one midnight gone!

The weeks flick-flick-flick by, and I need to journal, somewhere, somehow, even if only in fragments, even if only sporadically and devastatingly incompletely, what's been occupying my attention.

Like as not, it will mostly be stories or music that caught at my thoughts, but we'll see, I suppose.

This past few months, I've been reading the Twelve Planet stories. (I did not read my collection. My word-scoured brain does not yet admit that it exists. My cover is present because 11 doesn't tile well.) I hadn't gotten around to starting any of the collections before selling mine; and at that point I was too scared to read them, for fear of the extra draft-throttling pressure I knew I'd put on my own writing. But with the release of Cherry Crow Children into the wilds came freedom, to rest and to consume, and consume I have.

At last I am in the precise know regarding everyone's horror surrounding sugared almonds and that Kaaron Warren story. Also, I think Lisa Hannett and Angela Slatter came up with the best use of a ute ever. My heart has never cheered so hard as it did on finishing Kirstyn McDermott's "The Home For Broken Dolls", and reading Nightsiders now, in the face of Abbott and co's selfish intergenerational theft, is terrifying.

Taking in these stories and collections in the one dazed and desperate session has been like staggering out of sun-scorched wastes into an oasis. I have drunk down each story, greedy for more, and I have emerged on the other side with new, stricter, more nuanced standards by which to judge narratives. It's awesome.


Sometimes, not very often, but sometimes when the winds blow right, the summer heat is kind, and the rain trickles down just so, a woman is born of a jacaranda tree.

Having finished the Twelve Planets, I moved on to the rest of the overwhelming/comfortingly large bookshelf I use as a to-read stack, and picked out Angela Slatter's The Girl With No Hands. Quoted above is the opening paragraph of "The Jacaranda Wife", my absolute favourite line so far, and one of those lines that automatically makes my bones sigh as I sink into a story.


I came across Glitch via a genre-shaming write-up in the local paper. The story centres on a police officer in a small Australian town where six people have just crawled out of their graves. The whole season is currently available on iView; I logged on to watch the first episode and promptly mainlined all six episodes over two sleep-deprived nights.