Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Category

About Helen Garner’s grandson, aged four.

At two in the morning, Ted, sleeping in the spare room, has a bad dream and creeps into my bed. He flings himself about diagonally for the rest of the night, cramming me into a tiny corner. God damn it, I think at 5 a.m., this is worse than being married.

From the section titled “While not writing a book” in Everywhere I Look by Helen Garner.

 

Read Full Post »

14134567_1786748121610016_2011446035_n14156220_518136015044203_890135923_n14240914_835458669921853_179294948_n14360088_200662540347495_914260423_n14295507_1768391986782113_1554374153_n14334709_637304379780726_1407273185_n14156499_1270927402971593_1497048422_n14156369_1096525650441275_1018734765_n14334541_988646384591326_1087743412_n14294768_309182166115026_1337275398_n14276516_1073134716069796_687096889_n14309665_329425617448622_1169119008_n14369227_304035796634915_505611671_n14240855_695244753962472_1662040476_n14063230_123893818063717_1964296876_n14052237_333102647038097_449453623_n14240805_1058696154243926_101083076_n13658395_1574107022891841_178817909_n13687310_1781295045463351_653342385_n13714238_1169603716396300_685590530_n

14026690_107851626338343_1159557977_n14026756_1782446915364277_2118153949_n

The other day a reader/blogger who also follows me on Instagram noted that my photo feed has the intimacy of domestic life that used to be on my blog. It’s true. My Instagram account is locked and having that little bit more control over the audience has allowed me to feel more myself over there in recent times. If you’re a reader here and I sorta know you then you are welcome to follow me on Instagram.

 

Read Full Post »

A while ago an American writer friend, Jeremy Adam Smith and I were talking about the shaming of sexting and how misrepresented the practice was in the media. He told me I should write an article about my mothers’ group sexting.. and eventually I did. (It was this article). He also decided to finally tackle the topic himself and wrote two articles on it, one, with his partner.

So, Jeremy’s articles…”Can sexting increase relationship satisfaction?” in Greater Good and “Teens need sext education” in the San Francisco Chronicle.

Read Full Post »

Of course there are buckets of mindless, consequence-free violence available to our children, in the form of video games where the only real goal is to do as much shooting, punching or murdering as possible. If slaughter is not for you, you might like to build walls in Minecraft, or collect benign, animated creatures in Pokemon Go. But what about play that provides a sophisticated metaphor for the real world, in all its complicated harshness?

I watch my son, and now also my daughter, playing D&D with their dad. My daughter, AKA Sarah Grindbone, nearly loses her life. My son, AKA Sword Slasher, has to decide whether to risk his own life to save her. It’s agonising, because this isn’t like video games, where you instantly “respawn” if you die, without weight or consequence. In D&D, if you die, you die.

It’s a game that’s set in a dark, scary place. It’s not peaceful or cute, but it is creative. It takes teamwork, imagination, and concentration. It’s a place of nuance. And yes, there are devils lurking. A lot like real life.

A lovely, layered article by my friend, Monica Dux in The Age, “Stranger Things lures a new generation into a nuanced world of Dungeons and Dragons”.

Read Full Post »

As with any personal essay or memoir written by Rachel Cusk, this is wonderfully thought-provoking and insightful. “Making House: Notes on domesticity” in The New York Times. 

We moved house often, and each time it appeared that it was the perfecting of our environment that was causing us to leave it, as though living there had been a process of construction that was now complete. In much the same way as an artist’s deepest moments of intimacy with a canvas half-consciously generate the need or desire to rid himself of it, my mother perhaps felt a gathering frenzy as she bequeathed her domestic vision to us, for the sight of us starting to make ourselves comfortable there was surely the proof that the picture was finished. The summons of the unknown generally overrides sentiment; possibly, it feeds off it. To continue creating, a person perhaps has to maintain an essential discomfort in the world. The kitchen, where my mother spent most of her time, was often the smallest and dowdiest room in the houses we lived in; and I, too, have found myself working over the years in cramped bedrooms or at the kitchen table, even when a degree of prosperity would have permitted me to claim the much-vaunted room of my own.

In Italy once, I was given a private tour of a beautiful castle, led by the owner through room after impeccably furnished room, only to glimpse at the end through a half-open door a tiny, cavelike space crammed with all the evidence — a gas stove, a television, a tatty sofa — of daily life: This was clearly where the family spent their time. I have often looked at photographs of writers in their elegant book-lined studies and marveled at what seems to me a mirage of sorts, the near-perfect alignment of seeming with being, the convincing illusion of mental processes on public display, as though writing a book were not the work of someone capable of all the shame and deviousness and coldheartedness in the world.

Read Full Post »

Quick hi from me to say I will be reading an extract from my article in defence of sexting, that appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald, on ABC’s Radio National on Monday Wednesday morning.

Hear my voice, trying to speak slower.

UPDATE: Here it is – me on Radio National defending sexting. 

Read Full Post »

I swear I’m gonna tattoo a list
of literary giants who were/are single mothers
on my forearm so every time I hit a doubter
I can just pull up my sleeve
and not waste any more time
I could be writing
by trying to explain that I do
in fact
think I can do this
and I will
in fact
do this
no matter how bleary
no matter how hungry
no matter how many swank
socials or national conferences
I can’t afford to attend
because Toni Morrison
because Adrienne Rich
because Audre Lorde
because before Plath hit the oven
she sent her mother a letter pleading,
pleading for childcare
because I could keep this list going
because what the fuck kind of world
is this if we really think
we have to ruin our mothers
before we let them give anything more
than the whole human race
to the world.

Georgia Pearle

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »