Radio Interview with Neil Wanstall

I’m so excited. Something Missing is on Amazon Kindle and my new website  glenicewhitting.com has been successfully made live today.

How wonderful to see a book you have published available on the internet, but how do you market and promote your latest novel? By doing everything you can to get the word out there. Let people know how thrilled you are to see this book find it’s legs, hopefully to run.

 This week I found myself in the studio of 3WBC 94.1 fm at 4pm being interviewed by Neil Wanstall on his radio program Roundabout.

I had to choose four songs to play to break up our chatter. My choices were:     The Impossible Dream (from Don Quixote)

The Rose by Bette Midler, Wild Horses and The Wind Beneath My wings because it reminded me of so many people who have supported and helped me along the way. All my writing projects have been a team effort. I have a long list of people who have inspired me over many years. How wonderful to at last have the opportunity to thank them via the acknowledgement pages of my book. You are right up front there Wendy, Mairi , Maureen, Carol-Anne,  Lisa, Julie and  Elizabeth…Wonderful women who                                                               nurture others.

okay, so I am not used to taking selfie’s, but there was no-one around to take our photo. I’ll get the hang of it…one day. I may even remember to smile (scary thought)

This is Neil’s attempt. What is the verdict. Better?

I found the whole experience exciting and time flew. Before I knew it Neil was  signing off and gradually, as I came back down to earth our conversation was a blur. What had we said? Hopefully it was all positive. However, my family say I’m the proverbial Pollyanna: eternally the optimist. But I also know that to get your book accepted by an international publisher like MadeGlobal all the planets need to align. And to market the book takes this thought to another level.

Many thanks to Carol-Anne Croker for introducing me and organising my appointment. My thanks also go to Neil Wanstall, for placing me at ease, and kindly guiding me through this fascinating experience.

Perseverance, Positivity, Practice and Patience

Post robbery, (19th February) the replacement car has still not arrived. It was promised on the 30th March. This week it was going to be on Monday or Tuesday. The recent update is for today. I wait with baited breath and fingers crossed that it actually arrives.

However, the lessons I’ve learnt through writing are standing me in good stead. When you are a writer you learn all about perseverance, how to remain positive, to  practice your craft of writing and to be patient. I remember the positivity of my novel being short listed for the Victorian Premiers Literary Award for an Unpublished Manuscript. The perseverance needed to withstand seventeen rejection letters from publishers before it won the Ilura Press International Fiction Quest. The practice of the writing craft and patience needed to revise the manuscript before the delirious joy of publication.

I am so grateful for these skills when they spill out into everyday life and become part of my nature, part of me.

I have been fortunate. Paul has lent us his car so we can at least continue with our day to day existence. With Paul and Marian’s generosity we are still able to go shopping, visit friends and are not isolated in any way. But we have had it for over a month and it’s time for it to go back.

In the meantime, I’ll call on my writing training and will persevere, be positive and practice patience.

Christmas: remembering fascinating family characters

Christmas is a time to remember the past and to dream for the future.

Tinsel is hung, solar lights flicker and laser lights dance on the water. Christmas has come to the Tidal Canals and we are celebrating another year of sun, sand, great neighbours and good cheer.

Today we drove past our old house in Edithvale and delighted in the changes that have taken place over the years. Opposite was Ma and Pop Whitting’s home and I couldn’t help smiling at my memories of Pop.

My dad was an engineer and pedantic about everything being correctly measured and assembled with care and attention to the finest detail. Pop Whitting used to drive him mad. Pop was a cockney lad  from England and near enough was good enough. I remember the day he decided that the refrigerator in the kitchen was taking up too much room so he grabbed a saw, and cut up the left side of the wall beside the refrigerator, across the top and down the other side. He then shoved the refrigerator back level with the kitchen wall. Brooms, pans and a mop went flying out of the broom cupboard in the laundry behind the refrigerator.

‘Where will I put my brooms?’ Ma cried.     ‘You’ll find somewhere,’ Pop replied. ‘At least you now have more room in the kitchen.’ I’ll never know how he managed to miss cutting the electrical wires inside the broom cupboard . Sheer good luck, I guess. To cover the jagged edges of the sawn kitchen plaster he simply tacked a wooden strapping edge around the fridge  and painted it the same colour as the walls. I’d love to go into the house one day just to see if the refrigerator is still recessed into the laundry cupboard.

