David Stevens

Archive for October, 2015|Monthly archive page

Insert Smiley Face Here

In Uncategorized on October 30, 2015 at 10:17 pm

Write what you know is the most common writing tip you’ll find anywhere. It’s nonsense, really, because if we all did that we’d end up with terribly boring novels about writers staring out of windows waiting for inspiration to hit. (If you like those, incidentally, head straight for the literary fiction section of your nearest bookshop.)

James Smythe in The Guardian

Advertisements

I am an addict

In Uncategorized on October 23, 2015 at 11:50 pm

Is there a voluntary exclusion program for The Book Depository? Its not my fault … its right there, on my PC … the books, the books … you just press the buttons – yes, just like a poker machine, yes … a package comes in the post … like CHRISTMAS!

For years my wife has told me that I have a problem. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with it. I finally realised that I don’t. My wife has a problem. Me. Oh, and all the books. On the floor. And everywhere.

My father bought me an e-reader. There I am, vapering away in front of everybody, look, he has it under control. Its not as bad as Real Books. He’ll taper off.

Then. When they’re not looking. Paper. In my hands. Heft. Texture. Text. An object.

Books.

More books.

Hi. I’m David, and …

Lullaby

In Uncategorized on October 15, 2015 at 11:15 pm

The day finally stops. Dad’s taxi is parked in the garage – the almost not a teenager managed to miss the last bus of the night and faced a two hour walk home. “Time just disappeared.” I flashed a glance at his wrist – the watch we bought him is there. Oh well. I suppose I was never young.

There is no night traffic here. The silence stretches. In the day, there is intermittent construction. Somebody somewhere thought it a good idea that one of Sydney’s last little suburban green spots be nibbled at the edges. Houses are slowly being constructed in the gully, to await the next bushfire. I remind myself there is nothing I can do.

I lie down, and my ears adjust to the silence. I notice the call, and smile. A southern boo-book is doing its two-note thing. I relax, the call of the owl my lullaby. I have only seen it (or a relative of it) once, trying to pick up a too-big possum from the roadside, while a couple of my children stood with me at a respectful distance, urging it on.

It will call for hours. Tonight though, a surprise. In the distance, another voice. More chesty, more typical – the boom of a Powerful owl. Sleep comes easy to me, with the night time lullaby. Possums, rodents, white cockatoos are all nervous at the call of the predator, but they lull me. I am not hunted, after all. I just know there is world out there, not entirely of concrete and bitumen, carrying on its business without me, and I am grateful for it. Despite everything the day brings, my heart swells with thanks.