In interviews with published authors, one of the most frequently asked questions is ‘where do your ideas come from?’ It is the writing equivalent of a silver bullet, as if by being able to reliably generate ideas that are worthy of expanding into a poem, … Continue reading The rhinoceros in the room
I stumbled across the local Blue Mountains radio station by chance when I first started to visit the area with a view to relocating here. My visits were usually on the weekend and I was taken in by the wide range of presenters, local news … Continue reading Who listens to the radio?*
Lately I’ve been thinking about the merits and challenges of belonging to a group of writers. Writing is more of a solitary occupation rather than a team activity, but it can be hard yards when you are alone with your thoughts and cast of characters, … Continue reading Together Alone*
It was inevitable that I would start meditating after moving to the mountains. I had tinkered with it before, mainly with a lighted candle and a sense of wrestling with the many, many monkeys that live in my mind. Meditation retreats are in plentiful supply … Continue reading Mindful in the Mountains
There are times when writing prompts can seem a bit twee. I mean, who has time to sit down and write or tap out words for 15 minutes based on a randomly generated thought or idea? But there is something about the process itself that … Continue reading Power Prompts
A gorgeous day in Katoomba – the last Sunday of summer. By chance on the local radio I heard about the first session of the Blue Mountains Radio Players for the year. I knew of them and thought it would be good to go along … Continue reading Curly the Caterpillar
I go through periods of consistency with my writing. Having a routine to make sure I get the writing done early, before the day gets too far underway, works best for me. I listen to podcasts on my daily commute. Half an hour each way … Continue reading Writing every day. Well, nearly.
There are many things to love about living in the Blue Mountains. The air, for starters. It is usually crisp, often scented with eucalyptus along with whatever is currently in bloom. The blue skies too, although to be fair there are often dramatic cloud formations. … Continue reading I’m on a foggy highway*
The local fresh food markets are on the first and third Saturday of the month in my town. The stalls are clustered on the lawn just across from the riverbank, and there is a heady mix of fresh produce including fruit and veg, saltbush lamb, yabbies, eggs and honey as well as cakes, preserved olives and plants. There are coffee carts and a pancake trailer, and another stall cooks egg and bacon rolls.
People wandered about, buying bags of potatoes and oranges (just in season, sweet and juicy), and chatting away. Some sat at the chairs and tables, others on the ground watching the passing parade. The bittersweet scent of coffee and fresh pancakes wafted through the air.
When the sun was scattered by clouds and an icy wind picked up, the crowd began to thin out. People hunkered down, necks compressing into coats and scarves, planning escape to somewhere with a bit of protection.
I bought a small bag of apples for cooking, a bunch of spinach, a jar of pistachio mustard (will be lovely on cold meat) and some lavender cream.
Then off to a cafe lunch with a friend, sitting in the warmth and chatting. A very mellow start to the weekend.