Pop was an original, a one off character who lived off his wits. When he was eighty he decided one afternoon to climb a ladder and paint the guttering. No preparation, just slap on as much paint as possible to cover any dirt. He happily painted a section of the gutter before deciding it was time for a cup of tea. Balancing the nearly full open paint tin on top of the ladder he proceeded to climb down. On reaching the bottom rung he looked up in time to see the tin of paint spill all over him. Thank goodness he was wearing glasses because it covered him from his bald head to the tops of his shoes. Instead of standing still, he yelled ‘Ma’ and proceeded to slosh down the side way, around the back of the house and into the kitchen leaving a trail of white paint behind him. It was left to Ma to clean up and the rest of the guttering was never painted.

My dad, on hearing the news shook his head and said, ‘You mean he didn’t even sandpaper the guttering before he started?’

Family characters. How they fill our memories and our hearts with love. 

Part Two: To mesh or not to mesh

Many women suffer in silence when they have a vaginal prolapse . However, if they decide to do something about it there are many decisions that need to be made.

It felt right for me to have my prolapse fixed now instead of putting my head in the sand hoping it would all go away. I did not want to wait until I had female urinary incontinence due to my prolapse, both common, though seldom discussed consequences of childbirth and ageing.

But who to see? My gynecologist retired years ago. I remember going to see Janet Duke when I was fifty-one and had debilitating period problems. I explained the drugs I was taking to alleviate the condition. She lent back in her chair, fixed me with a steely gaze and asked, ‘Is your husband still alive?’ ‘Yes’, I replied. ‘That’s a wonder’ she said smiling. ‘I thought you might have killed him by now.’ She went on to explain that the extreme levels of testosterone in my medication usually resulted in aggression. Alan was lucky. Instead of attacking anyone I hauled huge honeycomb rocks and placed them around the edge of a new garden. I look at them now and shake my head in wonder.  I was a much calmer person after the hysterectomy.

The main cause of vaginal prolapse is the weak muscles, tissues, and ligaments that support the vagina, surrounding tissues and organs. The factors that can cause vaginal prolapse include frequent lifting of heavy objects, chronic cough, severe constipation, menopause, childbirth and advanced age.

Surgery is done to restore the vagina and the pelvic organs back to their respective positions and provide symptomatic relief. It helps to prevent further damage of pelvic floor muscles. Vaginal prolapse surgery may be done through laparoscopy or other forms of surgery.

There has been no need for a gynecologist since 1994. I spoke to my GP who had been to a lecture on prolapse at the Royal Women’s Hospital only the night before my visit. Armed with a referral to a well recognized surgeon I went home and intensively researched anything I could find on a bladder prolapse. There is a lot of information on the web but you have to be careful it is not just an advertisement. I decided to go to the source and looked up articles in medical journals.

The surgeon I was going to see practiced the latest techniques. He did keyhole surgery called Sacral colpopexy.  In this procedure, one end of a strap of mesh is attached to the top of the vagina and the other end is attached to the upper part of sacrum situated at the base of the spine. When I saw him he discussed the procedure at length and took time to explain in detail what he recommended. It was a positive experience and I came out feeling that this may well have been the answer to many women’s problems.

However, I’m allergy prone, even to not using Elastoplast and also have an arthritic spine. I had seen reports in some of the journals that mentioned possible problems with the mesh. At a social gathering I met a friend who had this procedure done, had developed complications and was part of a class action against the mesh manufacturers. This led to more research. The details of the class action papers were very disturbing .  Everyone is an individual and I seriously began to question if this procedure was right for me. Then the out of pocket expenses information arrived. The doctor’s fee was $2, 500 above medicare and my private health fund. I knew he was worth it but that’s a lot to find. One comment was, ‘You could go on a cruise around the islands for that’.

I threw myself onto the mercy of a nursing friend and begged for her assistance. I wanted the name of a caring gynecologist who gave you a choice of not having mesh. She recommended Dr Mark Lawrence at Bayside Women’s Health 622 Centre Rd Bentleigh.

My GP, who knows Dr Lawrence,  reassured me that he is an excellent gynecologist who for many years has been treating women’s problems and is constantly doing vaginal repairs. I immediately checked out the website and was suitably impressed, not only by the range of services offered but the obvious long term connection with well known hospitals. And he looked kind with just a hint of a quirky sense of humour.

The waiting room is full of women of all ages. Two young women are heavily pregnant and sit in comfy chairs. Hanging on the walls are cloth covered boards filled with pinned pictures of smiling parents and newborns. Many are cradled in Dr Lawrence’s arms. Thank you letters abound. ‘Thank you for our family bliss’ etc. Beside me sits and eighty-five year old woman . We flick through magazines, watch fish  lazily swim around their aquarium and wait our turn.

