The air was crisp and cool, punctuated by the greasy sharp tang of diesel. The night air still held its shape, not yet dessicated by clamouring noon. The two of them stood near the tracks, awkward, almost leaving, but not quite yet.
“I was like you once,” Melani said. She laughed and blew smoke in Josie, Joey, Jo-girl, Jospehina, Jojo's face – some bush blend full of teatree to cleanse the air and lungs. “I'd be like you again if I could be that stupid.” The ground shuddered and the casurina trees nodded their heads as the heavy freight train roared down the hill towards them.
Mel patted Jo's arse as she left. “Savour it!” Mel shouted above the clangour. “You might as well.”
Mel hauled herself onto the last carriage with practiced ease; her lean arms always surprising in their strength. Jo imagined trying to follow, her arms wrenched out of their socket from the force, spraining her wrists and falling to the tracks. Dust blew in Jo's face, Mel's throaty laugh, rich with sixty five years of sass and spice coated the dusty wind and peppered Jo's tongue. Mel had sparkling green eyes, heavy powdered makeup and a face sun-scorched into dense wrinkles. She'd been a motorcycle stuntwoman with the travelling show and would still be doing it too if she'd had her way. Mel was part woman, part myth – she'd been a revolutionary, the centre of numerous scandals, love affairs, dumb-arse stunts and she had a habit of taking under her wing lost strays like Jo.
When Mel fell from the train onto the tracks, her head splitting open on the shining steel tracks, it wasn't just a fiesty old woman with attitude that died. With her died stories – rich, complex and varied. With her died a wealth of knowledge, ways, meaning, learning hard won that could never be duplicated. With her died a small centre of the world. Jo did not know Mel was dying from the sharp crack of skull against tracks. Jo's first response was to laugh, a sharp high retort at Mel – playing pranks again and not yet ready to leave. Jo's smile quickly died as she ran on to the tracks, choking on the harsh dust. Mel wasn't dead, not yet, but the back of her head was slippery and Jo felt pieces of skull shift as she pulled Mel up off the tracks. Later, Jo would pretend Mel died on the tracks, it had more dignity and was a simpler story to tell.
The air was crisp and cool, with a greasy sharp tang of diesel. The night air still held its shape, not yet dessicated by clamouring noon. The two of them stood near the tracks, awkward, almost leaving, but not quite yet.
“I was like you once,” Melani said. She laughed and blew smoke in Josie, Joey, Jo-girl, Jospehina, Jojo's face – some bush blend full of teatree to cleanse the air and lungs. “I'd be like you again if I could be that stupid.” The ground shuddered as the heavy freight train roared down the hill towards them.
Mel patted Jo's arse as she left. “Savour it!” Mel shouted above the clangour. “You might as well.”
Mel hauled herself onto the last carriage with practiced ease; her lean arms always surprising in their strength. Jo imagined trying to follow, her arms wrenched out of their socket from the force, spraining her wrists and falling to the tracks. Dust blew in Jo's face, Mel's throaty laugh, rich with sixty five years of sass and spice coated the dusty wind and peppered Jo's tongue. Mel had sparkling green eyes, heavy powdered makeup and a face sun-scorched into dense wrinkles. She'd been a motorcycle stuntwoman with the travelling show and would still be doing it too if she'd had her way. She'd been a mother to more than her own blood, she'd been a revolutionary, the centre of numerous scandals, love affairs and dumb arse stunts.
When Mel fell from the train onto the tracks, her head splitting open on the shining steel tracks, it wasn't just a fiesty old woman with attitude that died. With her died stories – rich, complex and varied. With her died a wealth of knowledge, ways, meaning, learning hard won that could never be duplicated. Jo did not know Mel was dying from the sharp crack of skull against tracks, her first response was to laugh, a sharp high retort at Mel – playing pranks again and not yet ready to leave.
The air was crisp and cool, with a greasy sharp tang of diesel. The night air still held its shape and had not yet become a dessicated wraith of noon. The two of them stood near the tracks, awkward, almost leaving, but not quite yet.
“I was like you once,” Melani said. She laughed and blew smoke in Josie, Joey, Jo-girl, Jospehina, Jojo's face – some bush blend full of teatree to cleanse the air and lungs. “I'd be like you again if I could be that stupid.”
Mel patted Jo's arse as she left. “Savour it!” Mel shouted above the clangour as the freight train swept past. “You might as well.”
Mel hauled herself onto the last carriage with practiced ease; her lean arms always surprising in their strength. Jo imagined trying to follow, her arms wrenched out of their socket from the force, spraining her wrists and falling to the tracks. Dust blew in Jo's face, Mel's throaty laugh, rich with sixty five years of sass and spice coated the dusty wind and peppered Jo's tongue. Mel had sparkling green eyes, heavy powdered makeup and a face sun-scorched into dense wrinkles. She'd been a motorcycle stuntwoman with the travelling show and would still be doing it too if she'd had her way. She'd been a mother to more than her own blood; she'd been a revolutionary, the centre of numerous scandals, love affairs and dumb arse stunts.
When Mel fell from the train onto the tracks, her head splitting open on the shining steel tracks, it wasn't just a fiesty old woman with attitude that died.
