Short Stories

the dreambound tree

The Dreambound Tree eBook

 

Memories define our sense of place.  Friends and family do too.

And sometimes, perhaps, a bit of magic

 

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By the time I was thirteen, I knew I was too old to be sleeping in Mum’s bed. But that didn’t stop me crawling in beside her on that two-inch thick fold-out mattress every second night when I woke slick with sweat from a nightmare.

            ‘Try to go back to sleep, Maddie,’ Mum’d coo and kiss my hair even though we both knew we’d lie there awake until the alarm chimed at three-thirty and it was time for her to get up for work.

            I never lived in a normal house. Well, I did—once. But I hadn’t since I was seven and we didn’t talk about it or actively remember anything of the life before we left. Since then it’s been caravans or share houses; granny flats in someone’s backyard; or a refurbished old shearer’s shed like the place where we lived now. Mum always told me to be grateful because it was the kindness of strangers and her hard work that kept me clothed and sheltered. Continue reading “the dreambound tree”

Short Stories

the carpet cleaner

The Carpet Cleaner eBook (1)

 

Robert liked his job. Well, most of the time. He didn’t like going to uni student share houses to leech booze and dried vomit off every plush surface the day before a rental inspection; and he didn’t like going to Ms McTavish’s place because she had ten cats and let them pee on the carpet until it was sodden and the house smelt like piss long after he’d shampooed and shampooed it again. He also didn’t like nursing homes, because it was too hard seeing people not that much older than he with defeated expressions on their sunken faces, confined to beds, stuck full of tubes and left to stare at the empty visitors’ chairs in their room all day. No, he didn’t like that at all. As with anything, there were good clients and bad, and the one client Robert loved, more than anything, was Mrs Lavingston.  Continue reading “the carpet cleaner”

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june recap

Where has the month gone?

June has passed in such a blur I’ve lost track of what’s even happened. Seeing as how it’s been a relatively quiet month for me across the board, I’m going to use this recap to look back at the first half of the year as well.

Let’s break it down.

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Out and About: Husband and I chilling at Vivid Sydney.

Continue reading “june recap”

Gardens of War & Wasteland, Short Stories

the morning of

Ami watched the sun rise over the swell of mountains on the horizon. The golden arms of morning spread dawn’s embrace across the sleepy castle town below. The Holanian capital, Adria, would soon be waking. Her still-made feather bed beckoned, though she would not be joining it. The young princess sipped the wine left on the drawing table along with the remnants of her uneaten evening meal. The dark Bararnite vintage was a sharp assault so early in the morning but Ami welcomed the wetness on her tongue.

It was the Day of Blessing—a humble day of virginal simplicity to be enjoyed in the presence of her betrothed. A day of tradition, of ceremony, of celebration—a day Ami would not see through to completion. Had it been Tallas, she would have endured. Tallas, heir to the neighbouring throne of Bararn, had been her promised one, not his snivelling, unctuous little brother, Reminas. Even before Tallas’s cruel and untimely death, Reminas always believed himself entitled to everything his older brother possessed—his titles, his birthrights, his armies. Now he had the impudence to name himself successor to the Holanian marriage alliance as well. But he would not have Ami. She would not be Reminas’s bride. He would not be her king.

Continue reading “the morning of”

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drawing counts as writing, right?

Camp NaNoWriMo July 2015 is underway and I … am already behind.

While I could whip up excuses about how I’m tired and it’s hard balancing a full-time job, an online store, an exercise routine and house work but the fact of the matter is I’m just not focused.

I’m in the middle of a long chapter. A long, important chapter at that. It introduces a key character who has otherwise been absent from the action (referenced, but not seen) and, despite his apparent significance to the story, remains woefully underdeveloped. That makes me a little apprehensive to write. And so, like all mature twenty-something-year-old’s I did what I do best: I procrastinated.

Continue reading “drawing counts as writing, right?”

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the countdown is on

One week until Camp NaNoWriMo July 2015 officially gets underway.

I’ve not had much luck with the NaNo experience, having quit partway through last year’s November haul. I made it to the 30k mark on a literary project specifically designed for the event only to label it a monumental piece of shite about two weeks in.

Since devising characters and a world for a fantasy project some thirteen years ago I’ve found it hard to forge attachment to any other story or characters while my original endeavour remains incomplete. I couldn’t make myself care about the characters I wrote for NaNo2014; I wasn’t interested in what they did or why. The whole thing seemed hollow and boring that, even for a first draft, there didn’t seem to be much worth pursuing. So I gave up.

Again.

This year, instead of try and squeeze a new novel out of nowhere, just because I think it has more literary credibility, I’m going to use Camp NaNo to focus on a story I’m actually passionate about. These characters have been with me longer than my oldest friends. I can’t give up on them.

Hopefully I’ll make it more than half way this time.

Fingers crossed.