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Showing posts from September, 2016

On the view from the top…of a double-decker bus

I’ve been a user of public transport since forever. I drove a car from 2002-2006 but those are what I call my ‘lost years’. At all other times, my main mode of transportation has been trains, trams and buses. I’ll not go into the reasons I love PT (though the eagle-eyed amongst you would have figured out my PT passion from my blog design) save to say I can’t see myself driving any time soon.
The 96 tram in Melbourne is the best of the best, and it was the tram that got me to work every day and then deposited me back home in North Carlton. While commuting, I distracted myself by listening to podcasts, music or reading my latest book. I also began tweeting from the tram once I realised what an invaluable resource PT was for wacky observations that could be succinctly described in 140 characters.

On being (happily) outside my comfort zone at the Festival of Writing 2016

I nearly flunked out of university. It was the second semester of my first year that proved to be my downfall. I didn’t nearly flunk out because I handed in terrible work, I nearly flunked out because I stopped attending lectures and tutorials. At the time, I told myself I didn’t turn up to my classes because there was too much good coffee and Italian food (my DNA is 80% carb) to sample along Lygon Street (a convenient five-minute walk from campus). But if I’m completely honest, the reason I didn’t turn up to my tutorials especially, was because the thought of having to speak my mind about Classic literature, discuss my opinions about Shakespeare and generally chat with my fellow students/strangers about any topic, gripped my insides with fear. And after a few subjects of sitting in classrooms, racked with nerves as I waited to be called on to speak, my cheeks glowing red just at the thought of saying something embarrassing/stupid/obvious, I realised I was completely outside my comfor…

On accidentally visiting Austenland (aka West Wycombe Park)

I’m a planner. Always have been. Those planners amongst you will know how difficult it is for a planner to become anything other than, well, a planner. Even when writing, I’m more of a ‘plotter’ than a ‘pantser’ (as in fly-by-the-seat-of-your). The one time I didn’t plot out my story and just ‘pantsed’ it, I ended up deleting eighty per cent of my work and was found rocking in the corner of my flat, contemplating a career change to that of a truck driver.
But sometimes I wonder if I've planned my life a little too much, possibly at the expense of missing out on other things. I used to be so petrified of not having an answer for those all-important questions - what subjects did I want to do in my last two years of high school? what did I want to study at uni? what career did I want after uni? - that maybe I answered these questions a little too quickly, with a little too much planning, rather than waiting to see where the universe and my subconscious would take me. To be fair, I ma…

On the privilege of seeing Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (no spoilers, promise!)

Beloved characters from books, films and television shows are often sacred ground for us fans. We have journeyed with them, taken them into our hearts and think about them when our real lives are being a little less than spectacular. And so, when these characters are revisited for what sometimes feels like a money grab, and what sometimes is (I’m sure) a form of closure for the creatives, we wait with the duelling emotions of hope and fear, wondering if those in charge are about to wreck everything. Most often than not, they do wreck things, a lot (Mitch Hurwitz and your Arrested Development season 4 shambles, I’m looking at you!). While I always want more Bridget Jones, Mad About the Boy didn’t quite do it for me and I’m terrified about seeing Bridget Jones’s Baby for fear that watching it will forever ruin the first film and first two books for me. Similarly, I’m nervous about the upcoming Gilmore Girls episodes even though I’d give my right arm to go back to Stars Hollow. And maybe…