“I was like you once,” Melani said. She laughed and blew smoke in Josie, Joey, Jo-girl, Jospehina, Jojo's face – some bush blend full of teatree to cleanse the air and lungs. “I'd be like you again if I could be that stupid.”
Mel patted Jo's arse as she left. “Savour it!” Mel shouted above the clangour of the freight train. “You might as well.”
Mel hauled herself onto the last carriage with practiced ease; her lean arms always surprising in their strength. Jo imagined trying to follow, her arms wrenched out of their socket from the force, spraining her wrists and falling to the tracks. Dust blew in Jo's face, Mel's throaty laugh, rich with sixtyfive years of sass and spice coated the dusty wind and peppered Jo's tongue. Mel had sparkling green eyes, heavy powdered makeup and a face sun-scorched into dense wrinkles. She'd been a motorcycle stuntwoman with the travelling show and would still be doing it too if she'd had her way. She'd been a mother to more than her own blood; she'd been a revolutionary, the centre of numerous scandals, love affairs and dumb arse stunts.
When Mel fell from the train onto the tracks, her head splitting open on the shining steel tracks, it wasn't just a fiesty old woman with attitude that died.
Yesterday
( Read more... )
Today
“I was like you once,” Melani said. She laughed and blew smoke in Josie, Joey, Jo-girl, Jospehina, Jojo's face – some bush blend full of teatree to cleanse the air and lungs. “I'd be like you again if I could be that stupid.”
Mel patted Jo's arse as she left. “Savour it!” Mel shouted above the clangour of the freight train. “You might as well.”
Mel hauled herself onto the last carriage with practiced ease; her lean arms always surprising in their strength. Jo imagined trying to follow, her arms wrenched out of their socket from the force, spraining her wrists and falling to the tracks. Dust blew in Jo's face, Mel's throaty laugh, rich with fifty years of sass and spice coated the dusty wind and peppered Jo's tongue. Mel was fifty five, had sparkling green eyes, heavy powdered makeup and a face sun-scorched into dense wrinkles. She'd been a motorcycle stuntwoman with the travelling show and would still be doing it too if she'd had her way.
Yumm
hugs
L
http://lizargall.com/2009/08/becaus
Blog post update - http://lizargall.com/2009/08/clarion-re
Ken has catalogued all his posts on Clarion http://ken-schneyer.livejournal.com/182
He is good. I am scrambling around trying to sort through everything post Clarion and get going on new stuff. So many things to do, so many things to think about. Hoo boy a universe of things to think about.
Hugs to everyone.
http://ken-schneyer.livejournal.com/
This post here http://ken-schneyer.livejournal.com/175
Mishelle Baker is also posting updates on Clarion http://dreadedsword.blogspot.com/
It's 5am.
I've been awake for a while....
... and very sleepy.
I have just put a new post on my website, final one for the Emerging Writers Festival http://lizargall.com/ and there are snippets on my twitter http://twitter.com/lizargall
Love
L
I'm here! Feels so strange. Here are my plans thus far I'd love to go to them with some folks (then there can be coffee and cake afterwards). During the day is free most days for lunches etc, I will be public transporting and based in unctuous Albert Park.
- Tuesday 26 May - I write whatever I want, whenever I want The Empress Hotel, Fitzroy North. Open at 7.30 8pm start. Cost $15 or $10 Concession
- Wednesday 27 May - The Serious Business of Being Funny, The Empress Hotel, Fitzroy North. Open at 7.30 8pm start. Cost $15 or $10 Concession
- Thursday 28 - So you want to be a YA writer, Storey Hall, RMIT to book phone 03 8664 7555
- Friday....I think I'm going to some artist/writer party thingey... not sure on the details.
- Sat and Sunday - Town Hall Program all day Saturday and Sunday 30/31. Though I might slip away for bits if Mike(y) organises farewelly stuff that is close enough for whimsy (and if the fates smile on him kindly enough that he is in town and isn't stuck packing boxes in Canberra).
My Panel on collaboration is called "I can say yes now but in the end it will be no" will be Sunday 1:45pm - 3pm.
More Emerging Writers Festival stuff can be found here http://www.emergingwritersfestival.org.a
The following week Mike(y) will be in town and we can do stuff together, though given constrainst we might have to catch up with some people separately.
Sooo..... lunch, after work drinkies, dinner and a panelling or post paneling? Who's up for what and the how? Rescue a poor incoherent maiden eager to minmax her hangin out with people. I also want to go factory outlet bra shopping if anyone has the urge to come along for that.
and hooray we have visas and we had a weekend this weekend, for all of it. It was so nice. Now back to packing.
The Date: Saturday May 23
The Place: Our Place
The Time:
4 or 5pmish for enjoyments of the garden
6 or 7ish for sharing food together (some catering provided and dishes to share very welcome)
9 til lateish for dancing and boogie.
The Theme:
Adventure, fame and fortune costuming optional.
The great and glorious Sandra Neeeeds a dance party so bring your dancing shoes.
Mike(y) and Liz are moving to Portland, OR! Liz leaving for a two week stint in Melbourne on the 25th and Mike(y) driving down to Melbourne later before they both fly out on the 8th of June. Most things in our house are up for sale, no reasonable offer refused!
Hugs to LJ land :)
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