Twenty Fourteen
I hereby state my intentions for the New Year — 2014.
Tag Archives: writing
A New Job x2
After three years of not working [unless you count completing two degrees working … which it is, but you know what I mean] I am returning to the rat race
Kicking the Perfectionist Monster in the Nards
Until recently, I’ve struggled to write 500 words a day. I’ve sat at the computer for about an hour, felt sick to my stomach, stamped my foot and said ‘I don’t wanna’, written a page of painfully careful prose and then gone off to watch Series Three of Borgen.
The Heroine’s Journey
As I read about the path taken by women in traditional stories, mythology and fairy tales, I was struck by how our own lives follow this pattern.
The curious thing is that most of us don’t realise what true transformation entails.
The Pillow
There is no trick to holding on to something from your childhood – you simply have to refuse to give it up. The one possession I’ve owned for close to fifty years is my pillow.
Making the Bed
When I was a child my mother made me make my bed every morning. In those days, before doonas and fitted sheets, my bed had a satin bedspread and a puffy quilt for winter.
The Wild Country
My life has been drawn in the silhouette of a man. All that is feminine, in the true essence of the word, has been shunned and disapproved.
Oh, Hi!
We moved house this past weekend. Our new place is ten minutes further up the coast, and is nestled in the bush on the side of the hill.
Living in the Past
Living in the past is a hazard of being a writer. I’m always turning my face to look behind me at my stories, my memories, my history, strung out like tin cans trailing behind a bridal car.
I kissed a girl [not]
I’ve never kissed a girl, touched another vulva or another breast. Even though I went to an all girls’ school in the third form, the opportunity never came up. We were only interested in the St Josephs’ boys who rode past the school gates on the way home.
To whom much is given, much shall be required
My mother used to quote this bible verse to me all the time. She believed my “gifts from God” had to be utilised to their fullest potential. To this day, the idea of being held accountable for my talent still haunts me.
Breath & Heart
How do I create words that sound like the breath and the heart?
Not sharp and brilliant, not seen but heard.
Floating on the breath and beating with the blood in my veins.
Mowing the lawn with scrambled words
Two men mow the lawn across the road and a woman watches. An abstract short story.