When you write your story, whether a page or two or a book-length memoir or autobiography, you can expect many rewards. They come both when you write and when you share your whole story or a part of it. Every life is different, and so each unique story differs from that of everyone else.
We owe a great debt of gratitude to Australians returning from other parts of the world. Most endure considerable deprivation and hardship through quarantine in order to keep the rest of us safe.
Prime number birthdays should be the same as all other birthdays. So common sense tells me. There’s probably nothing special about those years which are divisible only by one and themselves. But experience tells me differently. It seems to me that prime number birthdays and the years that follow often possess special magic. I’m curious to know if this happens for others?
All-gender toilets built at Curtin University will ‘help transgender students feel safe’, according to an article in The West Australian last week. The article also says that a ‘concerted vandalism campaign’ left many students feeling unsafe. The vandalism included tearing or defacing posters. A sad state of affairs. . There’s no excuse for discrimination or harassment of anyone.
Honeybee by Craig Silvey, best-selling author of Jasper Jones, is a big, beautiful coming-of-age novel. Like Hope Farm, by Peggy Frew, which I reviewed recently, it tells a story of a childhood with an immature, addicted mother.
Honeybee by Craig Silvey, best-selling author of Jasper Jones, is a big, beautiful coming-of-age novel. Like Hope Farm, by Peggy Frew, which I reviewed recently, it tells a story of a childhood with an immature, addicted mother.
Tender, compassionate and at the same time gritty, Honeybee confronted and challenged me.
My morning pages (four pages, written long-hand first thing) often turn into lists of gripes about the world and my place in it. Sometimes, though, they fill with little songs of appreciation. Often, I forget to tell people I’m grateful for the inspiration they provide.
So here, off the top of my head, in no particular order, are some of the people to whom I give a 10 out of 10 today.
The lovely Mere Lake, less than half a kilometre from here on the Subiaco Common, might just as well have been on the other side of the moon. Bursitis of the hip has kept me home for many weeks, or at best walking only short essential distances.
Swimming, even many laps, on the other hand, didn’t hurt as much, so the local pool became my go-to place.
Hope Farm by Peggy Frew, my accidental library pick last week, drew me in from the beginning. I’d planned to borrow Frew’s Islands, longlisted for this year’s Miles Franklin Literary Award. All copies were on loan.
I’m glad Hope Farm sat in a pile of returned books waiting to be shelved. Otherwise I might have overlooked it. As it turned, out this page-turner kept me up far past my usual bedtime as I devoured it.
Buying new shoes challenged me. At best the activity bored and, at worst, depressed me. Once or twice, a pair of shoes captivated my imagination. An orange pair, the year I turned 39. They matched, perfectly, an oversized pumpkin-coloured jumper I wore that winter. Forty years later, a blue pair made my feet twitch with delight.
The 2020 Kings Park Wildflower Festival, on now until the end of September, won my heart again this year. I’m a year-round fan of this park, which is almost on my doorstep. But some spectacular events like this Wildflower Festival take my breath away.