Occasional inspirations from the muse
I've always been a reader and a writer. I learned to read at age two and a half and taught myself cursive writing at age six or so. One of my bachelor degrees is in English literature, a great way to combine my love of books and my skill at writing.
I was never really a fiction writer, save one story which just came to me in a flash; instead, I tend to write essays and rhetoric about whatever grips my mind at the time and won't let go. I often record my dreams for future creative fodder. I love to write about places I've visited, which you may have seen on our Excellent Aussie Adventure page. The occasional poem works its way out of me, too, little gifts from the cosmos. I also come up with some good bits of fridge magnet poetry every so often; sometimes the constraint of the medium makes for some unexpectedly good results, much the same as I find sketching in permanent ink sometimes inspires a vitality and sureness of line that doesn't surface when drawing in pencil.
Here's something I wrote in May 1999 and don't know how to classify with the other things mentioned above. Is it an essay? A picaresque? A journal? Whatever it is, I had a blast experiencing and writing about my three days as a Whitlams groupie.
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Last updated 25 March 2001