You Imagine What You Desire. That was the slogan of this year’s Sydney Biennale. I was a guest of the Sydney Writers Festival (which coincided with the Biennale) this May, fulfilling one of the myriad small ambitions I’d always had as a writer. I was on a panel at the Town Hall with world-famous authors I admired; I stayed at a hotel on the harbour, with a view of the bridge from my window. Each morning, I ate my complimentary breakfast overlooking the water, my table adjacent to ‘peers’ like Christos Tsiolkas, A.M. Homes or Tara Moss. It felt like […]
Archives for September 2014
When I’m in the midst of writing, it’s almost impossible to read fiction. Either my mind drifts away to my own story (at which point I return to the laptop) or my eyes snag on every sentence, in praise or criticism, deconstructing its pros and cons until coming to the conclusion I have absolutely no idea about anything. If the novel is especially good, I’m demoralised. Why bother? I think. I’ll never write anything as worthy. So it’s best to avoid fiction when writing it. Fortunately/unfortunately, I haven’t written for the past few months. With the absence of deadlines, my […]
Linguistics and the language of despair in fiction from Kate Elkington
I skipped to the back of Marina Chapman’s The Girl with No Name to count how many pages were left. As I released my hold of the final pages, a scrap of paper slipped out, and fluttered into my dressing-gowned lap. It read: I’d like 2 read this @ some point! ♥ No name. I put my book down—a rare tangential gesture at this point in the story—to study the handwriting. Each letter, heavily double-drawn, stood alone and slanted to the right, while the baseline was as straight as those in the book. It didn’t belong to any of my […]
O where are the Mister Potato Heads of yesteryear?
the slithering eye of filleted beef
ripe with syrupy god-fuel stuff.
Poetry from Paul Scully