All posts tagged: writing

Does Chaka Khan know I polished Gertie the Giraffe for her at Australia’s recent Blues Festival?

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Of course she doesn’t. But I do. Hello lovely folks, thanks for dropping by. I am recovering from four days of a Blues music festival (as punter, not musician- not yet anyway). And three days full time work helping to set it up before that. “Artist Decor Assistant” is the official title; what it really means is lots of climbing up and down step ladders, staple gunning vintage fabric to the temporary walls of incoming artists’ dressing rooms. It’s the second time I’ve done it, and I loved it even more this year. Transforming a big, blank, box of a room filled with even smaller blank boxes into a vibrant, welcoming, eclectic and interesting creative space is thrilling to me… especially when one of the performers is Chaka Khan! This year’s line-up included one of my favourite disco singers; who here over 40 hasn’t danced to ‘I’m Every Woman’? Exactly no one. So when I was told to polish Gertie the Giraffe ‘… because she may go in Chaka’s room…’, I leapt to it. Never …

From rockstar to writer: the return

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Hello lovelies, how are you all? Having just spent 3 months very focused on my punk cabaret band Mutton, including touring to 5 different venues, and being away from my beloved rainforest home for WEEKS, I’ve had an epiphany! I’m still a writer, even when I’m not writing. Which means I’m also still a blogger, connected to this community, albeit while it constantly morphs into something new. Of course, a writer needs to write, and practice their craft; gone are the days of my thrice-weekly blogging, and the constant commenting and connecting we all used to do here. Part of me misses those days… but they were also a particular time, pre-Covid, pre-TikTok; we are ALL different since then. So I write killer arts grants, for myself and others. I write songs now. I’ve entered a few Slam Poetry competitions, and will continue. I still write in my journal (although not daily). Last month I kinda wrote a love letter. Sure, I’m not published, other than a couple of short stories in anthologies years ago, …

New year, new me: come visit my Australian punk cabaret band Mutton!

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Hello lovelies, it’s been a loooooooooooong time between posts I know. How are you? Hello once again, where I’m swinging by to invite you to visit my new creative project ‘Mutton’, a post-menopausal, post-modern, post-punk, pre-apocalyptic drums and bass duet! We sing, we swear, we play bastardised covers and dodgy originals, and we are having the best fun. You’ll find our website HERE. We have stunning photos, upcoming gigs, and a good feminist vibe. So pop in to say Hi. Who knows: perhaps we’ll end up coming your way one day? If you’re in Australia, you’ll find us in Gosford, Bellingen, Brunswick Heads, Wollongong and Sydney in February… Then back on the couch recovering for most of March haha. In complete and utter gratitude for the privilege of creativity and my drumming determination, Love G xO

Has the new visual media stolen me from WordPress? Our online community has changed so much

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Hello everyone, thanks for dropping by; I know it’s been a while since I was in your feed. I’ve been blogging since 2008, and this is my fourth blog. Like Sandy in Grease, I was ‘totally devoted’ for a long time, and relished my sense of community and connection here. Some of you were with me from the beginning, when I holed up in an old Barn in the South West of France, blogging to stay in contact with my friends and family, giving my son ‘ThenOnly15’ a taste of life away from Australia (I wrote one of my favourite pieces there (please click that link), as the countryside changed around us). Some of you have survived my many romantic adventures, from the highs to the lows (this blog evolved into an online dating report for a while…), and have been so generous with advice, support, and deep caring when I sank into the challenges of losing my Mum to dementia. I thank all of you for being here; for being witnesses to my life …

Racked with sobs at 5.30am: break ups suck

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Yes, these virus times are horrifying, terrible, weird. Yes, these virus times are weird, transformative, full of potential for change. Yes, these virus times illuminate privilege, selfishness, and inequality on a global scale we can truly see. And these times also suck for a break-up. But after two years (minus the upcoming fortnight), my ‘Comet’ love just imploded. Exploded actually. Which finds me sobbing at 5.30am, having been awake since 3, thrashing over recent emails in my mind, composing a wide variety of healthy destructive neutral  unnecessary replies. I’m 53, nearly 54: I’ve done a shit ton of break ups. I know about all the stages, in no particular order- the denial, relief, shock, sadness, rebound fuck, period of isolation, anger, care, ‘let’s be friends’, reunions, accusations, apologies, gratitude etc etc. Some break ups evolve to friendship, and some certainly don’t. But this fresh period right now, this stomach-churning, grief-stricken, anxiety-ridden, anger-fuelled maelstrom is exhausting. One good thing though: the gag order about romance blogging has been blown up. I can write whatever the hell …

