Hi there.
Recently, I have been looking into all of the opportunities that are available to writers as I had a break from tutoring at university. I looked in the QWC (Qld Writers Centre) magazine and looked up journals and competitions. I have entered a few of these. I met with a writer friend and got inspired by her encouragement. I felt alive again after spending a day in my imagination and creating a book of poems on lulu.com. I need to create. I need to be imagining and pursuing my characters and their stories. For a while now I have been surviving, which is ok, as well. I am a single Mum who needs to address the issues of living, like all of us, I guess. My brother died a year ago, my best friend died a few months before this. These events have made me numb, I must say, to some things in life. I think it is a good thing though. It crystalises what is important in life and makes you see that some of the things we obsess over are really unimportant. It makes you realise how we only have a limited time to do the things we were made to do. I wish to pursue these things and not get caught up in negative things, in life sucking activities, : ) or in worrying about things that are unnecessary.
My post is about getting motivated and putting your writing out there. One of my friends Ben is a talented poet but he doesn't seem to send his poems out into the world. We need to keep doing this. I submitted a poem last year to a competition and received a Highly Commended for it. This was really nice to receive. So you never know what is going to happen. However, even if you don't get anywhere, (even amazing authors got rejected many, many times) keep going it is worth it. And in the process you are getting better at writing as well. Develop a thick skin and keep going. I am going to try and let go of the stories I submit and not worry about them. Just keep creating and then if you receive anything back you will be excited but keep going, keep going, keep going. : ) Have a wonderful day. Enjoy writing and creating, it is a wonderful gift to us!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
My website is coming down
Hi anyone who reads my blog or comes to my website...my suzannestrong.net website will be coming down in the next few days. I will keep my blog however.
So stay tuned... : )
So stay tuned... : )
Monday, December 20, 2010
Foreign Objects (travel anecdote)
I could see she was sipping a tin cup of Chai Tea; its steam rising into the air as she blew across the surface and created waves that any surfer would envy. I salivated at the sight of the tea. It was all we drank on our expedition through the foothills of the Himalayas. A sweet aromatic scent was coming from the stone tea house sitting alone on the edge of this part of the mountains looking out into a brilliant valley of yellow and green canola terraces. Sipping Chai tea was like the nectar of heaven for me, with its fusion of cardamon, cinnamon, cloves, fennel, bay leaves, ginger, honey, brown sugar and milk combined melodically through the warmth of a wood fire.
She doesn’t speak a word of English. Jade eyes like the rushing Karnali River, a silver stud reflects light from the right side of her nose. Her auburn black hair is twisted tightly into a plait and twirled into a bun on the back of her head. Vivid turquoise, purple, yellow, red and navy flowers and birds and curvaceous patterns twist all over her sari and around her body. A marone circle sits symmetrically between her eyebrows signifying her righteous piety, and either that she is married or a modern Hindu woman who wears the symbol nevertheless.
From looking at her relaxed gait one can see these mountains are her home. She knows every crack, crevice and rock from here to Joktapur. She is relaxed and seems to me to look like any 20 year old enjoying the sun and not thinking about anything in particular. She flashes us a white waterfall smile.
After three days on the Anapurna Circuit I was bewitched by this place. A light mist had fallen over me, like the mists you can see shrouding Everest when you fly past it for the first time. A Himalayan spell of dirt tiered mountains, jagged rock edges framed by deep blue and white above, mountain streams no longer breathing but frozen in ice beauty, monkeys chattering and following us through the dense darkness of majestic trees in forests that reminds me of Tolkien.
Our guide Prakash chats to the girl in Nepalese. She giggles but does not make eye contact with him. We sit down on the rock cut chair. In the distance, two parkers can be seen advancing on us. A red and a navy parker, two dark beanies, two sets of hiking boots and two walking prods striding in strong, and determined motion. Prakash leans over to me and says:
“The girl told me ‘they’,” he points to the oncoming travelers, “are German and are how you say, “rude,” rude to her family at their lodge,” he whispers.
“Oh, that’s no good.” I say to him.
The girl nods towards me and smiles. She obviously recognizes their mannerisms and stride. As the two continue, they keep their pace up, rhythmical and rigid. When they get closer the man says, “allo,” and I say, “hello” and the others nod towards him.
Winter in Nepal, icicles jut out of caves, chasms and over rocks, and freezes waterfalls; but it won’t deter these people. They are going to conquer this land and are not going to slow down or alter their paths. A stubborn blindness to the magnificent Himalayas and the medieval culture around them is evident. Nothing will distract them from their course. It is as if a mental checklist is being ticked off with every squelch of their walking sticks into the ground.
