In a few hours time I may just be with loved ones watching NYE fireworks, eating pizza, enjoying the cool sweetness of ice-cream on a balmy night (or all of the above) but not right now. In this moment I can’t help but take a little time to reflect on the year that was: the year of our Lord 2015. Also more commonly known as as 2015, even ’15 to some unsentimental about four digit figures. There’s a plethora of posts going round right about now that’s all about this line of thought: the highlights (or less commonly, lowlights) of another year that’s whooshed by. There’s a sense of looking at goals set and asking ‘how did I go?’ and there’s also lots of plans being made for next year. All this is good, all this is right. But for my post, I’d like to say that while this year was a fairly great year work wise, it was great in the way I didn’t expect. There were some mistakes, some things that went wrong … …
Fear Of The Unknown + Writing Conferences = Too Scary Box “I’m not scared of anything except going to writing conferences!” Not all that long ago, I could have worn a badge with those words plastered on it… not that I would have wanted to.
Deadlines & Daylesford Dreaming: a travel musing featuring Autumn leaves, lavender and the beauty of a weekender
Today, I took a long lunch break and joined a friend for a literary talk and lunch at the RACV Club in Melbourne.
I admit it, I am constantly thinking about the 18th century and “olden times.”
Weekends are meant for reading, right?
Daydream believer: Honour your creative gifts. (Do it: that’s the essence of this verbose and predictable ramble.)
When you’re smiling. Oh when you’re smiling. The whooooooole world smiles with you. (Sing it Louie!) Oh but when you’re … tired, you bring on the yawns. You bring on the yawns. Did you just sing those words in your head to Louis Armstrong’s famous song, ‘When you’re smiling?’ It would be cool if you did because I just did, and that’s the cool thing about writing – it’s a way of communicating but it’s like this secret way. Secret because the author and reader have an explicit relationship (it’s definitive. Like clockwork.) One writes, the other reads. Or vice versa.