Richell Prize 2022

EXCITING NEWS!!! SHORTLISTED and HIGHLY COMMENDED for the Richell Prize 2022 for The Little Ones. Judges comments: ‘An exquisitely told memoir on miscarriage, grief and mothering that is emotionally memorable. At times agonisingly honest, this is a beautifully crafted work, the writing is assured and reminded the judges of Jessie Cole and Helen Garner in […]

meditation on a branch

After a day of writing in this Covid world I’ve taken to coming out into the backyard on dusk, beer in one hand, secateurs in the other, and in the cold crisp air of the Macedon Ranges, I cut up dead things. Garden-y dead things. It’s a deciduous garden and I’m a lazy gardener so […]

these fire days

It hasn’t felt right to sit and write while my country burns, while traumatised humans recount the moments they imagined to be their last, to see eight tonne firetrucks, caught in a firestorm, be flipped with the lightest of touch, and know that death has come for some. Last week journalist Brigid Delaney wrote a […]

Ordinary Days

Three long work days have passed. At the end of each day I’ve worked on my essay for a writing prize that’s due next Monday. It’s about my transition from working in ICU to Palliative Care and learning to talk about death. I’m trying to fit writing into the days that aren’t officially writing days. […]

The Rooftop

There’s a tiny cafe in the back streets of Fitzroy that has a small rooftop space. If you go through the blue door, past the shelves of terracotta potted succulents and up the rickety stairs your morning is transformed as you step out into a little piece of what makes me love this city. A […]


A few weeks ago I was driving home from work listening to American journalist Krista Tippet (On Being podcast) interview the poet philosopher David Whyte. A friend had introduced me to his poetry readings a while back when I’d needed some centring and his words had had the desired effect. That night the drive home […]

farewell to foal

I read somewhere this week that grief is like moving towards a big lake and you skirt around its edges not knowing (but having a fair idea) how deep and cold and dark it’s going to be, so you don’t want to get in. Then you realise the lake is not a lake but an […]