Storytime

Or is it? How does the weather affect where and how your write? In the warmer weather do you sit outside under a tree, feel the sun on your limbs and happily write away....enjoying the bird call, the buzz of bees and the gentle sway as a summer breeze comes through? So what happens when it cools down? When the days are shorter, darker and so much colder? Do you hibernate away under layers of clothes, attempt to stay warm and hardly venture to pen and paper? I very rarely venture outside to write. Occasionally I could be found on the deck, perhaps under the umbrella, cold drink in my hand, pen and paper by my side. I was MEANT to write, but rarely did. There was always too much to enjoy, to see or even to do...I'm the kind of person that sees the weeds and knows the lawns have to be mowed yet again. So it is my writing desk that I sit at to write. (Perhaps though it would do me good to get outside, no matter the time or the season and see what happens when taken out of my k...

Last Saturday I went to one of the Autumn Authors  events run by the Dandenong Ranges. This was advertised as Emilie Zoey Baker and friends and being a big fan of Emilie's  decided it was time for another dose of inspiration. And inspirational it was. With Angie Hart, from Frente, and the Body Poet , Sabrina D'Angelo, Emilie gave the audience a great afternoon of poetry, song and...can I say mime? It was my first experience with the Body Poet, and it was amazing. Not only her ability to make us laugh, in fact one fellow was laughing so much that it was almost more entertaining to watch him instead of the show, almost....but what I loved was her ability to express herself. Without words. Yes she has a talent, and a face that has an almost rubber like consistency to express any emotion....she also knows how to work the audience. All three performers had that ability and it was great to see.  Working a room is an artform in itself...and unfortunately a lot of pe...

I never really prepared for motherhood. Didn't read any books before hand, read none during or even after. It could have been plain ignorance, self belief that we would do it...or that I was just young. Whatever the case, there I was, four weeks before my twenty first birthday with a baby. I never thought to count his fingers and toes---I think part of me knew someone would tell me if something was wrong. I remember looking down at him, seeing how perfect he was. It felt so surreal...to be holding this small piece of humanity that we had created. We took him home, placed him in the cane basket on the floor in our room...then wondered what on earth do we do next? We muddled along, became used to the nappy changes, the feeding, listening for the -I-want-to-be-held cries. At that stage I had two main fears, not to stab him with a nappy pin (and yes both my children had cloth nappies- disposables were for 'special occasions)- and to bathe him without dropping him back in ...

On the weekend I went to an art gallery where spoken word is performed every few months. This time there was no poetry or song, instead the exhibition of art work was the lure. A few months previously, the poets had 'given' their poems for consideration. The artists were to choose poems and translate them onto canvas. A very interesting, and complex, concept. Interestingly enough, there were a lot less paintings on display compared to other exhibitions. And several artists had not chosen 'local' poets, but had Australian classics such as Mackellar and Paterson. Perhaps it was more difficult than first thought?  Disappointingly neither of my two poems were chosen, I would have loved to have seen how an artist  captured my 'Geography of Pain' or 'The Third Drawer Down' but then looking back on them, perhaps they were a bit too lateral? Perhaps they didn't grab the artist's inspiration - I don't know but it was very interesting...