Writing

I’ll be doing a reading at the Emerging Writers’ Festival book launch at Bertha Brown on Oct 12th.

I’ll be speaking at the Emerging Writers’ Festival on May 30th.

I will be doing a reading from Beat at the Williamstown Literary Festival on May 2nd.

My first book, Does My Vagina Look Fat in This? is a (perhaps perpetual) work in progress.

My novel, Beat, landed me a residency at Varuna in Sydney and is currently doing the rounds.

You can read a published flash fiction piece called The Beast here.

Below is an excerpt from Beat.

Beat

Beat is about beats of time and what they mean: the beat of a heart; knowing someone for a brief moment and the impact this can have on your life; how short each life here can be. It explores the nature of relationships – with our parents, our spouse, our selves, our spirit. Beat is about a mother who holds on too tight and the consequences of that. It’s about a man who is forced to face the truth of his life and the vastness of his spirit. Beat is a love story. And it’s about a woman who is forced to confront her ego and uncovers her compassion.

Excerpt from Chapter Two

The force that split Claire Rossetti’s forehead open and obliterated her jaw was a man and he was lying crumpled and twisted half on her lap and half on the gear shaft, an arm flung casually across Adam as if they were old friends. The man was wearing a motorbike helmet painted orange and black. Adam’s head was resting on the window at a gentle angle as if he was deep in thought. Ahead was commotion. In the car with the new car smell of leather and polish a quiet calm was broken by an odd assortment of sounds that began to form a sort of curious harmony. Small, thick chunks of glass from the windscreen were falling everywhere, like spiked rain; over the mangled dash; from the body of the motorcyclist; from Adam’s mother’s head and shoulders; from the back seat and the roof, tinkling. There was a creaking sound, metallic and dull, as if the car itself was shaking out the glass and counting the broken bones – and there was a sonorous rasping sound that floated under all of this – an escaping of air through a hole that wasn’t there before and shouldn’t be there now. Soon the harmony faded away leaving one lone line of melody to carry on on its own; the rasping of air through a hole that shouldn’t be there; a body wrecked; requiem of a modern age.