Category Archives: writing

new words

My lovely friend Bec has launched 2011 with the 100 Theme Challenge.

I like it.

Particularly at the moment when my ability to string two words together is fairly limited, let alone trying to pin down an interesting ‘theme’.  So I am thinking I might give it a go.  Here is my amended list of themes.  I think it’s worth attempting.

1. Introduction


3. Light

4. Dark
5. Solace
6. Break Away
7. Heaven
8. Innocence
9. Drive
10. Breathe
11. Memory
12. Insanity
13. Misfortune
14. Smile
15. Silence
16. Questioning
17. Blood
18. Rainbow
19. Grey
20. Fortitude
21. Vacation
22. Mother Nature
23. Cat
24. No Time
25. Trouble
26. Tears
27. Foreign
28. Sorrow
29. Happiness
30. Rain
31. Flowers
32. Night
33. Expectation
34. Stars
35. Hand
36. Treasure
37. Eyes
38. Abandoned
39. Dreams
40. Rated
41. Teamwork
42. Standing Still
43. Dying
44. Two Roads
45. Illusion
46. Family
47. Creation
48. Childhood
49. What my mother told me
50. Breaking the Rules
51. Sport
52. Thought
53. Secret
54. Tower
55. Waiting
56. Danger
57. Sacrifice
58. Purity
59. No Way Out
60. Rejection
61. Fairy Tale
62. Magic
63. Disturbed
64. Multitasking
65. Horror
66. Traps
67. Melody
68. Hero
69. Annoyance
70. 67%
71. Obsession
72. Mischief Managed
73. Inability
74. Challenge
75. Mirror
76. Broken
77. Test
78. Drink
79. Starvation
80. Words
81. Pen and Paper
82. Heard
83. Heal
84. Cold
85. Spiral
86. Seeing Red
87. Food
88. Pain
89. Through the Fire
90. Children
91. Drowning
92. Possessions
93. Surrender
94. Hope
95. Advertisement
96. Storms
97. Safety
98. Puzzle
99. Solitude
100. Relaxation

12 days

I have decided to re-write the ’12 days of Christmas’ carol.  It is harder than you think!  Particularly as I am trying to make it relevant to us.  I am planning to make it as a part of my Christmas decorations this year.  So far ‘bottles of bubbly’, ‘gorgeous girls’, and a ‘twinkling tree’ have been mentioned.  If you have any ideas, let me know, I’d be really appreciative!

Here are the original words as a bit of a reminder:

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree!

measured words goes global…(not quite, just down the road and up a hill)

The lovely gang at Soul Survivor recently asked me to do a workshop at their annual festival, focusing on creative writing.  While I feel completely under qualified and overwhelmed, I love that they asked and I love that they see value in writing (creatively or otherwise).

I always find that when I am asked to speak anywhere – not that it happens often – it feels like an exercise in self-indulgence.  I seem to always find a way to introduce those things that are occupying my thoughts at that given time.

So with this in mind, the SS gang are likely to get a little glimpse into my struggle to find where beauty ‘fits’ in life and the importance of making time and space to find that which is beautiful.  And of course, how writing plays quite a significant role in that process for me.

Let’s plunge ourselves into the roar of time, the whirl of accident; may pain and pleasure, success and failure, shift as they will – it’s only action that can make a man [woman].

Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

(and I forgot to mention – image from The Folio Society – amazing, amazing, amazing)

set an example

The time for uncertainty is done.

Do it now or don’t do it.

Life was always meant to be about richness and completeness.

Learn a language.  Start a business.  Pursue a love.  Enrol to study.  Read a book.  See that movie.

Change direction.

Set an example.

Write and write and write some more.

It’s not a risk, it’s a quest.

Slay the dragon of indifference, defeat the fear.

(My girls are watching.  They watch everything.  They see me try, they see me fail.  They see me laugh and they see me cry.  They see me attempt to do better and be better.)

And on the top of my list of things to do: Pray that these girls grow to be women who know that they can be anyone, do anything, who know they are worthy and that they are loved.

Life was always meant to be about richness and completeness.


She sits on her little cane chair reading.

Her little legs aren’t long enough and her feet swing back and forth, back and forth.  Apart from her feet, she is still.  Engrossed and fascinated by her book.

It is minutes before she reaches to turn the page.  And she does it slowly, carefully, delicately.

I can hear her breathing.  In and out.  In and out.  Soft breath’s.

Breath’s full of significance.

Signs of life.

As necessary as mine.

As necessary for my life as my own breath.

monday’s measured words – it’s all about the lycra

Things have been a little quiet here, that is because we have been away.  Hubby and I went to watch the Tour Down Under in Adelaide (cycling race).  It was exciting and so much fun.  We had a lovely time away, it was the first time we had ever left the girls, making it slightly unnerving, but awfully liberating! To eat at a restaurant and not hurry! – the joy of the simple things!  And while the cycling was undoubtedly the highlight, the tapas restaurant we discovered deserves a mention for its spectacular food, delicious wine and lovely atmosphere.

I, as have many others, have wondered why-oh-why I am so interested in Pro-Cycling.  And no – it is not the lycra!

On the last day of the Tour Down Under, in our excitement, we read the times wrong and arrived at our designated spot 4.5 hours before the race.  Oops.  I had a good book and some lovely people next to me to chat to (who arrived before we did and were cracking open their 2nd bottle of wine at 11.30am!), and I had lots of time to think about this whole cycling thing.  I’m sure if I was so delve into my psyche I would discover some hidden meaning to it all but I’d rather not and really I think it is quite simple.  Pro-cyclists are brilliant.  They are intelligent, strategic, reliant on their teams and elite.  I love their dedication and their pursuit of excellence.

In a cycling team there is a definite understanding and appreciation for everyone’s role or ‘job’.  There are sprinters, and climbers and lead out men and domestique’s.  They need each other.  It is a team sport.  But my favourite member on any team is the ‘domestique’.  That’s the guy who grabs food for everyone and rides through the peloton distributing it.  It’s the guy who will stay with you and bring you back into the peloton if you lag behind.  They are the work horses, the indispensables, the servants.  And damn good cyclists at that.

There is also the other reason – hubby loves it.  And I love having a shared interest.  While his love of cycling spills over to actually getting on a bike for 5, 6, 7 hours at a time and mine extends to only watching for 5, 6, 7 hours at a time, it is nice to have something that we love and talk about (besides the girls).

paroles mesurées de lundi

On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions.  Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke?  Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it?  The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning.  It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets.  Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews.  For the sleeping God may wake someday and take offense, or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return.

Annie Dillard.    


This has been tumbling around my heads for days.  An obstacle that keeps tripping me up: and I stumble over and around it.  It has disorientated me and kept me up at night.  The remedy to an undiagnosed illness; the solution to an unsolvable problem. 

I am not sure I want either option. A sleeping God or a waking God.

A sleeping God can’t hear me or see me.

A waking God is expectant and wary.

But the truth remains – I do not, and cannot, understand the power I so effortlessly summon.  I do not and cannot understand this God I presume to love and worship.  I try, of course, but my options are limited. 

I expect this God to be merciful and just and gracious.

I find that he is distant and faceless and too big – which is not as frustrating or as hopeless as it sounds.  It just is. 

I would be lying if I said that I longed for the day that the waking God unleashed his power.  What would that look like?  Would I survive it?   

I ask, cover my eyes and count to 10…do I dare peek? 

I don’t see anything.  I don’t hear anything.

And then there is a warm, gentle, breathe on the back of my neck.

I close my eyes. 

For now, this is enough.