Storytime

It's been one of those months. More work, less days spent writing- and of course - the guilt comes scurrying in. That voice that says, loud and clear, 'and you call yourself a writer!' In just that tone of voice that implies you should hang your head in shame and give it all up. I have written during the past month- a few poems, a short story, reworked a few old poems, submitted to an anthology, and scribbled over 4000 words on my YA novel - but still that voice persisted. Especially on one day. The day I did nothing. Cats understand chillaxin. They do very little apart from the art of relaxation. Us humans, however, have this inbuilt guilt. We think of everything else we SHOULD be doing. The washing, ironing, house cleaning, clearing out those cupboards that haunt us, and heh ...even writing. But sometimes we need to take a day off to recharge the batteries. To mope around the house, have a -dare I say cat nap? - to actually sit down and read in the afternoon witho

I'm struggling with a poem. It's a full on wrestling match. I flip the poem, the poem does a somersault and I end up in a full nelson...and just when I think I have it cowering in a corner, after some amazing moves including a one-two piledriver -jawbreaker combination - it flips me and I'm the one on the floor not understanding how I got there. I know what I want to say, the emotion I want to convey. I just can't find a way in. Every story/poem/novel needs a way in. A doorway we want to go through. Some opening that offers the writer (and reader) a chance to slip through. And at the moment I can't find it. Words are swirling like falling autumn leaves, images are dancing in hobnail boots, and phrases are clogging my throat. I've attempted putting down a few words. A few images. But they are isolated dots on the page and no joining them together will make the image become clear. I've tried to leave the poem alone. Concentrated on work, on fa

A few Saturday's ago I did a day long basic photography course. It was good. I learnt a lot - once I got my head around unfamiliar words and phrases such as aperture, shutter speed, readings and bracketing. More importantly we had a field trip so we could put into practice what we had learnt---hopefully. It was also interesting to see what the others in our group saw when they took their photographs (there were only four of us- nice and intimate group). We were all at the same place - stood alongside each other for most of the session - yet what we focused on was different. Some wanted the buildings, some the reflections in the Yarra - and that is what they concentrated on. It's a lot like writing. One of the writing groups I go to has a topic or 'theme' each meeting. Sometimes a phrase, sometimes only a word, and sometimes it's a style of writing as well as a word -such as " two person dialogue with the word soprano". You would think impossib

Goals are funny creatures. At one time they appear easily obtainable. You can picture them in your mind, know that you can achieve them. That if you reach high enough you will be able to grab hold and understand that if you hold on tight enough they will be yours. Then with a flick of their tail, these mercurial beasts change. They appear gossamer thin and vanish without a trace, they slither out of reach when ever you near them or else they grow to a size that is so daunting we leave them alone. Last sunday I walked, one of many thousands, in the Mothers Day Classic. I walked (not ran) the 4km with a group of friends (new and old- Kim, Susannah and Fiona). Deep down I knew it wasn't a big ask. Give up a sleep in and breakfast in bed (hate breakfast in bed- all those crumbs- shudder) to walk a few kms for a great cause. Easy. At my pace. I'm not built for speed, more for comfort. However with the girls at my side the walk was done in a good time, at a good pace. All bec

Today is my sister's birthday. We won't talk of age, besides to K age doesn't matter. She rings me most years to find out how old I am (she's one year younger). This is the two of us. My sister is the cute one on the right - looking pixie-ish (her oldest son has the same look). I'm the rather dumpy one on the left, giving the camera a "I don't trust you" kind of look. Not much has changed over the years...I'm still good with 'that' look for cameras. We grew up here (with two younger brothers) - Apollo Bay- well not really just here, a lot more to the left. We didn't live in the town itself but in the Cable Station, where Dad worked. It was a great childhood. Beaches to roam, rockpools to investigate. We played outside the majority of the time, television being a rarity. We were indians with homemade bows and arrows, cowboy astride wooden horses, cap guns on the ready. We were spacemen riding the rocket to the stars. We made mud pie