As they come nearer something else becomes obvious to us, but not to them. They do not look at us as they approach, but smile impersonally, looking off at some imaginary point straight ahead. We try to look away but find ourselves drawn back, like when you see a large hairy wart on someone’s face. But this was clear and rigid, sticking straight down from their noses to their top lips as direct as the path they have set for themselves. Four frozen phlegm stalactites from their noses to their top lips transform them into figures on the stage of a Divine comedy. I suppress my laughter and so does Jasmine, my traveling companion. The Nepalese girl puts her hand over mouth.
Onward they march, no breaks for these troopers. When they disappear over the slope the four of us roar with laughter. Our Nepalese friend laughs long after we stop. I wonder if she sees it as some kind of Divine retribution towards these people; moving through her mountains with an arrogance and entitlement not unlike European explorers in Africa.
She doesn’t speak a word of English. Jade eyes like the rushing Karnali River, a silver stud reflects light from the right side of her nose. Her auburn black hair is twisted tightly into a plait and twirled into a bun on the back of her head. Vivid turquoise, purple, yellow, red and navy flowers and birds and curvaceous patterns twist all over her sari and around her body. A marone circle sits symmetrically between her eyebrows signifying her righteous piety, and either that she is married or a modern Hindu woman who wears the symbol nevertheless.
From looking at her relaxed gait one can see these mountains are her home. She knows every crack, crevice and rock from here to Joktapur. She is relaxed and seems to me to look like any 20 year old enjoying the sun and not thinking about anything in particular. She flashes us a white waterfall smile.
After three days on the Anapurna Circuit I was bewitched by this place. A light mist had fallen over me, like the mists you can see shrouding Everest when you fly past it for the first time. A Himalayan spell of dirt tiered mountains, jagged rock edges framed by deep blue and white above, mountain streams no longer breathing but frozen in ice beauty, monkeys chattering and following us through the dense darkness of majestic trees in forests that reminds me of Tolkien.
Our guide Prakash chats to the girl in Nepalese. She giggles but does not make eye contact with him. We sit down on the rock cut chair. In the distance, two parkers can be seen advancing on us. A red and a navy parker, two dark beanies, two sets of hiking boots and two walking prods striding in strong, and determined motion. Prakash leans over to me and says:
“The girl told me ‘they’,” he points to the oncoming travelers, “are German and are how you say, “rude,” rude to her family at their lodge,” he whispers.
“Oh, that’s no good.” I say to him.
The girl nods towards me and smiles. She obviously recognizes their mannerisms and stride. As the two continue, they keep their pace up, rhythmical and rigid. When they get closer the man says, “allo,” and I say, “hello” and the others nod towards him.
Winter in Nepal, icicles jut out of caves, chasms and over rocks, and freezes waterfalls; but it won’t deter these people. They are going to conquer this land and are not going to slow down or alter their paths. A stubborn blindness to the magnificent Himalayas and the medieval culture around them is evident. Nothing will distract them from their course. It is as if a mental checklist is being ticked off with every squelch of their walking sticks into the ground.
As they come nearer something else becomes obvious to us, but not to them. They do not look at us as they approach, but smile impersonally, looking off at some imaginary point straight ahead. We try to look away but find ourselves drawn back, like when you see a large hairy wart on someone’s face. But this was clear and rigid, sticking straight down from their noses to their top lips as direct as the path they have set for themselves. Four frozen phlegm stalactites from their noses to their top lips transform them into figures on the stage of a Divine comedy. I suppress my laughter and so does Jasmine, my traveling companion. The Nepalese girl puts her hand over mouth.
Onward they march, no breaks for these troopers. When they disappear over the slope the four of us roar with laughter. Our Nepalese friend laughs long after we stop. I wonder if she sees it as some kind of Divine retribution towards these people; moving through her mountains with an arrogance and entitlement not unlike European explorers in Africa.
Poem that received a Highly Commended award in the WARM Writing Competition 2010
This poem expressed my emotions following the death of a close friend. As I have said before I do not consider myself a poet.
Breath
Breath is all that separates,
Me from you,
Now…
So often lately,
I have to remind myself to exhale,
My torso holding my breath in,
Like an unconscious desire,
I have to tell my body to release the air,
Let it escape there.
Cause deep down I know,
It is this simple thing,
These air vapours passing across my tongue,
They are all
That separates me from you.
You lay on the road,
Your life was going,
That day I became breathless,
For no real reason,
But now I know why,
Cause you were leaving,
My body knew.
And now I remind myself,
Breathe, Sue,
Breathe…
Cause sometimes somewhere deep,
I must remember,
It’s the only thing separating me from you.
