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