Those Clunky Days: Writing

Year nine rewritten, another section of my novel awaits; year ten when grumbling discontent pecks at the ritualistic nature of my anorexic, adolescent existence. I read it over noting the schism between the words on the page and the words I’d like on the page.

I’d love the writing to convey the essence of my experience, clear, varied, unique and unforgettable. I remind myself of the beauty of the creative process. Sometimes it’s frustrating. On those days I sit here, looking out at the rainbows cast by a crystal hanging on the porch and trying to get the words to flow.


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Inside the Memoir Writer

What entices you to read a memoir? I would love to hear your thoughts.

What makes me want to write my second memoir? The unscrambling follows please read on.

Researching this genre, I find an elegant and confusing list of memoir attributes. These hope to unite those impassioned writers who want to share something about their lives, often a deep revelation of some hardship overcome. Writing to heal or healing to write; who knows.


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Time Off

Last week I retired from my professional career. Like all change it left me torn, wonder and expectation tussled with emptiness and dare I say it, fear. For so long the role of physiotherapist clothed me. It gave me something, some one to be.

I see myself a s a story teller, my head full of quirky tales amassed over the decades. I want to release them and free myself, creating space for the new to enter. So having written Schicksal, I felt pretty chuffed. Little did I know I stood on the top of the slippery slope.

I had dreams; big ones, bold, at times unrealistic but clear, or so I thought. Easy. I just wanted to be an internationally acclaimed author. Now what’s wrong with that? Dream Big, that’s what all those feel good, new age sites advise, isn’t it?


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Monday Morning

I woke early; the cuckoo clock told me it was half past something. Coddled in the warmth of my bed, I wondered half past what. The night outside black and windy gave no clue.

I wondered would I go back to sleep or hear the clock chime the upcoming hour?

My wondering grew, engaging me in the senseless thought that lies between awake and asleep.


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Reflections on the Weekend

When I booked my place at the  Clunes Booktown Festival, a pocket full of dreams came with me. Crossing uncharted waters, I ventured into the unknown hoping to sell the left over hard copies of Schicksal, my first novel.

Schicksal Clunes


I felt a sense of foreboding mixed with excitement. This strange mix of emotions often dawns when a breakthrough is in the wind. The déjà vu unsettled me but I try to stay calm, philosophical and above all open.

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I’ve been chugging through the past couple of weeks, flat and low. A trip up to Bendigo, to see the Marilyn Monroe exhibition seemed just the thing. The summer temperatures ebbed away and the shade felt cool, pregnant with the coldness of the winter to come.

Autumn leaves along the way boasted their impending demise, bold in the face of death. Maybe they were screaming and I couldn’t hear them.


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My Next Adventure, Clunes

When I finished writing ‘Schicksal’, I rather naively thought that I had accomplished a great deal. Balboa Press the self publishing wing of Hay house helped me to understand that publicity and marketing were my next area of growth.

My parent’s memoir continues to enrich my life. Already I have embraced so many new experiences. I have learnt about social media, blogging, and book launches. Librarians have been very supportive and helpful. My public speaking confidence is growing daily.

I like talking to people about my book.


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