Breath
Breath is all that separates,
Me from you,
Now…
So often lately,
I have to remind myself to exhale,
My torso holding my breath in,
Like an unconscious desire,
I have to tell my body to release the air,
Let it escape there.
Cause deep down I know,
It is this simple thing,
These air vapours passing across my tongue,
They are all
That separates me from you.
You lay on the road,
Your life was going,
That day I became breathless,
For no real reason,
But now I know why,
Cause you were leaving,
My body knew.
And now I remind myself,
Breathe, Sue,
Breathe…
Cause sometimes somewhere deep,
I must remember,
It’s the only thing separating me from you.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Bali and writing
Hi.
Just came back from a holiday in Bali. Interesting times, it was really nice.
I found I could write over there, my mind space was more free, less responsibilities, distractions, work, family life...It was really good. I felt like I could breathe...
I hope to create some new work this New Year. Returning to university, my love.
So, I will keep you posted on more work. My second book of poetry will be published soon, mainly about my brother and best friend. I always planned three books of poetry, one red, one green and one blue.
Red symbolising the anger I fled from my husband and the years of conflict, the green representing walking the path, peace, journeys, and that will represent walking along the stream of grief but experiencing peace and the blue; possibilities opening up, hope and new life.
This is the plan, and the green one will be published next. The red one is already published. It is for me a chronicle of my life at this time.
Just came back from a holiday in Bali. Interesting times, it was really nice.
I found I could write over there, my mind space was more free, less responsibilities, distractions, work, family life...It was really good. I felt like I could breathe...
I hope to create some new work this New Year. Returning to university, my love.
So, I will keep you posted on more work. My second book of poetry will be published soon, mainly about my brother and best friend. I always planned three books of poetry, one red, one green and one blue.
Red symbolising the anger I fled from my husband and the years of conflict, the green representing walking the path, peace, journeys, and that will represent walking along the stream of grief but experiencing peace and the blue; possibilities opening up, hope and new life.
This is the plan, and the green one will be published next. The red one is already published. It is for me a chronicle of my life at this time.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Foreign Objects (travel anecdote)
I could see she was sipping a tin cup of Chai Tea; its steam rising into the air as she blew across the surface and created waves that any surfer would envy. I salivated at the sight of the tea. It was all we drank on our expedition through the foothills of the Himalayas. A sweet aromatic scent was coming from the stone tea house sitting alone on the edge of this part of the mountains looking out into a brilliant valley of yellow and green canola terraces. Sipping Chai tea was like the nectar of heaven for me, with its fusion of cardamon, cinnamon, cloves, fennel, bay leaves, ginger, honey, brown sugar and milk combined melodically through the warmth of a wood fire.
She doesn’t speak a word of English. Jade eyes like the rushing Karnali River, a silver stud reflects light from the right side of her nose. Her auburn black hair is twisted tightly into a plait and twirled into a bun on the back of her head. Vivid turquoise, purple, yellow, red and navy flowers and birds and curvaceous patterns twist all over her sari and around her body. A marone circle sits symmetrically between her eyebrows signifying her righteous piety, and either that she is married or a modern Hindu woman who wears the symbol nevertheless.
From looking at her relaxed gait one can see these mountains are her home. She knows every crack, crevice and rock from here to Joktapur. She is relaxed and seems to me to look like any 20 year old enjoying the sun and not thinking about anything in particular. She flashes us a white waterfall smile.
After three days on the Anapurna Circuit I was bewitched by this place. A light mist had fallen over me, like the mists you can see shrouding Everest when you fly past it for the first time. A Himalayan spell of dirt tiered mountains, jagged rock edges framed by deep blue and white above, mountain streams no longer breathing but frozen in ice beauty, monkeys chattering and following us through the dense darkness of majestic trees in forests that reminds me of Tolkien.
Our guide Prakash chats to the girl in Nepalese. She giggles but does not make eye contact with him. We sit down on the rock cut chair. In the distance, two parkers can be seen advancing on us. A red and a navy parker, two dark beanies, two sets of hiking boots and two walking prods striding in strong, and determined motion. Prakash leans over to me and says:
“The girl told me ‘they’,” he points to the oncoming travelers, “are German and are how you say, “rude,” rude to her family at their lodge,” he whispers.
“Oh, that’s no good.” I say to him.
The girl nods towards me and smiles. She obviously recognizes their mannerisms and stride. As the two continue, they keep their pace up, rhythmical and rigid. When they get closer the man says, “allo,” and I say, “hello” and the others nod towards him.
