All posts tagged: writing

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

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 …

Teenage Tuesday: ‘I see you did a Teenage Tuesday post…’

Me *spluttering defensively: Where did you see that? Him: It doesn’t matter does it? Fact is, I saw it. Me *squirming uncomfortably: Yes, but- but- I didn’t write about anything you actually said… Him *staring at me firmly: True, you didn’t. Me *blushing guiltily, awaiting my punishment. Him *after a VERY long pause: It was funny actually. Your writing was good. I enjoyed it. Well done Mum.   [The post in question is HERE. ]  

“Imperfect paradise”- a random re-blog

Originally posted on TheFeatheredSleep:
Today baby, everyone is pert and beautiful Photoshopped at perfect angle Swollen lips, weak jaw, 2000 friends with guitars Can’t keep up, even if I were two and twenty Better my generation-X lost our film Before developing Didn’t keep a record, of that mistake, or this bad day We pretend and forget, imprecision a comfort blanket Not wanting to keep in touch, why force natural closure with technology? We lost your digits and never knew your surname A blurry mystery of poor memories Was it that candlelit poet’s bar now closed? No proof, no evidence, if a tree falls, does anyone know, if it’s not on Instagram? I liked your home dyed hair, we shared night under looming sky in damp sleeping bag You fucked my ideals of love when you slept with her Sent me on my way with a trash bag of belongings A dead squirrel slothing skin, lay ackwardly beneath your window Its stink remaining when I was gone Rumor had it you used her hose as contraceptive…

There’s no such place as ‘Away’

I went for a walk this morning on a local beach near Byron Bay; the tide was super high, as there’s a storm sitting off the East coast, so the waves were frothing and pounding. Without searching for them, I picked up these pieces of plastic directly in my path- the red one is a balloon. I always collect rubbish, and have written about it before HERE, including my top 3 tips for reducing plastic consumption. A couple of days ago, I watched a pelican swooping down to the same sand; I dread thinking about plastic shards in its belly. A friend summed it up terrifyingly: there’s no such place as ‘Away’. No plastic we use just disappears… it takes generations of time. So carry your own takeaway coffee cup: Australia uses over 1 billion a year. Americans throw away 25 billion styrofoam coffee cups every year, and 2.5 million plastic beverage bottles every hour. – Carry Your Cup website I simply want ’17’ to be able to walk on a beach NOT covered in plastic, with his grandchildren… Please …

Random/Reblog Thursday: I stand with her #guncontrol

America has just had its 29th mass shooting this year. There have been 45 days so far in 2018. What the hell are you all doing over there? This is a great and visceral response to it which I had to share, and stand beside her in her distress. Please visit. In gratitude for gun control in Australia, G xO  I try to write carefully on this blog. I try to be thoughtful, to be careful of what I say and how I say it. I try not to be awful. But I have learned a terrible, terrible truth today, and this post will focus on that fact. I am afraid that my words will […] via My Terrible Truth — Empty Nest, Full Life

Day 5, 6, and 7 of Eco Village Intensive: my brain is fried sorry, I can’t do it yet

6.30 am now in Australia. This morning is Day Seven: a walk on the actual land, meeting under the giant fig tree. Last night was the Farewell Talent Night- not because we’re losing our talents, but because the Intensive is finishing. Seven days, 9-5, plus nightly optional activities… plus our real lives/work/families/blogs etc on top of that. MY BRAIN IS FRIED. And yes, I’m shouting a little bit there. So I’m pausing for a couple of days to recalibrate, then will write about the remaining days. Because, of course, The Blog Must Go On. But not at the expense of my sanity, which I’m sure you support. In gratitude for the Pause Button when I need it, and much love, G xO 

Fiction Friday: Full long version of short story “Roadside”

  Hello All- I’m posting this Australian fiction short story in its entirety, so feel free to skip this post if that’s not yer thing obviously. Make a cuppa and spend five minutes with Lucy and Eris, as several readers commented that they’d prefer a longer read, to sink into it, so I decided to post the full story. This piece won tiny accolades in several small writing competitions here, although it’s a few years old now. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for reading. In gratitude for words, G xO    “Roadside”- (c) bone&silver 2018 Lucy’s silver waterfall hair tilts when she moves. The tiny peace badge on her jumper glints. She leans like a rusty hinge to stroke the cat, book forgotten. Elegant fingers smooth the purring animal. She always wears gloves when gardening, and marinates in moisturiser every night. Like Cleopatra, she wishes she could bathe in milk. She knows she looks good for her age, but still bristles against seeming ‘invisible’ to anyone under thirty. She can remember …

Fiction Friday: Final part of short story “Roadside”

Hello All, time for the final part, yay. It’s Fiction, so feel free to skip this post if that’s not yer thing! This piece won tiny accolades in several small writing competitions here in Australia, although it’s a few years old now. PART ONE is here, and PART TWO here, so please read first. A few readers commented that they’d prefer a longer read, to sink into it, so I decided to post a long one, rather than make it another two posts… I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for reading! In gratitude for words, G xO    “Roadside”- Final part ‘I can’t believe we have to find a way to live through this.’ She pulls at leaves that want to tickle her shoulder. ‘And I am a nightmare.’ A twig is snapped. ’You don’t deserve this.’ A cluster of leaves is wrenched and dropped, with fresh tears. Around their homemade seat, the plants in her garden push back attempts to contain them. A palette of colours ramble. Daisies nudge native grasses, …

Fiction Friday: Part Two of short story “Roadside”

  Hello All, time for Part Two, yay. It’s Fiction, so feel free to skip this post if that’s not yer thing! This piece won tiny accolades in several small writing competitions here in Australia, although it’s a few years old now. PART ONE is here, so please read it first. Then let me know what you think, G xO    “Roadside”- Part Two ‘Don’t touch him! And don’t touch me! I hate you!’ Blowing the lid off her temper, Lucy pushes past Eris. She shoves open the kitchen screen door, and slams out into the garden. Her exit seems trailed by black vapour that sucks energy out of her husband. ‘I can’t fucking believe you’re hassling me about this. Isn’t it hard enough already?’ she yells from the lawn. He can hear the tears catching round her words, and hurries with arthritic knees toward the door. ‘Stay away from me, Eris, I mean it. Leave me alone.’ Her command whips between strands of hair as she runs out the garden gate. ‘I’m a nightmare.’ …

Fiction Friday/Me Monday combined: Part One of short story “Roadside”

Hello Everyone, I hope you had a lovely relaxing weekend? I’m offering you some Fiction here, so feel free to skip this post if that’s not yer thing! This piece won tiny accolades in several small writing competitions here in Australia, although it’s a few years old now. It’s too long for a single post though, so I’m going to split it into parts, then link them together each week. Let me know what you think, G xO    “Roadside”- Part One Lucy’s silver waterfall hair tilts when she moves. The tiny peace badge on her jumper glints. She leans like a rusty hinge to stroke the cat, book forgotten. Elegant fingers smooth the purring animal. She always wears gloves when gardening, and marinates in moisturiser every night. Like Cleopatra, she wishes she could bathe in milk. She knows she looks good for her age, but still bristles against seeming ‘invisible’ to anyone under thirty. She can remember wearing miniskirts, and going braless to parties, brave and ready for the freedoms the new birth control …