Then me and dad put more boreds up round the bottom of the yard. after that mum made us ham and tomato sandwiches for lunch then dad made me go with him to fix the trough in the
bottom paddock. It was so hot and I was tired when we got home. I didnt feel like playing any more cricket so I went inside and watched Steve Smith on TV, he’s the best batter ever.
I want to be like him when I grow up. Playing for Australia would be oarsome .
Chapter 3
Jack was in his final year at Stony Creek Public School. He liked school most of the time, especially Physical Education when he could escape the classroom. That’s what he was looking forward to when he got off the bus after the rattling forty-minute trip from
Eagle View. Monday always began with a few rounds of Capture the Flag on the oval for Year 5 and 6 students.
It was often pandemonium. However, this morning was different. As Jack slung his green and gold backpack over his shoulder and walked through the school gate, the principal Mrs Wills approached him. She was impossible to miss because her clothes were always rainbow-bright. Today, she
wore a turquoise dress with splashes of purple.
Jack liked Mrs Wills. Sometimes she played handball with the students, and she had a happy smile with little curls at the edges of her mouth. Plus, she was always doing nice things. Only last week she made sure Jack was given a special merit award for his honesty after he’d handed in a $10 note a visitor had dropped near the flagpole.
Chapter 4
Jack knocked on the door. Three gentle taps.
‘Come in,’ said Mrs Wills’s familiar voice.
Jack pushed the door open and stepped into the principal’s office. Three people sat on a brown couch — a bearded man in a grey suit, a woman wearing an orange dress and with several rings on his fingers, and a boy with a cricket bat lying across his lap like a sleeping pet. All three smiled at him. The brightness of their teeth was vivid against their dark skin.
‘Jack, welcome,’ said Mrs Wills who was sitting on a chair opposite the visitors.
She pointed at an empty seat next to her, and Jack sat down. At his feet was a circular carpet — a map of the world. It was his favourite part of the room.
‘This is Mr and Mrs Sharma and their son, Ajeet,’
Mrs Wills said. ‘He is going to be in your class.’
Jack nodded. ‘Hello.’
‘It is our pleasure to meet you,’ said Mr Sharma. He smiled and nodded at Jack’s feet on the map. ‘I see you have landed in Antarctica.’
‘Um, yeah, you could say that.’
Chapter 5
Jack knew he was easily the best cricketer at Stony Creek Public, but whenever his mates told him how good he was, his face warmed with embarrassment. Yet, in his imagination he never tired of being the hero of his countless cricket stories. He smashed sixes and split stumps. He hurtled across the turf and hurled himself at balls only he could ever catch. He was the greatest player the world had ever seen. Cricket, though, meant more to Jack than basking in the spotlight. Cricket wrapped around him like a soft blanket. It protected him from the longest days when the skies were cloudless, and the dust burrowed deep into the wrinkles of his parents’ frowning faces.
Jack would be lost without cricket. He was the school’s fastest and most accurate bowler, the best catcher, the strongest thrower, and he was the only student who could hit the ball from the playground oval all the way past the jacaranda trees and into Mrs Bell’s backyard. Jack was good. Very good. He only wished he could run faster.
I am very tired, but my mind is spinning like the fastest whirly whirly in history, and I think my head will fly right off my pillow if I do not write now. Today was the most unbelievable day I have ever known.