Winter in Nepal, icicles jut out of caves, chasms and over rocks, and freezes waterfalls; but it won’t deter these people. They are going to conquer this land and are not going to slow down or alter their paths. A stubborn blindness to the magnificent Himalayas and the medieval culture around them is evident. Nothing will distract them from their course. It is as if a mental checklist is being ticked off with every squelch of their walking sticks into the ground.
As they come nearer something else becomes obvious to us, but not to them. They do not look at us as they approach, but smile impersonally, looking off at some imaginary point straight ahead. We try to look away but find ourselves drawn back, like when you see a large hairy wart on someone’s face. But this was clear and rigid, sticking straight down from their noses to their top lips as direct as the path they have set for themselves. Four frozen phlegm stalactites from their noses to their top lips transform them into figures on the stage of a Divine comedy. I suppress my laughter and so does Jasmine, my traveling companion. The Nepalese girl puts her hand over mouth.
Onward they march, no breaks for these troopers. When they disappear over the slope the four of us roar with laughter. Our Nepalese friend laughs long after we stop. I wonder if she sees it as some kind of Divine retribution towards these people; moving through her mountains with an arrogance and entitlement not unlike European explorers in Africa.
She doesn’t speak a word of English. Jade eyes like the rushing Karnali River, a silver stud reflects light from the right side of her nose. Her auburn black hair is twisted tightly into a plait and twirled into a bun on the back of her head. Vivid turquoise, purple, yellow, red and navy flowers and birds and curvaceous patterns twist all over her sari and around her body. A marone circle sits symmetrically between her eyebrows signifying her righteous piety, and either that she is married or a modern Hindu woman who wears the symbol nevertheless.
From looking at her relaxed gait one can see these mountains are her home. She knows every crack, crevice and rock from here to Joktapur. She is relaxed and seems to me to look like any 20 year old enjoying the sun and not thinking about anything in particular. She flashes us a white waterfall smile.
After three days on the Anapurna Circuit I was bewitched by this place. A light mist had fallen over me, like the mists you can see shrouding Everest when you fly past it for the first time. A Himalayan spell of dirt tiered mountains, jagged rock edges framed by deep blue and white above, mountain streams no longer breathing but frozen in ice beauty, monkeys chattering and following us through the dense darkness of majestic trees in forests that reminds me of Tolkien.
Our guide Prakash chats to the girl in Nepalese. She giggles but does not make eye contact with him. We sit down on the rock cut chair. In the distance, two parkers can be seen advancing on us. A red and a navy parker, two dark beanies, two sets of hiking boots and two walking prods striding in strong, and determined motion. Prakash leans over to me and says:
“The girl told me ‘they’,” he points to the oncoming travelers, “are German and are how you say, “rude,” rude to her family at their lodge,” he whispers.
“Oh, that’s no good.” I say to him.
The girl nods towards me and smiles. She obviously recognizes their mannerisms and stride. As the two continue, they keep their pace up, rhythmical and rigid. When they get closer the man says, “allo,” and I say, “hello” and the others nod towards him.
Winter in Nepal, icicles jut out of caves, chasms and over rocks, and freezes waterfalls; but it won’t deter these people. They are going to conquer this land and are not going to slow down or alter their paths. A stubborn blindness to the magnificent Himalayas and the medieval culture around them is evident. Nothing will distract them from their course. It is as if a mental checklist is being ticked off with every squelch of their walking sticks into the ground.
As they come nearer something else becomes obvious to us, but not to them. They do not look at us as they approach, but smile impersonally, looking off at some imaginary point straight ahead. We try to look away but find ourselves drawn back, like when you see a large hairy wart on someone’s face. But this was clear and rigid, sticking straight down from their noses to their top lips as direct as the path they have set for themselves. Four frozen phlegm stalactites from their noses to their top lips transform them into figures on the stage of a Divine comedy. I suppress my laughter and so does Jasmine, my traveling companion. The Nepalese girl puts her hand over mouth.
Onward they march, no breaks for these troopers. When they disappear over the slope the four of us roar with laughter. Our Nepalese friend laughs long after we stop. I wonder if she sees it as some kind of Divine retribution towards these people; moving through her mountains with an arrogance and entitlement not unlike European explorers in Africa.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert
I am not a travel memoir reader, but this is a journey-book, of as the cliched term describes it "self discovery." Though I do not see the world exactly as she does, (and who ever does anyway?) I have found many parallels to myself in her personality and how she experiences everything. She is entertaining and funny. Sometimes she seems too American but mostly her nationality is not obvious. In our lives there are a few uncanny similarities that I wont share now cause it would be too personal. I think I will share some quotes I love on the another post. I love books where you laugh out loud and I love it when I have written in the past something that made people laugh out loud, it gives me so much satisfaction and pleasure.
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