Roman tic

Thanks for your question, Elisabeth. Anyone else got a question about Escape Behaviours?

Expose her

In response to Rachel Fox's question over at my facebook page:

Please excuse the scribblyness of this reply - I've been rather sick today.

If anyone else has any questions I'll do my best to answer them in similar fashion - quick and scribbly - without the vomit.

E scape

I have a project I'd like to share with you. Venturing into unchartered territory, it has involved getting over my facebook loathing and incurring a sore thumb. You can follow it at Escape Behaviours and keep updated at my facebook page here. I aim to add a page a day until completion.

Unhurried IT

I almost forgot to mention, with all the pc wobbles I've had, my poem 'Inherited' was shortlisted for the 'University of Maine at Machias Eighth Annual Ultra-Short Competition' and will appear in the forthcoming issue of Binnacle. My thanks to Gerard NeCastro and congratulations to the winners and fellow honourees.

In sight

As I've mentioned before, my husband stutters. It's difficult to argue with a person when you have to politely wait for them to get their retort out. I have also witnessed other people's reactions (non-stutterers) to my husband, such as the parents who ushered their child away from our son at the playground, the man in the spec shop who couldn't look at him, and the interviewer who said he couldn't give my husband a job because the job was communications based (it was an IT job - communication would have been primarily email), and these, and other moments, led me to write over a hundred poems about or connected to stuttering in some way.


I am extremely proud to have two of these poems, "Gecko" and "Fat Tongue" in Air Flow, the magazine for the New Zealand Speak Easy Association for people who stutter. Huge thanks to Bruce Whitfield, and for a very generous and appreciated hand of friendship.


Poems are on page 4 but please take some time to read the magazine, it's insightful and goes to show what excellent communicators, high achievers, and generally people you want on your team, stutterers are. And if there are any stutterers in Auckland, please get in touch!

Harbour abridged

Painted from the impression travelling over Auckland Harbour Bridge left on me: after I went to see Emily Perkins and Dylan Horrocks present their graphic conversation "All Hail Ellie". I think the real bridge is much bigger.

First up, huge thanks to Vanessa Gebbie and Zoe King for all their help and advice and for housing my story "Sticking the Needle In", and poem "Words With Charlie", in Tom's Voice. I'm extremely grateful. Vanessa is the author of Words from a Glass Bubble, a collection of very touching stories, as well as Storm Warning, which I'm looking forward to reading (more links on the side bar).

It's been a stressful few weeks: my husband was told his company's Auckland office was closing at the end of November. The options were: move to Wellington or get another job. Now his office is moving down the road and there's a reprieve until April. I've been feeling unsettled.

I was going to post a poem about writing a poem but Dick's posted one which cannot be rivalled. Hats off to you, Dick. So you've got a repeat (no pun intended). I posted this a while ago, then removed it, and now I'm posting it again. I've written a few poems about stuttering. My husband stutters. It's hard to argue with someone when you have to wait for them to insult you. Laughter replaces intended crimes of passion. He doesn't stutter with our toddler, nor with animals (you wouldn't catch me talking to the animals). Thanks to Donna and Thomas who spotted and left lovely comments on this the first time around. And apologies to Lori whom I confused at the time.



Aubade to Balbettare




Refused your words, gum in a torn pocket,

they are caught within the fabric of your

tongue. Confidence droops like a shamed face, set

to counter exasperation. Breathe. More

lowered, your lids self shield. Self-healed you start

again, and, and, and conversation stalls

till late at night, when all but one dear heart

can be heard, you speak into me. Crystals

hang sparkling about my ears: sentences,

uninterrupted, unfinished by choice;

utterances full-stopped by our senses.

Bodily parenthesis given voice

to mock Aurora before she scatters

your eyes with her curse of fettered letters.