After checking me out, Dr Lawrence talks about a procedure that he has done successfully for many years. No mesh, no external cuts, push the bladder, and anything else, back into position, and use self dissolving stitches to strengthen and repair the vaginal wall. He is positive, friendly and willing to discuss everything on my now long list of questions. He made it sound run of the mill, simple, an in and out job. Two nights in Cabrini and then home to rest and recuperate. Would I need pain relief, like morphine? Unlikely. Would I be able to take my Memoir Writing Class, for two hours, only a week after leaving hospital? Definitely. He was confident that the problem would be fixed and I believed him. But could it be so easy? It sounded too good to be true.

However, I decided to book in that day with Dr Lawrence at Cabrini Malvern  for the tried and true method of repair.

No mesh for me.

I just wanted to get in, get done and get over it 

I’ve just received notice that if anyone is interested, there is an Amazon promotion of the book by Ian Richardson, God’s Triangle . For the next 24 hours. it is being offered for free. This is an amazing opportunity to get your hands on a great book covering the true and touching story of why the marriage of Australian Baptist missionaries, Frank E. Paice and Florence M. “Florrie” Cox, fell apart in mysterious circumstances in East Bengal (now Bangladesh) during the First World War. An investigation into why the Supreme Court of Victoria in Melbourne considered the divorce so sensitive that the file was ordered to be “closed for all time”. It is well researched and a thought provoking story.

Happy reading.

Sails on the Bay and the Grill and Grape.

Two wonderful occasions, two excellent meals. Treasured memories of Alan’s birthday celebrations.

This birthday had not started out well. Alan had gastro, then the flu followed by a nasty cold. Paul and Marian had arranged for a special meal out at Sails on the Bay at Elwood and Jason and Karen in Queensland had sent an online voucher for dinner for two at The Grill and Grape at Hampton. Unfortunately both had to be cancelled. Alan was far too poorly to appreciate or savor a good meal at this stage. He was living on small amounts of home made chicken broth and dry toast. Not the sort of thing you have to celebrate a special occasion.

Later, when Alan’s tasted buds had recovered, Paul and Marian took us to Sails on the Bay. The following Friday evening we booked using Jason and Karen’s voucher at the Grill and Grape. The menus at both places were superb.

           

At Sails we had an entree of *Barramundi ceviche, jalapeno, coriander, lime & avocado followed by delicious, melt in the mouth, braised beef. At the Grill and Grape we enjoyed delicious Calamari with rocket and pear salad followed by a well cooked paella chock full of fresh ingredients. At both restaurants  we enjoyed an excellent shiraz.

     

I’m sure these uplifting outings ensured that Alan had a complete and speedy recovery. There is nothing better than an excellent atmosphere, fabulous surroundings, good food and wine to reassure you that you have returned to the land of the living and good times lie ahead. We feel incredibly fortunate.

       

                

A family is like a circle
the connection never ends
and even if at times it breaks
in time it always mends
A family is like a book
the endings never clear
but through the pages of the book
love is always near

Yesterday a special friend bought me a huge bunch of purple statice flowers. How wonderful to be able to spread the joy by giving others something to brighten their day

Ben, Hoda and their Kabt Ill Katab

How wonderful is a wedding in any language.

Hoda and Ben recently realized they had found their soul mate. Last Friday, surrounded by family and friends  they joined hands and declared their love in a magical wedding ceremony against a backdrop of the sun setting in a blaze of glory over Port Phillip Bay.

Living next door to an Egyptian Family for over fifteen years has been a delightful experience. We have learnt so much over those years and been included in many celebratory occasions: cakes at the end of Ramadan, sweets and gifts exchanged at Christmas and bowls of nuts, spices and snacks during the year have not only expanded our culinary tastes but also our knowledge of a different culture. Both families respect and understand their different religions. To be Christian or Muslim simply means trying to be the best people we can be.  To me, we are taking different paths that lead to the same destination.

It has been a privilege to watch Hoda grow from a vivacious little girl into a beautiful young woman. We met Ben for the first time on Friday night and immediately fell in love with his outgoing friendly nature and happy smile. His entire family were supportive, fun loving people.

 

We wondered how different this marriage ceremony would be compared to the others we had attended and were amazed at the similarities. Out of respect for the English and Arabic cultures present, the Imam conducted the ceremony in both English and Arabic . Both fathers gave their blessing, the happy couple said ‘I do’, papers were signed, cake cut, and, instead of a soprano singing Oh Perfect Love, Hoda and Ben had an Australian belly dancer who, much to the delight of the guests, managed to entice the recently married couple to join her dance.

