Earlier this year I was interviewed by Writing NSW and Writers Victoria for their newsletters:

Q. Do you need different skills when writing true stories as opposed to writing fiction?

I think you need a mix of the same skills and some different skills. To write true stories that will engage your readers you usually need to include vivid scenes, complex and believable character portraits, small memorable details, resonant universal themes, careful pacing, and authentic dialogue. All of these are also classic ingredients in fiction. But non-fiction writing is constrained by the need to be as truthful as possible, which can require careful research, fact checking and honest self-inquiry. The readers of true stories are looking for authenticity, not fantasy. They want vicarious experiences.

Everywhere you go, people are shrugging and saying it is what it is. It’s the English equivalent of c’est la vie or che sera sera, a reluctant acceptance of the facts, a resignation to fate. A comforting platitude for these discomforting times. But right now, it feels like nothing is what it is.

Dear Minister,

No doubt your government has been inundated with submissions about the problems with university governance in Australia, following the recent Senate Inquiry into the Quality of governance at Australian higher education providers. The bloated salaries of Vice-Chancellors and managers. The declining enrolments of local students. The growing budget deficits. The ballooning spending on external consultants, and the conflicts of interest at the highest levels. But I want to tell you a personal story, an anecdotal tale of lived experience as university employee. A story of institutional disrespect, disinterest and dissimulation. 

I’m standing semi-naked in a room without windows and there’s a woman pushing and pulling at my left breast.

“Just relax your shoulders, yes, that’s good’, she says as I lean in to hug a huge white machine. I don’t want to be here, but I’m so grateful to be here. This woman and her machine could save my life.

Every couple of years a letter arrives in the mail, suggesting I attend a free Breast Screen appointment. These letters began arriving when I turned fifty and even during the Covid lockdowns the screenings continued, carried out by tired nurses in large caravans parked outside community centres.

I’ve been missing blogging so here I am again, with Some Thoughts. Or more accurately, some recommendations. The world is looking pretty grim right now. Despots, dys-bots, billionaire cranks, venal banks, climate shifts, social rifts … If you think about it for too long it becomes hard to breathe. So I am actively seeking out inputs and experiences that remind me there are still pleasures to be found in the Now, even if Later seems as scary as all get out.