sneak preview

The picture isn't quite finished yet, and this is only the unedited review copy ... but it's so exciting to have it, finally, as something I can hold in my hand. I never thought the day would come! This is the Fourth Estate, Australian edition. Waiting on a fast plane to bring me the UK... Continue Reading →

There and back again

We share our four acres with a menagerie of creatures. There are the usual suspects: three dogs, three alpacas and four chooks, but a piece of land in the country means that we always have unexpected visitors, many of them just passing through, some that take up residence. Sometimes they interrupt a day. The dogs... Continue Reading →

When we were very young

A few weeks ago I went to a baby shower, my first ever. Fortunately, it was a laid-back gathering, a chance to meet people and chat over mulled wine and sausage rolls and cupcakes. We played a few simple games, but we were spared the horror games that I have only heard of — passing... Continue Reading →

written on the body

I’ve been pondering this image over the last few weeks, since I saw it at a symposium on Poetry and Image at the University of Canberra. The breadth of the conversation set off a thousand little shooting stars for me — quick glimmers of light that I’m hoping will enliven my writing about medieval illuminated... Continue Reading →

The ice man cometh

The wind is blowing ice off the Brindabellas; the frosts are coming to Murrumbateman. I've pulled out my fingerless gloves and beanie. Yesterday we picked all the pumpkins, even those that aren’t quite ripe and don’t ring hollow when we tap them. For want of a wire rack to store them on, so that they... Continue Reading →

Of the naming of chooks …

... there is no end. Names matter. My parents apparently disagreed about what my name should be, one wanting to call me Beverley, the other one (I’m not sure who wanted which) wanted to call me Robyn. They compromised and gave me both names, Beverley Robyn, then proceeded to call me by my middle name.... Continue Reading →

The tower of cushions

When I was very young my parents owned and worked a chicken and cattle farm. It was only forty acres, not at all big by Australian standards, but for me, it was enormous. I wandered around with Mum and Dad, helping them … or so I thought. But one day, the family mythology tells, I... Continue Reading →

Coming home

When I was a kid, I had the standard fare of Enid Blyton books and if I can trust my memory, one of them was a book of poetry about Noddy and Toytown. Would you believe I can still pretty closely quote one of them, and the ever-helpful www has given me the correct words... Continue Reading →

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