don’t worry about shame, i’ve got mine

Here in Australia we’re getting a handle on depression. We’ve started to realise that depression isn’t malingering. It’s not laziness. It’s an illness (like and unlike any other), and it cannot be helped. We’ve become careful about how we discuss Depression. This has been driven by Beyond Blue, and the Black Dog Institute, and of…

frustrated writer lets loose in coffee shop

Another day, another café, another attempt at keeping it real with the new novel. I haven’t been to this café for weeks and weeks. I bet they thought I was dead. That’s what I think when a regular stops showing up. ‘Hey, where’s Flat White, Not Too Hot, Guy?’ Was he killed on the weekend?…

no real through line except noticing.

    On the wall of the cafe where I’m meant to be writing the next novel is a watercolour of a tree house. The roof is gabled, the window frames are blue and the trusses supporting the structure are red. the tree itself is a magnificent, a tree-climber’s tree, a tree where dreams are…

to you, Dad

It’s a hot day, sweaty, it’s somebody’s birthday, I don’t know who’s. I can’t remember, but given it’s so hot, I reckon it’s my little sister’s. Yes, it’s only September but this is Queensland. I sit on the front steps of our house. My nose is bleeding, hot days bring blood noses, and the blood has…

o’ brother, who are you?

Fatherhood seems to be a coat you shrug yourself into. It’s heavy, this coat, it’s navy-expensive and wool-warm, fresh off the rack, the coat is starchy. It will mould itself to the shape of its wearer in time. The coat of fatherhood is thick, you’ve got to stand tall to wear it properly. Pockets-deep, stiff…