In praise of a writer with a feel for life - its beauty and its terror.
Go walking! Name the world. See what you find. See what finds you.
Long-term travel can be rewarding. The hard part is coming home and making sense of it. That, too, is a form of travel.
March, 2010. A pub in Williamstown. My wedding day. 'Re: Stacks' by Bon Iver.
So you cannot make a living from your writing; you can make a life. Every word, another footprint. Every piece, another breath.
I leave the fence when the siren rings to step across the heavy field and gather at the edges of the Spotswood huddle.
He swims. Almost every morning and usually before sunrise. In any season. In any weather. And never in a wetsuit. Strange and wonderful.
When the weather is good and the tide is right, Joe goes fishing, down where the Yarra River meets Port Phillip Bay.
On a stretch of land, by Melbourne's Maribyrnong River, there rises the most improbable sight: a 16-metre statue of the Heavenly Queen.
You write to be published. But if it never happens, stay open and alive to life. Be secret and exult.