Showing posts from March, 2012


Creativity is never set in concrete. It is ever changing, fluid and organic. I find it interesting to know so many writers that are creative in other fields. So many writers are not limited to putting words on the writing a story or poem, a play or novel.

I know writers that are also artists, illustrators, photographers. There are those that write lyrics, make music, dj....those that face paint, body paint, sculpt and print. Writers that quilt, patchwork, stitch and sew, knit and crochet. Writers that design their garden, cook and bake, involve themselves in interior design.

Perhaps some even create vegetable sculptures out of their dinners? Who knows?
The important thing is that writers, those of us that battle with image and phrase, finding that exact word...those of us that struggle with plot and structure, character growth and cliche...we also like to dabble in the arts and crafts.

Personally I like the almost instant gratification (compared to writing it is instantane…


I find saying goodbye a hard thing to do. I'm not talking about when someone moves - at least that way they can still be in contact. Texts, phone calls, emails, Facebook even the old fashioned notion of cards or letters. But when someone dies - that's the kind of goodbye that frankly - sucks.

I've had to say quite a few goodbyes in my time. Family, friends.... although mostly family. And the one thing about being a writer, goodbye when you have memories and access to pen and paper, is not definite.

Often, to my horror, I find that poems are written almost straight away. Most never to see the light of day. They are full of pain and unabashed loss....these are raw pourings as I try to express what of course, is almost impossible to express. They are thick with cliche, heavy with emotion, dense with sadness.

Then after a while, once the initial pain has deadened somewhat, the writing turns to memories.

I try to capture elements of the person lost. Perhaps quirks, the way t…


'The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.'
L.P. Hartley.....The Go-Between.

Just came back from four days in Tasmania. It was my Christmas present from hubby, and we visited the first three towns that we did nearly 30 years ago on our Honeymoon. (awwwww)

As we did so many years ago, that first morning in Launceston we travelled to Cataract Gorge .

We walked around, marvelling at how little had changed. At the cafe we found that raisin toast was still on the menu and ordered it for breakfast (just as we did way back then).

This time we ate outside, our arms bared to the early autumn sun. But once again we fed crusts to the peacocks.

Although these would be the great great, perhaps even another great, grandchildren of the ones we fed all those years ago.

We spent the next night in St Helens and then headed down to Bicheno

It was interesting to see what had changed from what we remembered - and my memory is not good at the best of times- and what had r…


Last Saturday I ventured to the wilds of Warragul. Not that Warragul is particularly wild, in fact it is very civilised. The area teems with poets and writers, artists and artisans. (Something I noted for future adventures). But on Saturday I travelled for Cafe Arts, held in the Warragul Community House.

It is a very enjoyable way to spend your afternoon (and this one was very grey and sodden). Hosted by the one and only Yvette Stubbs, part of the enjoyment is that you never know what you are in for.

The feature was poet Olive Lyon, a veteran wordsmith who took us on wildly travelled journeys. From being bombed as a child during the war - to haiku, from the wonders of love - to pondering on the life lived.

There was also a varied and exciting open stage. We had poets, singers, guitarists, and a cello and clarinet musical duo. It was also where poet Jean Marler launched her book 'The Proper Study'. One of those collections that are great to dip into.

All offered their works …