I was woken this morning by that uniquely Australian sound of laughing kookaburras performing from a tall gum in close proximity to our bedroom. Of course I couldn’t really see them until I dragged myself from slumber and peeped out the window to a chilly autumn morn with mist caught in the valley, like a huge helping of blancmange poured into a serving bowl of trees.
I love living on the edge of the city where there continually seems to be something that jumps out and inspires me and tells me to write.
Not all my words are good, or right, some of what I write will never be used for anything, let alone published, but my surroundings always get me going, in one direction or another.
For some time I’ve wanted to write a verse novel – about what, I’ve had no idea, but yesterday while I was walking along one of my favourite winding, dirt tracks, among the eucalyptus gums and wattles, a story which has been bubbling about in my head, simply came to me and began writing itself.
These are the best days, delicious moments – when the pen or typing fingers struggle to keep up with the tumble of words spilling out of my head. Where the words flow so easily, you can’t stop them.
So now I must feed my visitor (below) and then I must write.