peace, play and port fairy

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So, just in case you’re wondering, this is where I was this time last week. No I didn’t just google image “tranquil, picturesque outback spring panorama” and whack it in here – this is a really, real actual photo that I took… and yes, they are alpacas. Woolly, awkward, hilarious alpacas. I made the trip to Port Fairy for their annual Festival of Words: Ex Libris. I read. I wrote. I slept. I walked. I ate. I did yoga. It was glorious.

More dets to come. Just thought it would be nice to share this ultimate Spring picture on this ultimate Spring Melbourne morning.

Much love for now. Have a great week and enjoy the sunshine.

MWF ’15

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The 2015 MWF has come and gone for yet another year so I thought I’d share some of my scribbles. Although it wasn’t my favourite MWF, it was so lovely to immerse myself in the creativity and ideas of like minded people and to soak up all their wordy goodness. This year, unlike others, I found myself wanting to note take less and enjoy the moment more so, that’s what I did! Before you ask, I’m still undecided on as to which session was my favourite – I keep to-ing and fro-ing between Will Self’s interview for Books and Arts Daily and Coetzee, Kennedy & Malouf: Three Stories. Sessions I attended and favourite little gems below. Continue reading

i’m writing a play

image courtesy of Ed Schipul

I’m writing a play. I’ve never written anything for theatre before (aside from my year 11 solo piece), nor have I ever considered writing anything for theatre before. It kinda just happened. In a really organic, unforced, spontaneous way. One minute I was writing what I thought was the beginnings of a novel and then the next I found myself lost in this very real, moving, evolving ‘thing’ in my head that was, well, screaming at me for an outlet through which to be born. Continue reading

navigating the blank page

I know when I’m in the zone – when I’m writing something more than the usual meh; when I’m actually onto something – when I feel like I’m wrestling. When it’s not easy. When the words hang somewhere between excruciating and ecstatic and summoning them is laborious, at best. It’s like they are a delicate extension of my hair and they’re caught, actually more than caught, they’re knotted and teased expertly to the hundreds of individual spindles of a wire brush. Pull too hard and I rip my hair out from its roots, give up or don’t pull hard enough and well, I get stuck.  Continue reading

on writing

I get the impression that even though my family and friends know that I’m a writer, they don’t really have any idea what I do. The same goes for my readers.  I’d imagine some of you think I’m cooped up all day “in a room of my own” with a pot of tea, a pen and a pad of paper; others that I just frequent cafes, sipping coffee and pondering my existence and perhaps a small minority of you just think that I’m a wanker who sits around all day wanking my proverbial writing muscle (whatever that is).

The reality of it is, my life is nowhere near as romantic, tranquil or indulgent as you may think. Continue reading