Skip to main content

Advice to writers: Sometimes you just have to stop writing. Even before you begin.


The past two weeks has seen a combination of drilling, jackhammering, blasting, digging, more jackhammering, more blasting, more digging right outside my office window. At first I thought that it was an innovative art display, but when the blokes stopped for a smoke and to display a genrous amount of arse crack to passing tourists, I was convinced that they were genuine, dinky di, ridgy didge, legit Aussie workers.

Comments

Roddy said…
Generous of them to share their experience with you.
For a moment I thought this was the old Myer site.
Kris McCracken said…
I enjoy the blasting particularly. As did the Vietnam vet in the office!
Sue said…
This is a great photo, Kris. I sympathise with you totally. Our school is being demolished at the minute and the noise can be excruciating at times. I was trying to write reports this afternoon and needless to say....I have brought them home to do this weekend.
Your poor Viet Vet would have thought he was back at Long Tan!!??
Kris McCracken said…
He still has the shakes, days later...

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral