Friday, March 09, 2007


I didn't sleep last night. I stayed up until dawn wrestling with a long-postponed, 3,000-word piece – a dark memoir – for the Australian literary journal, Griffith REVIEW. I finished it but it still needs some editing and refinement. I am not really a writer so my writing process is a little haphazard: I prefer to get all my thoughts down in one burst – partly so I don't over-refine the prose or try to restrain my natural inclination to 'tell all' as I go. For the past couple of years, I have avoided working too late at night in order to handle the responsibilities of my art business better but hell, I'm still young and by nature nocturnal so pulling the occasional all-nighter still feels good.
I often get wound up when I write something (or make art) that taps into my troubled personal history – or my fragile heart. For the last few hours I've been stretched out on the day bed in my living room, listening to music. In another hour or so, my boyfriend will be here and we'll make love on the verandah, in the open air, as the last of the warm sunlight recedes through the surrounding trees.

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