Final Part Three of my short story ‘Earth’

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Weekend reading? Part One and Part Two just a click away (500 words each). And here’s the third and final, based in Kakadu after my recent incredible off-track bush adventure: Their palms scraped skin across branches and boulders as they launched into the dark ravine. Down, down, down they slithered, heaving their bags ahead of them, legs protesting at the speed and brutality of the descent. A spiky pandanus drew blood across Kelly’s cheek, and Sam’s ankle twisted hard in the scrabbling, but at last they burst through the scrub to touch the smooth rock edges of the river again. Kelly’s whole body trembled as she stripped naked and jumped into the creek, gulping mouthfuls of water as she cooled down and almost cried with relief. ‘This is better than any Christmas ever, even as a kid,’ she yelled. Sam paused, then went on ahead to check the way forward, barely stopping to refill her bottle and guzzle. She returned with heavy steps. ‘I don’t wanna say this, but there’s another overhang coming up, so we …

Here’s Part Two of shortlisted story ‘Earth’

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But did you miss Part One?? Don’t do that! It’s HERE Part Two: … Then Sam stopped, hands on hips, and squinted into the distance. ‘Shit, I don’t think we can get through along here after all. Let me look at the map and compass again.’ She frowned at the contour lines on the creased page, telling her a story of steep cliffs and gullies, without revealing the safest route. ‘Sorry honey, but the only way we’ll get past that massive overhang is to tackle the stone country along the top of the ridge. It’s a bit like a jigsaw puzzle up there, which you can never solve. Brace yourself.’ Kelly clenched her jaw for a second. ‘I never knew off-track walking was quite this tough,’ she admitted. ‘Especially for old ladies like us.’ Sam smiled at the familiar joke, but her forehead worried, as they tightened waist straps and headed away from the water without looking back. Within thirty minutes, thighs screamed with lactic acid as they scrambled over boulders and fallen tree branches, …

My story got shortlisted! Here’s Part One

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Wait, I’m not going to launch straight into the story; I want to say Hi first, and set the scene. Remember that 4-day off-track bushwalk in Kakadu I survived? While there, I was struck with inspiration to write about the adventure, and scribbled sentences into my tiny notebook one dreadful evening while being attacked by mosquitos (the only time we were hassled). I sat down 2 months later to draft 500 words at least, for a short story competition with looming deadline (I can only work under pressure it seems). Again I was grabbed by the muse, and spent all day pouring 1500+ words around the competition theme ‘Earth’ onto my computer (such a good feeling). Edit, edit, exaggerate, edit etc, and voila: ready just in time. Weeks passed with no word, so I assumed I’d slipped into the discard pile… then last week got an email to say I was shortlisted (another really good feeling). Alas, I heard on the weekend that I didn’t win, but I don’t really care. I don’t care because …

Swim underwater with Australia’s Tim Winton in movie ‘Breath’

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Two nights ago I submerged myself in a 2-hour film called ‘Breath.’ Based on the novel of the same name by Tim Winton, with his contributions to the screenplay, and voice-over narration, it washed through me so deeply that I didn’t even want to keep talking over coffee afterwards, but went home to float through the ongoing swell of watery images and sensations. My movie buddy asked me to articulate what I got from it, and I tried to sum it up in 3 main ways: An immersion in the uniquely-Australian, beachside surf culture of the 1970s (which I didn’t live), but which ’17’s’ Dad did, and to an extent ’17’ still does A reflection in the capacity to ‘lose oneself’ in one’s passion, as I feel when I dance, and yet also being more at one with yourself than at any other time. Also, seeing the  stunning natural landscape- it’s set in Western Australia- and hearing the torrential downpours of a typical summer The crafting of the characters, where a simple sentence showed so …