Storytime

In a spurt of nostalgic boredom I began a jigsaw I found in my son's room. It brought to mind all those years helping Mum do one, or even later on my sister and her family. Now this was a jigsaw never attempted. Pristine in its box. I commandeered the dining table and set forth. Not with gusto I must admit but with a small smile and an even smaller hope that it would be finished. I won't even tell you how long it took just to do the outside edge- seemingly easy you may think. Not at all...but slowly, slowly, ever so slowly it began to come together. The parts that were quite easy to identify were the first to emerge. The edges as you can see are still not together. Few more weeks, yes weeks, and we were up to this stage. It's something I do when I'm walking past, perhaps cooking tea in the kitchen and just wander in and see if something fits...somewhere. After nearly a month this was all I had....not much at all. Unfortunately there is a stron

Yep, it's up there with one of our greatest fears. Up there with fear of flying and fear of heights.  It even has a name - glossophobia or speech anxiety. I used to be horrid at public speaking. Absolutely horrid. My heart would race, my hands shake, my face turn fire engine red- and I would read my work at one hundred words per second. In my mind the sooner I finished, the sooner I was out of there. I doubt if anyone ever understood a word I said. However, over time, with the help of a  friend who ran a poetry gig and actively encouraged me to read (even to the point where she would smile and wave her hands forcing me to slow down)...I have improved. That does not mean that I don't have a quiver of nerves each time I do read. On the weekend I went to one of my regular haunts, the Hut Poetry in upper FTG, and because due to work and life I had not been at all this year, the nerves really got to me. I could feel my stomach churn, my hands were clammy and the

I'm usually not one for being hugely inspired by people. Don't get me wrong, there are countless people out there that I truly admire, think what they do is just wonderful and wish I could have a small percentage of their courage / beliefs / understanding / passion / strength etc. However I recently went to a birthday party for a lovely lady who really does inspire me. Annette just turned 80. Yep 80. That in itself is a feat these days but Annette is more than her years. She is one of the most kind hearted and caring people I know. She believes there is good in everyone, and although she does have certain definite ideals and beliefs, is willing to listen to another's point of view. But what truly inspires me is that she makes the most out of everyday. She sings in a choir, she learnt how to play piano, she line dances and recently took private tango lessons. Tango lessons! She joined toast masters, writes and paints, goes to local theatre...the list goes on and

I like to treat myself each year, whether to a writing workshop or author talk. Something that gets me thinking, pushes my boundaries and most importantly gets me writing again. The past few months I have been doing the Victorian Writer's Advanced Short Story Clinic with Laurie Steed. Each month we submit a short story, all participants are encouraged to offer feedback, then a week later we receive not only our fellow writers critique but Laurie's as well.  So many readers offering opinions...so many voices....so many styles and genres and points of view. It has been good fun, inspirational and inspiring. I had hoped to write a new short story each month- so a total of five, a good start for the year. I have fallen short, written 3 and rejigged and worked on 2 older stories.  Although on saying that I have scribbled down a few paragraphs of- hopefully- another story. So even if I haven't met my own criteria for the clinic, it has given me that push to start some new

When we got our new lounge a few months ago we had to move furniture- give some away- and move some more furniture. One of the 'moved' objects is Nan's china cabinet. My sister actually bought it (29 years ago?) after Nan died, but when she moved had nowhere to put it so I have 'looked' after it. Quite happily in fact. It houses a wealth of nostalgia. From holidays and birthdays, sentimental curios that cost nothing but mean a lot. What intrigued me was when it moved to an open area, when my other half stomps    or walks past it rattles and shakes and I am instantly transported back in time to Nan's house. Not in the front room, where I'm sure the cabinet was, but walking into the kitchen. Past the huge dresser that stood on the right hand side. It always shook and everything in it, all the bowls and cups rattled happily together. Every time I hear that clink and rattle of our cabinet, then I'm instantly back at Nan's. Waiting to hea