Storytime

Today I'm taking part in the My Most Beautiful Thing Blogsplash to celebrate beautiful things - inspired by Fiona Robyn's new novel, The Most Beautiful Thing. Bloggers from all over the world are taking part and writing or posting pictures of their most beautiful things today. I don't think I really considered how hard it would be to pin it down. At first, as most people would do, I thought of family and friends. Of my husband and children, of the place I live (in the Dandenong Ranges, outside of Melbourne, Australia) .... But the more I thought about it the more ethereal it all became. Until yesterday, driving to work, I realised what it was...it is the fact that I have the freedom of choice. I choose where I live, who I live with, where I work, even the fact that I work part time. These are my choices. I choose to either do nothing all day and eat crap, or do some exercise and eat well. I choose whether to whinge and complain or make the best of things. It is al...

During the school holidays I did a Storytime called Wombat Stew (based on the picture book by Marcia K Vaughan and illustrated by Pamela Lofts). I set up my campfire - branches with red cellophane, placed the billy on top and we began to cook our stew. To those who don't know the story, dingo catches a fat wombat and is excited about making his, yummy in my tummy, wombat stew. But wombat's friends come along to offer their advice on what ingredients a good stew would need. Before the wombat is added, dingo tastes the concoction, insists he's been poisoned and runs away. The wombat is saved. I repeat - no wombat was stewed, sautéed, flambéed, fricasseed or roasted during this event. To make wombat stew is easy. First we added water- blue cellophane. Then some billabong mud - brown crepe paper. Then the fun ingredients---flies, creepy crawly bugs (plastic critters), feathers and gum nuts (both real). Each time I added an ingredient, I stirred the billy. And each ti...

Easter for me is about family. Okay it's also about chocolate, but mainly it's about family and usually I wander north east to visit my sister and her family. They live in a small country town where the pace is relaxed. Slow. Easy. There's not a lot to do. You can go for a walk (there are two directions- left or right), you can play Mario Kart on the Wii, you can play numerous games of UNO,....there's also much talking, laughter and catching up. And I admit it, I listen, pay attention to small details...and take notes. Over the years this has resulted in various stories, poems and settings for both a children's novel and a YA novel. Their old dog Zorro, no longer with us, is a central character in my children's novel and the countryside, the landscape...and certain aspects of the town are an integral part of my YA novel. I think it's because it is such a relaxed atmosphere that allows me to become attuned. When you are in your own home, with the const...

I recently went to a free event at our local library...Players from Storytelling Australia presenting A Grimm Reminder- celebrating the 200th anniversary of the Grimms' Brothers Fairytales. The storytellers were Matteo, Jackie Kerin and JJ- Retailer of Tales, and this was just a tidbit, a teaser for their show during the Pave Festival . It was a great night. Not only did I hear fairytales that I hadn't heard before (these were for adults, so none of the 'tidied up' versions retold to children) but I was fascinated by the storytellers delivery. Each of them had a different style, a different way of presentation. They were all confident, all spoke clearly and well, all used some kind of audience participation....whether waiting for our responses, for us to call out answers - 'the iron dwarf' - or whether through eye contact. . These were professional storytellers....but as a poet who sometimes performs, I learnt a lot about presentation. Not only is it ...

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 page...to 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 ins...

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, th...

'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- a...