  

The wedding breakfast was superb. How wonderful to be able to taste a portion of all the entrees, mains and sweets, instead of having to choose one or the other.  Sometimes it’s impossible to decide

     

 

 

We have a special relationship with Hoda’s grandmother.and were delighted to see her surrounded by her lovely daughters and son. I wanted to take a picture of them all together but we were all so busy having a good time the evening was over before we realized it.

The most fun came from a photo booth set up to one side of the restaurant. We wandered over to see what all the shrieks of delight were about only to be dragged in front of the hidden camera. Hats were plonked onto our heads. Because you had no idea when the photo would be taken some of the photos were hilarious. Ours included.

Several seconds later we were handed a strip of photos which we then put into a book  and were asked to write a message to Hoda and Ben . Our photos followed a collection of very funny pictures complete with rabbit ears and hysterically laughing faces. The caption  underneath was ‘Your crazy cousins’. I loved that Hoda’s name had the Wonder Woman sign beside it and Ben was obviously Superman.

We had a wonderful evening and wish Hoda and Ben a long and happy life together

Ode to Age

A mother and son’s view of old age.

 

Some people/sons think this way

The numbers are increasing,
The demographic kind,
Of ageing baby boom cohorts
In biological decline.

They swamp the health care system
Become seniors by the score.
I wish they were invisible
Then death we could ignore.

My parents have retired
To devote their lives to pleasure.
What a boring lifestyle
Using up unlimited leisure.

Maybe a worthwhile part-time job
With status will assist them
To productively remain
Locked into the capitalist system.

Dear old Dad has passed away.
We all must go sometime.
Will Mum come and live with us
Or go to Shady Pines?

What? Sell the house tomorrow
And buy into a village
With pool and spa and golf course
And gain a millionaire’s image?

But won’t she feel so guilty
As she lays out in the sun?
Great grandma would be saying
‘Are you sure the work is done?’

               

Mum’s reply
The time has gone for guilt.
I’ve always worked, my dear,
It’s time for me to play
And enjoy my remaining years.

But something strange is happening
I’m not as spry as you
Things I once thought easy
Are now difficult to do.

My teeth sit in a glass
My hair has gone so thin
Now I’m even noticing
A spare tyre and double chin.

My body is getting older
It’s drooping more each day
And I find you try and help me
As I stagger and I sway

I think you see your mother
In obvious decline
Well look a little closer,
I’ve a young, inquiring mind.

And yet I do have fears
Of darkness, death and healthcare
And need the extra security
Of a buzzer and of welfare.

But don’t lump us all together
As an old decrepit bunch.
I make my own decisions
And that’s what really counts.

I’ll live my life with enthusiasm
Right up to my last day
So don’t weep when I leave quietly
In my euthanasia way.

But in the meantime darling
I really don’t need much,
Just let me live life my way
And always keep in touch.

Gloria MacKay: Throwing Sticks and Skipping Stones

Gloria MacKay, (born in the USA)

This is one of those books that entices you to leave dishes in the sink and the floor unswept until you finish the last story. At least that was what I wanted to do, but as always, the phone rang, emails needed to be answered and problems solved. However, no matter how much life disrupts your precious reading time you will thoroughly enjoy this book. For me, knowing the author makes the experience even more delicious.

Throwing Sticks and Skipping Stones contains bite sized true life story excerpts, life lessons, thoughts and rants on every subject possible. this is a  well-written book I was able to delve into one satisfying, thought-provoking story at a time.

For instance, on Monday, before heading off to a Dr’s appointment, I read High Tides and enjoyed the references to the sayings of Mark Twain.  In the waiting room it was Taking Care of Your Edges. After lunch with friends, Running Fast Through Fields of Yellow Tulips. That night in bed, glasses balanced on my nose, Hocus Pocus. My dreams were filled with marvellous magical imaginings.

Tami Brady comments : Some of these topics make you laugh until your sides hurt. Other stories remind the reader to take advantage of the important things in life. All of these stories are entertaining.

I found on reading these stories that I completely relaxed and the busyness and worries of the day melted away.

