Where Do Writers Write?

Excuse the holes in Ernest’s head. He’s been on my pin-board since 2002 when a writer friend sent me this postcard from the Hemingway home/museum in Key West, Florida. I keep it in front of my computer as a reminder not to be too precious about how and...

The Parable of the Purple Grannies

This is how it happened. Across the country, grandmothers began gathering. From every walk of life, they came together wearing the colour purple. They said: We never thought we would have to protest against the torture of children in Australia. They organised a...

Do We Ever Stop Missing Our Mothers?

So far, so good. The possums and birds have not yet eaten my quinces. Of course there are still a few weeks to go before they ripen into those glorious golden globes that can entice all creatures feathered and furry. I planted my quince tree in memory of my mother...

Love & Prime Ministerial Tears

  Just as I was thinking about love in all its rituals and forms, there was Malcom watching the Pollies versus Press cricket match in his straw hat. Not any kind of straw hat, mind you, but a very neat and stiff kind of hat. And his blue shirt and grey pants and...

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