There’s been heaps of deep breaths, sighs, and walking away from my desk this week as I work through the Australia Writers’ Centre's Cut, Shape, Polish course and learn how to edit my first draft manuscript. Now that I've completed the structural overview for my second draft of The Catalina, a heap of lessons from previous creative writing courses have come flooding back. One is the term ‘Killing Your Darlings.’ It was constantly repeated by my tutors. I understood the th

Something I've really enjoyed about transforming my professional speaking, livestream and recording office into a writing studio is the way I am constantly changing a few things on and around my desk to immerse myself in the world of The Catalina. A 1956 calendar—the year of the great Murray River flood and the year in which The Catalina takes place. Next to it, a framed photograph of my grandfather, alongside the medals he received for his service during World War II. Bo

The sun’s streaming through the east window of my studio this morning, melting away winter’s chill and warming my writing area as I settle in to keep working on the second draft of The Catalina. Last week, I dug myself into such a deep hole of reviewing, rethinking, and rewriting that I spiraled straight into what I’m calling the Second Draft Blues. It wasn’t pretty. I took everything far too seriously and forgot the part where writing is meant to be fun. Thankfully, a fe

It might look like a cluttered mess of pink Post‑It notes covered in handwritten Licorice Allsorts, but for me it marks the end of a rigorous first read‑through of the first draft of The Catalina. And right now, I’m a mix of excitement, a little overwhelm, some frustration, and a sense of achievement dappled with humble pride. Without the Cut Shape Polish course I’m doing with the Australian Writers’ Centre, I know I would have wandered off on detours—editing line by line,

Shadows stretch across my light-grey studio wall like fingers reaching for the light switch, urging the room to fall dark and for me to call it a day. Ignoring the invitation, I turn back to my keyboard, take a breath, close my eyes, and reflect on the week spent working on my manuscript’s second draft. Today’s been special—though, since starting this creative writing process, most days are. In my last journal post, I mentioned it’s been six months since typing ‘The End

I’m sitting in my newly converted home office, looking south over the moss‑covered red‑tile roof of our neighbour’s home to a line of autumn‑coloured trees hiding most of the nearby street in South Hurstville, Sydney. The sun is slipping away to the west, tinting the late‑afternoon sky with soft pinks and oranges. A golden palm just to my right waves gently, catching the last breaths of the day’s breeze. I’m excited, a little nervous, and trying to quiet the whispering vo