About Gloria

She  was born in Seattle. Gloria strays, occasionally, farther than she can throw a stick or skip a stone, but always finds her way home. She like writing stories about the pacific northwest of the USA: the beaches, forests, people and mountains. For ten years she read the stories she wrote on KPLU News-for Seattle and the Northwest. The radio station encouraged her to read what she writes: about women and children and men and fog and death and taxes. Collectively, non-selectively, is the presence of her four sons, four grandchildren, and their families and friends who cement time and distance together. Gloria’s writing appears in various anthologies including Forget Me Nots from the Front Porch (Obadiah Press) and Don’t Sweat Stories: Inspirational Anecdotes from Those Who’ve learned How Not to Sweat It (Hyperion).

Chalk Dustings, a fascinating collection of Gloria’s poetry and prose, is published by Aquillrelle.

In 2001 the Fifty-Plus News  publicised a short-story competition. I joined nine other winners at a celebratory gathering in Melbourne. There I met one of the judges, a kind be-whiskered man, Alan Wheatley who encouraged me to write for his Australian literary ezine. I submitted to Bonzer and Bonzer Plus for years and enjoyed belonging to this international online writing community.

Gloria heard about Bonzer in 1994 from Helen Polaski, the editor of The Rocking Chair Reader, an anthology that was publishing one of Gloria’s stories. She became an integral part of both Bonzer and Bonzer Plus when she was appointed editor.

At a Bonzer conference in Adelaide I was thrilled to finally meet Gloria. We discovered we shared an overwhelming passion for writing from the heart and soul and revelled in discussions about our current writing projects. We kept in touch on and off via Bonzer. When Alan Wheatley died, so did Bonzer and I lost touch with my Bonzer friends.

Recently I posted Writing from Mourning here at wordpress , and who should send me a comment, but Gloria. We live on opposite sides of the globe but we now use the magic of the internet to talk about writing. It seems strange when I tell her about Melbourne’s frost encrusted mornings while she swelters during ‘the warmest, driest, burning, sunnyist month of her existence.’

Recently a parcel turned up at my door containing several books and I couldn’t wait to read the funny, pithy anecdotes of life in America. I’m sure many followers will relate to her poem from Chalk Dustings, Reader’s Lament.

Words await me

out there in the dark,

on the table by the couch

next to my glasses.

My new skinny navy blue wires

and those oversized gold ones for older readers,

bifocals precisely incised. I can read with either.

 

In the morning I always find them together

where the books are

as though there’s been a party

and I wasn’t invited.

I don’t like to turn off the lights

and go to bed, leaving unseen words behind

like children I have met

or chocolates in a box,

 

but even readers need sleep.

So there I lie twitching legs

and sweaty head not meant to dent a pillow

reusing worn out dreams

like threadbare jeans

while down the hallway pages wave

as words creep out in conga lines

slithering through the night.

 Last night I took both books to the Mordialloc Writer’s Group meeting run by Mairi Neil. Everyone wants to read them and took details on where and how they can be purchased. I know they will enjoy the books as much as I have. However, next Monday I will lend them to my cousin who has just moved into residential care and wrings her hands when she says, ‘I have nothing to read.’

Reviews for Throwing Sticks and Skipping Stones

By John Paul Newbury

• Who can forget the smells and sounds of childhood? Well Gloria sure doesn’t forget. They are as clear to her today as they were when they began. Events, ordinary and not so, stay fresh in her mind ready for the day of release into white. Her well is so deep, the vault so huge that Gloria will go on writing anew well beyond the time many lay down their pens. Chalk Dustings contains unpretentious words, not so iambic, some rhyme many don’t, they flow, river-like, straight into her beloved Puget Sound. Don’t know where that is? Well you will have to read Heather’s review of Gloria’s other 2012 offering. Gloria presents poems and verse; some might say short stories though these extensions span rhythmic and melodic lines. The words have meaning, natural nodes, marching in tune to music you start to hear, reminding me of the Nietzsche quote: ‘And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music’. Gloria hears the music.
•  
• By Mary Trimble
  CHALK DUSTINGS by Gloria MacKay is a rare slice of homespun philosophy. MacKay’s unique view of life, evident on every page of poignant poetry and insightful prose, is sometimes charming, sometimes witty. Her wisdom gives you something to think about while recognizing life as a mixed bowl of beans. MacKay’s poetry, laced with wisdom and observations, is rich with truisms. She shares with us heart-warming wisdom that only someone who has really lived can do. Scattered throughout the book, short prose defines life according to Gloria MacKay. She manages to impart amusing yet milestone moments that have defined the person she is. One of my favorites is the last, “Salt Is More Than a Seasoning,”in which she shares her love for Puget Sound. The piece gives life to a body of water that many would take for granted.
• CHALK DUSTINGS is a book you’ll put in a special place, the kind of book you’d be proud to give to someone special in your life.

