toast for tea

(N B: If you didn’t read Part One last week, I suggest you scroll down and do that first if you want to get the most out of Part Two!) Continued from last week… My writer’s brain is brimming with images, descriptions and feelings that have been evoked by the river, and even though I’ve been sitting here on my flat stone for over an hour – pen in hand – journaling everything I’ve seen or heard or thought, all I can think of now is the laptop computer sitting on the table in the shed. My fingers are on fire with story. I almost run back through the paddock, picking my way through the cow pats, missing most and wishing I’d packed gum boots. As I pass the billabong, I see an Eastern Swamphen on the far bank, busily foraging for food. I stop to watch for a minute or so, fascinated by the simpleness of her daily routine. The story in my head is writing itself at breakneck speed and I fumble with the chain on the gate as I try to hold on to details – turns of phrase, opening paragraph, sequen...

‘It’s all downhill – right?’ ‘The map seems to show a slight incline from Myrtleford to Porepunkah,’ says my friend. ‘So it’s downhill from Porepunkah to Myrtleford.’ On this basis, I agree to a bike ride she’s been looking forward to all holiday. ‘You’re sure there are no hills? You know I’m not good with hills.’ It’s the night before, and the conversation takes place just as I reach the cliff-hanger section of a novel I’m reading. One part of my brain is engulfed by the plot while Rhonda unfurls her plan to drive to Myrtleford, where she’ll leave my car, then cycle back to our campsite, just outside Porepunkah; I’ll join her and we’ll cycle back to Myrtleford together and enjoy afternoon tea at the bakery. At the periphery of my concentration, the plan sounds good – but by now, another part of my brain is fully occupied with how I’ll fill in the two and a half to three hours of solitude I’ll have, armed with binoculars, bird book, writing journal and laptop computer, sitting on the v...