Creeping my car up the winding, orange dirt driveway of the now defunct Dubbo Military Museum, I’m struck by objects of wonderment....

The old lady speaks: They gave us back a murdered land, They gave us back a sick land. I should be dead, I shouldn't be here. I went...

Under lights, the white moth does crazy spirals of distress, ever faster and more jagged. If we can restrain ourselves, and live as...

I’ve just had two days’ horror. Got a marked-up copy back from an editor yesterday, and sat down with some relish to go through it. All...

It is the sand gives birth to us - Dry grit, and thirst. The children of the riverbed Walk the chasms between granite plugs, The snouts...

Normally the collective noun for angels is choir, a choir of angels. But these ones had put aside their harps and were looking rather...

It’s the start of the Easter long weekend in Australia, traditionally a time dedicated to fun, family, friends and filling yourself with...

LOVE LETTER Dear London, It has been 34 years since I landed at Heathrow and found my way into your heart without money, friends or...

42 As I sit and ponder The meaning of life I wonder The purpose of our existence My mind offers no assistance Thoughts run wild and get...

Welcome to our new blog! This blog is “by writers for writers”, which is also the motto of our annual Dubbo Writers’ Festival, also run...