What stopped this writer from writing?

Life in all its complexities.

The funeral of a friend, the blue screen of death on my beloved computer and the overwhelming urge to clean up years of clutter. All things that everyone experiences at some time or another. However, coming one on top of the other they were enough to make me stumble and forget to nurture myself. I fell off my trusty steed and needed to once again go confidently in the direction of my dreams.

This post is my way of getting back on the horse. To once again feel the wind in my face and the joy of writing.

When I sent Paul a photo of the blue message on my computer screen the text back read, ‘It doesn’t look good. I’ll call in after work’. It reminded me of years ago when he gave me my first computer. Several years later I rang him saying that the screen was blank etc. and asking what could I do. His reply was, ‘Have you got a shovel?’ ‘Yes’ Well dig a hole and bury it.’ I love his sense of humour. Repeating what he did then, he has once again replaced my laptop with this amazing new model plus a new matching printer. He also managed to save all my documents, files, folders and programs. I now have no excuse not to write.

I love to write anything and everything, across genres and back again. but most of all I find myself writing autobiographical stories based on life experiences.

Recently a friend sent me a lovely card containing reflections by Emily Mathews

‘Like leaves upon a summer breeze, hearts are stirred by memories-those happy-to-remember things. like childhood friends and old porch swings. Family stories told for ages, daydreams tucked between life’s pages. Teardrops spent and laughter shared. Questions asked, adventures dared. Memories stir the heart because there’s joy found in ‘the way it was’.

I believe everyone who wants to tell a story can if they start by writing down one story and then keep going. It sounds simple but it’s far from easy. Maybe record stories in an exercise book, or if , like me, you like writing on a computer, keep a simple private blog.

What I love is the sheer joy of writing. the intimate relationship between me and the page. I treasure my family and writing friends and through writing I hold communion with my deepest self.

Writing fills my heart, my pages and my life.

A writer’s Journey

How do writers discover their love of writing?

Some authors have always been readers and writers. They have grown up surrounded by books and have imagined or written stories all their lives. Others discover, like me, their love of writing by chance.

Follow your dreams

“Write one page on anything you like,” our VCE English teacher said. The other students started to write, but I felt numb, apart from an overwhelming fear that made my hands shake. I knew my children were proof that my body was fertile, but what if my mind was barren? I wrapped my bulky cardigan around me and commenced to scrawl anything, just as long as the paper wasn’t blank.

How many girls were told, “She doesn’t need a higher education. She’ll only get married and have children.” So we tucked our dreams, along with the hand-embroidered linen, into our glory-box.

My life moved on from the frenzied earning and child rearing years. I remember sitting in the Robert Blackwood Hall, witnessing my son receive his university degree and thinking about the difference in our education. At fourteen, I’d left Malvern Girls’ Domestic Arts School to start an apprenticeship. Over the years, in an attempt to self-educate, I’d tried to read the dynamo labelled school books in the bookcase, but they were hard to understand. How could I relate to my two sons? Already they were trying to talk to me in a foreign language of hyperlinks and megabytes. I felt an overwhelming desire for knowledge and decided to go back to school.

Could I cope? What if I failed? My mantra became, ‘one day at a time’, and like a learner swimmer flung into the deep end of the pool I clung to my life buoy of supportive teachers and classmates.

Several weeks later the worst was over and I was part of a triathlon team. We powered forward, exhilarated in heart and mind. With the help of dedicated teachers the code was finally broken to my son’s books and they revealed so many previously hidden biological facts and literary treasures. Acceptance at TAFE, and later Monash, Melbourne and Swinburne Universities, resulted in a joyful ongoing journey of discovery, but the greatest discovery of all was my own innate ability to learn, and most important of all, to write.

   

These days, the long hours tapping away seem only minutes. I write anything and everything and beside me is a novel, Pickle to Pie. What writer worth her salt hasn’t written The Book? It was with great pleasure, via an acknowledgements page, to formally thank the many supportive and inspiring University lecturers, TAFE teachers, writing friends, the Mordialloc Writing Group, my family and friends who have helped me on my journey. Their kindness and generosity has changed my life and I no longer have a vague feeling of ‘something missing’.

I am no longer at ‘school’, but after finally completing the writing journey from VCE to PhD I want to say to other mature aged women who yearn for knowledge and need the help of others to show them the way, “Don’t be afraid to take the plunge. It is never too late to follow your dreams.”