and the mome raths outgrabe

Sometime last year, my bank (in a fit of promotional madness) sent me a couple of free movie tickets. I can't remember why — I think I answered a survey or some such inanity. Anyway, not the point. The point is that the free movie tickets were for Greater Union cinemas, of which Melbourne has […]

then posh spice got on my tram

Internets, let me tell you about my morning. Because do you know what happened this morning? The world got its crazy on, that's what happened. Hands up who remembers Mr LOOK! BALLOONS!? I've seen him around a couple of times since that apparently alarmingly magical morning. He's never been quite so enthused since, and I've […]

dear grandchildren: your grandmother has the wrong number

There is in Melbourne a little old Eastern European1 lady, who has the wrong number. Namely, my direct line at the dayjob. She doesn't call often, all told. Somehow, she knows exactly when I'm not at my desk, be it through illness or holiday or simply the fact that it's 9 p.m. on a Sunday […]

i for one applaud your effort, sir

There is, near my work, an odd little lane affording free parking (and therefore choked with cars by about 7.30 a.m.) and access to the foot-and-rail bridge which is the quickest way across the river from work. It runs at the foot of the embankment holding up the rail lines, so along with cars it's […]


On a quiet Sunday morning, I can hear the trains rattling by. I don't live close enough that they're audible with each passing (thankfully), but when the world is still outside my window then I can hear it, the distant clatter-and-clack, clatter-and-clack of an electric train rushing over tracks originally built to accommodate steam engines. […]

Death Tarot, by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law

honesty vs openness

I've been thinking, lately, about honesty and openness, and how that pertains to my blog. I am always honest; I am not necessarily always entirely open. That should be no surprise. This blog is a public space, and I aspire to behave professionally in public spaces, so I don't, for example, allow myself to be […]

The Facade Doesn't Fit, by Luke Chueh

bad mother, no biscuit

So here's something obvious if only I'd stopped to think about it: an overnight trip with a 4 month old is a bit brutal. This weekend, Squawk, the pterosaur and I tripped up to Sydney for the Aurealis Awards. We went partly because "First They Came…" was shortlisted, and mostly because I wanted to be […]

The Queen Is Dead, by Luke Chueh

i hate it when she cries

Don't check on her for ten minutes. Listen to her — is she crying up? Or down? Even if she's crying up, leave her for at least five minutes, all babies need five minutes of crying to get themselves to sleep. Except those that don't. All babies learn to fall asleep by themselves between 3-6 […]

progress, albeit slow

Last night, I wrote the last words on the alpha draft of what I've been calling Clockmakers, the actual title of which turns out to be "The Miseducation of Mara Lys". Calling it an alpha draft is a bit generous, to be honest, but in the interests of having something pinned to the page which […]

kemst þó hægt fari

Sitting in the type of weather I perfectly hate: muggy, unmoving air, thick with plump mosquitos; and all I can think is: I miss Iceland. This is the black-sand beach where Jökulsárlón, the glacial lagoon fed by Vatnajökull, empties its iceberg shards into the Atlantic Ocean. The day I visited it was bitterly cold, hanging […]