Sunday, June 25, 2006


I like sundays. I usually get more writing done on Sunday than any other day of the week, what with the sleeping and the not working.

I spent the afternoon googling Gods for two different stories - one to make a world and one to swallow a world*. Then sat outside and wrote until it was too cold. The cold creeps up on you when you are writing, I didn't notice it until I was shivering, and the only warm spot was where the dog was curled up next to me.

Since I've moved up to Brisbane I've thoroughly acclimatised. Nineteen degrees and I'm scrambling for a jumper. Winter in Gunnedah, even Lismore, was a hell of a lot colder. We had a wood burner, and I remember sitting in front of it reading, and utterly glad I wasn't outside.

Of course everything has a price.

Those burners went through a few loads of wood each winter.

Dad would borrow a mate's trailer and take me and my brother out into the scrub, find a dead tree and start chain sawing. Man, the horrible things that used to come pouring out of that wood, venomous looking centipedes the size of your forearm, huntsman spiders, tiny scorpions, the occasional snake. None of them that happy about being disturbed.

And, all the while, Dad, the one with the chainsaw and a good bit of distance from all that swarming, slithering venom, would be blithely yelling, "Get it into the trailer, kids!"

Don't remember being bitten, though.

* and let me just say, thank you, Ancient Egypt, your mythology is most, most cool.

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