Now/here no/where woman

Towards the end of the first day of Mt Cloud Bookshop's Children's Creative Writing Workshop, I told our 9 participants: There is no such thing as something that you can't write about. You can write about anything, and you can write anything you want about it. Nobody can tell you, "You can't write about that," not your parents, not your teachers, not your grandmother. That's why you have your own notebook that nobody can touch. I saw the glint in their eyes, these writers aged 8 to 14. They bent down over their notebooks and began scribbling. Kids like dangerous ideas. This is a good thing. We jaded grownups shouldn't mess with that. Dangerous ideas should be encouraged in children. We don't want them to turn into docile sheep or cattle following the herd. We want them to make a difference when it's their turn to run the world, or at least to write it. And I think these kids will.

I spoke too bloody soon. Too much unfinished business. I am still juggling three jobs and Motherhood, not to mention The Partner Ship. It looks like I dropped a few things. I'm somewhere down there, among those shards around my feet. "Shards." That's such a weak word for what I'm feeling right now. Insert photo here of something big and fierce and red and hurting. Something that stinks. Something that will make your mother say, "Don't go near that thing!"

This is how future trees begin. This is how the future begins.

I live in a city where you can hear the rain approaching from a distance. I love that sound. Sometimes it's like knowing a lover is on his way, because he keeps his promises. Other times, it's like waiting for a god that is not your own. You stand your ground because there is nowhere to run. I will never forget one stormy night in a hut in Balwang Daan, on the island of Coron. I was there for fieldwork. There was a pause in the rain and I stepped outside to pee. When I switched off my headlamp I was enveloped in darkness. As I stood up I heard heavy movement in the distance. It sounded like a giant was crashing through the jungle from the other end of the island. It sounded like great trees were bowing and falling with every step it took. It was the wind! Every muscle in me wanted to run back inside. But there was a small part of me that wanted to wait and see. I stood facing the direction of that immense sound and willed myself to stay put. It continued crashing through

Semester, done. Students' grades, done. Consultancy, done. It's time to get dirtysweatysunburnedwindburnedsalty! And now, I can write for myself again. Just typing that feels good.