Write on Wednesday … the clock winked

Write On WednesdaysThe clock winked. In the dark room as she turned over, the green panel glowed and illuminated one side of her face. As she turned, she saw it over her shoulder. It was dark and quiet. A winter early morning, the sun wouldn’t make it over the mountain for another two hours. She was still but not asleep. She could see perfectly well by the glow of the clock, 2.56 it told her. It was mocking her again. Why was she awake? Again? All these freezing dark nights, with no early easterly sun streaming in. Too cold to get up early, it was the perfect weather for sleeping til the last possible moment. Yet here she was not asleep.

Over and over in her mind she turned the conversation. Just wait here, she had said. Wait? Here? Why had she tried to reconnect. It was finished. In the dust of the past. And then, suddenly, she re-opened it. Now here she was, in the glow of the clock, awake, in the middle of the night.

Write On Wednesday … He filled his glass

He filled his glass, emptied it, and fell silent, immersed in his own thoughts. Just wait here, she had said. Wait? Here? For what? It’d been more than five years since he had seen her. Six years? Maybe seven years? Long enough to have thought he’d never see her again. Long enough to have forgotten all about the promises he had made. Wishes they had long ago left behind unfulfilled, bubbled up in his mind. Read More

Write On Wednesdays … I remember


Write On Wednesdays


I remember leaning in, taking hold of his arm and giving it a good sniff. I inhaled his smell. Deeply and luxuriantly, I breathed him in. I couldn’t say why I wanted to smell him, only that I did. He was bemused but allowed me to press my nose to his forearm. At this stage of the wonder at meeting someone who he really liked, I think he would have let me do pretty much anything I liked.

The smell was exquisite to my love worn and tired senses. It was manly and clean and warm. I liked it at once. Perhaps, I had read something about new lovers and how the pheromones attract, like moths to a flame. Perhaps I temporarily took leave of my senses. I don’t know now.

It was very late in the evening. It was to be an anti-climatic inhale. Soon he would graciously thank me. Tell me how much he enjoyed my company. And suddenly he would be gone. Forever after that moment there would be a him shaped hole inside my soul when he wasn’t right there next to me.

That smell of his warm delicious skin remains with me. Now, it is so familiar to me, I can’t perceive it again in quite the same way.

Write On Wednesday … I failed


Write On Wednesdays

This week’s task for Write it Wednesday was about dialogue.

Specifically, Detective Dialogue: For this exercise you need to be a little bit sneaky. And brave. You need to be around at least 2 other people (or a small child who will happily chat to himself and/or imaginary friends). Write down a conversation/ dialogue exchange as you hear it.

Now I totally failed this task.

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Coldest day for a long time

Write on Wednesdays – this is an online writers group writing exercise – thanks to InkPaperPen and to The Rhythm Method.


Write On Wednesdays

(This is a warm up exercise, to limber up my writing muscles. I am supposed to write about myself right now for 60 seconds and give you some insight into me using all five senses.) Ready? Set? Go

Today was the coldest day for a long time. Right now I am lying on the couch full of cheese toastie, pumpkin soup and chocolate self saucing pudding. I feel warm and cosy for the first time all day. I have a heat pack against the 7th and 8th vertebrae of my spine. These are the ones that defeated the osteopath, in spite of her best efforts at lunch time. The 4th was compliant, eventually. My neck and back do feel better.

I can hear the clattering of dishes from the kitchen. Questions keep coming about what to do about this or that. The heater ticks and whirs. The grey cat lies right under it. Stretched full length. At the back of my neck a draught breezes past me, reminding me of the glacial chill of the wind today.

When my husband does the dishes … Kerri Sackville’s booklaunch part two (A)

It is taking an incredibly long time to deliver on my promised part two of the story of Kerri Sackville’s book launch. I just read @TwitchyCorner’s account. Her part one. It’s such a big story it needs to be told in stages! There is also, perhaps, something like collective amnesia induced by champagne, occurring.  So to tide you over and to pique your interest, while I stuff around writing all the things I am supposed to be writing – like a review of the book for HerCanberra.com.au – par exemple – here is part two (A). The teaser to Part Two.
Some of my favourite moments from after the official ‘launching bit’ and the after party.

@Woogsworld diving into my cleavage to get a better sniff of my perfume (Fracas – for the record).

Giving @deemadigan a lecture on the ACT Legislative Assembly and how it is unicameral.

Dragging @alexricia around to meet people after she had an attack of the shys.

Saving my phone number to @indydreaming’s phone as DUDE! (This only came to light much later – like last week!)

Asking @electric589 why I always imagined the distance between Ariel Booksellers and Dinosaur Designs on Oxford Street, to be much shorter than it actually is, only to cut him off dead when he started to give me a totally serious and sensible answer about spatial perception.

Waiting what seemed liked hours for a pizza with @lgcollard @BenisonAnne @yvettevignando and @Nicky_Lavigne When it finally arrived, after what was actually hours, it was delicious, but we had all pretty much lost interest and were talking about sex. Again.

The Architect whispers sweet nothings to The Author

More more more – and then some – soon.

booktopia.com.au - Australia's #1 online bookstore

It’s me.com … now with added me!

The macinalia getting the me.com groove on

I’ve made a subtle but significant shift to this blog.

It is now self hosted. I know, I know you like the old stuff better than the new stuff.

Soon, you won’t notice a thing, it will look exactly the same.

In the meantime, I will work away quietly tidying up in the background.



On writing

When I first started using Twitter, I noticed the hashtag #amwriting quite often. I even used it once or twice. That was before I understood well, what it meant. Real writers, who write as a job, for pay, use it. I felt ridiculous using it once I realised that and I immediately stopped.

This is not to say that I know nothing of writing. I do. I have a 70, 000 word dissertation under my belt. I am accustomed to solitary hours, trapped at my desk, polishing sentences, planning, forcing ideas to come.


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My heart is heavy

Tomorrow I return to work.

I haven’t been to work since Friday 13 November 2009. Boy was I ready to not go to work anymore that week. I was quite pregnant. I’d had last minute projects heaped on me. My staff were mournfully staring at me and occasionally breaking into not helpful little speeches about how they would miss me. Colleagues came and wrote suggestions on my whiteboard for my weeks post work, but before baby – massages, haircuts, eyebrow waxes, movies. People came past making jokes about seeing my toes – like I couldn’t! Well, I could, if I sat down.  Read More