Dodo Au Go-Go

Before you start reading, it helps to know that Indi is the girl on the right and Bodie is the boy on the left. Indi: Our humans putting weird Things on our heads... Hey. You have treat? I want treat.  Bodie: Omnomnom. Treat yum, but stupid Thing on head. Hurry. Chew treat. Get Thing off head. 

It's often rainy or overcast when the kangaroos come out to play. And they did just that last week, coming as part of a casual mob, grooving around the green grass for a graze and gossip. ('Mob', by the way, is the collective noun for kangaroos).  See the one under the tree, sheltering from the rain (top right)? 

I tweeted a late night thought a little while ago: During the night, all your scratched out & deleted words rise into the air to make their own stories.  A reply from the lovely @bobbibowwoman , "Damn, bet it's a good one" , made me suddenly think about the idea of actually giving life to deleted words

When the wind comes to you from a place of perfume and possibility, Caressing your face with promises, And

It's the last week of August 2015. Which also means it's the last week of winter 2015. In Australia, that is. There have been hints - little breaths and soft whispers - that spring has been stirring, stretching its arms, and beguiling winter out if its customary grumpy cold. Magic undercurrents of watermelon freshness have been dancing through the air, and now, the signs of spring are

I read something years ago about Anais Nin being part of a community of writers (including Henry Miller) who were getting paid  $1 a page to write, shall we say, 'explicit' stories for an anonymous, wealthy collector. You can find out more about the story itself easily enough, but the thing that really struck me and stayed with me, was that Nin was part of a group of writers who hung out together, worked in a collective and were trying to make a living through writing, creating.  How, I always wondered, did these writers all find each other? I mean, I assume that they were all hanging out at the same cafés or salons  or gatherings all the time, but still... How did they go from crossing paths to having and sharing a writing community and culture?

How a piece of micro-fiction that had no right to be anything more, grew up to become a published piece of flash-fiction - with my reflections on the writing process along the way. I received some wonderful news in June. A flash-fiction story I submitted for a special edition of the SirensCall ezine was accepted, and was published at the end of June. Oh, all right, all right. Since you insist, the link to SirensCall ezine issue is here: http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_June2015.pdf The most amazing thing about this story is how it happened.