Perilous adventures in writing & art
This GUEST POST in the 200 words/200 days series is brought to you by the lovely and talented Ms Maria Arena. I’ve written about Maria’s most recent book, a young adult horror novel, Sisterhood before. After you’ve read this lovely taster of her deep, broad talent, you should visit her online, where you can read more about…
When I was young I thought I understood everything. I thought I knew what pain was, and what to do with it, how to recover from it. I thought I knew what it would mean to bear a child, and raise them, and love them. I didn’t know enough to be frightened by the fragility of the hearts…
Eventually, someone you love will stop loving you. You can only imagine what will happen next. You will stand with your back against the wall in an empty room. Sliding down the wall. Sliding down until you are folded like a mirror of the letter N: your back a stem, your thighs a stroke, your shins a second stem….
H had a small, strong body and a pixie haircut. Wisps of gold on the back of their neck, on their cheeks. I met H at their home in the low hills out the back of the Gold Coast when I was a uni student. We went there to trade our labour for food and knowledge. We…
A little while ago, I delivered a creative paper at the ANZSA (Australia and New Zealand Shakespeare Association). I posted the abstract for this paper on my blog a while ago, and thought I’d follow up by sharing the text of the performance. The piece is an examination of the 16 year ‘gap’ in the…
The woman in the plane seat next to me looks uncomfortable. She has the kind of short, sparse hairstyle I associate with those receiving chemotherapy, or living in a concentration camp. I can see the paleness of her barely-protected scalp. She is wearing orthopaedic shoes and has a large, well-filled handbag. As the other passengers…
The architect comes into my office smiling, a woven basket on her arm. Greenery – wild and fragrant – spills from the basket. It is a hot day, and she sinks gratefully into the spare chair in my office. I should be clear and say that she is no longer an architect, or not a…
I spent Christmas night sleeping on the floor beside the guest bed in our friends’ home. At one point, in my sleep, I rolled towards the bed – towards you – and must have bumped it. You woke in a sleepy rage. Unwilling to hiss or roar in someone else’s home, you simply kicked me…
The story I am writing about you takes place during your fall. It begins at the top of that building in Manhattan, when you step off the roof, and ends when you reach the sidewalk. It begins with a recitation, and ends in silence. After your death, I fell silent. It might be more accurate…
The thing is, I was always afraid of leaving you. Do you remember the story about Lot’s wife, leaving Sodom? The angels took her and her daughters by the hand. They led them out of the city, towards the hills. She would have been safe if she hadn’t turned back. It was the turning back that…