All posts tagged: writer

Once Closing-Down, Now Free

This morning when I went to one of my local shopping centres, I noticed that the furniture store had finally cleared out. They had a closing-down sale, which I thought would run for at least 2 years — seems like most of these closing down sales run forever — but alas it ran for only a few weeks. I peered into the empty space and I felt bad. Although, I don’t know how they survived as long as they did to be frank.  They had some nice stuff, but nobody ever seemed to be buying from there and whenever I went in, the sales people always had a look of desperation. Please buy our shit or we will die. That sort of thing. Awkward as hell. I’m relieved that I no longer have to see those desperate looks, and I hope the owner has a new opportunity in his life for something that he has wanted to pursue for some time now.

Longhand

Write every day, they say. I’ve been getting stuck into my beloved Jack Canfield, dealing with feelings that have taken me by surprise, reading my old journals and searching within. I’d forgotten about my internal pledges all those years ago to become a writer. It was such an unusual feeling to be reminded of how badly I once wanted it. For a passion that was embedded so deeply, how and why could I have let it go?  I think back to who I was back then, and I started to theorise that maybe it never got off the ground because it was all about the idea of being a writer. The sheer romance of it all. It would explain why I never submitted my work — well, I could count on one hand the work that I sent — but that doesn’t make much sense to me because I don’t submit my images for photographic competitions and awards as a photographer today either. I could also argue that perhaps I just wasn’t ready for submission …

Two Dogs Behind A Sunbeam

We’d just left home and were on our way to Xavier’s school last week, when at the end of our street I looked to my right and saw an elderly man walking two Cavalier King Charles dogs.  I gasped. The morning light was beaming behind them, as though the rays were carrying them forward. Long ears swaying in time to their paws touching down on the pavement, a little rhythmic half-trot. So regal with their mini coats, and both so very satisfied. My heart swelled.  No doubt this owner must’ve already known how blessed he was to have these dogs by his side. Consumed by this vision, I had to acknowledge it. I quickly wound down the window and called out to him, a compliment of some sort.  The owner kept on walking, leading his dogs towards his mission. I don’t know if he thought that perhaps I was addressing Xavier rather, or if he thought it was best to ignore the weird lady who yelled out to strangers. Probably the latter. I let this …

The First Step

They say that writing is therapeutic. I seem to have forgotten how much of that is true, so today I am restarting my journal.  I don’t know whether this will be a journal of words or pictures (to support the photographer in me) or a balance of both. Whatever this is, it will shape itself along the way. The last public piece I wrote was this after seeing Pearl Jam’s Big Day Out show in Melbourne. It’s not really a review, although I have been contemplating reviewing a music gig here and there just to mix things up a bit. The problem with reviewing shows is that if you are doing it honestly – as in not in favour of what people or the band or the publication want to hear — then you need balls of steel. Last time I checked my own… well, I’ve got a bit of work to do in that department. We have just had someone sand and re-polish one of the bedroom floors in our new place of abode. …