My Story Begins

Another project I dearly want to finish in the next year.

Following the Crow Song

I was trawling back through early versions of my memoir the last two days and reoorganising it. It could be written sometime soon and it feels good to begin to see its structure as well, but back to the other novel and the memoir can sit and stew, although I am making notes of memories I’d like to add to it when I feel I can’t work on the novel. It could be three books, or one book with three to four sections.

“My story begins with the love story of my parents to be, in Papua New Guinea in the late 1960s. Dad when he reads my first telling of their story in a short piece called ‘Lost in the Bush’ says, ‘You make it sound so much like a movie.’ And it’s true: it has that feeling about it, because it’s an epic story about the coming together…

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A Day with a Song Writer – Saturday Writing Sagas

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Melinda – By June Perkins

So a break from ebooks for this week, and a break from home on Friday to spend a day listening to some of the original songs of Melinda Irvine and working on the art of portrait photography.

Melinda was doing her best to forget the camera was in my hand as she played sitting at her favourite door/window. The light was amazing, dappling across her face and the guitar. It was like observing someone meditating through their songs and music. At first Melinda was  aware of the camera, but gradually as we spoke between songs she was able to just be natural and just think of her music.

How had this day come about?

I asked if anyone of my friends wanted or knew someone needing portraits of an intuitive kind done who would let me practice on them for my folio work, and also to prepare some entries for competitions. I was keen to give my dear children a break from mum the photographer, and create some new and interesting portraits.

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In the Moment – June Perkins

So here I was in Mel’s tranquil creative space.  Filled with birds, her garden and music.  We had a brilliant talk that I will never forget. Mel told me about the many hours she spends practicing, and the time she is devoting to mastering the guitar.

She shared stories about travels, childhood in Nambucca heads, song writing, the creative process.  Hmm perhaps I should have had my video with me to do an interview, maybe next time?

Going through the portraits now I see
a woman at one with her guitar
striving for a song to move the hearts
to understand prejudices in our world

Fingernails painted to match her guitar
appreciating each day at it arrives
seeing the past with fresh insights
painting the world in song . . .

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Flowers at Melinda’s – June Perkins

Tardis Trap

Zir at Wikipedia

It’s a fun afternoon out on the East Devonport Streets.

We have all been taking turns to pretend we are in Doctor Who’s Tardis, actually it’s an old cupboard we have found on the street, but we have imagined it new.  Everyone pops in and out and all seems safe and fun.  I love watching Doctor Who, being terrified by it, and hiding behind the couch when the monsters become too much.  Butterflies in my tummy are what makes life so interesting.  I’d rather that than be bored.

When people come out we pretend to be monsters chasing the Doctor and sometimes his companions.  Some of us are great actors.

We see how many people fit into the old cupboard.

We play chases.

But now on my turn to be the Doctor someone has decided to lock the door.   My assistant has not followed me.  It’s dark in here. I am banging on the door. I am afraid I won’t be able to breathe. All I can hear are giggles and whispers.  It is all too real.

‘Let me out, Let me out,’ my desperation is making them laugh even more. I begin to sob. I bang on the doors. Their noise dies down and lots of them sound like they are running away.

One brave, break away kid, opens it up, and then he too runs away. I don’t see his face.

I jump out of the cupboard. I have moved forward in time. Now there are no neighbourhood friends, only hot tears streaming down my face and a breath of fresh air to bask in.

I run all the way home, not looking back, only looking forward.

Written in Response to Write Practice ‘Tap into your Inner Child’