The stories in my head are like a small army. Character by character, the story gains strength, growing bigger and more powerful by the day. If I let them sit idle for too long, the warning signals flash. Let the army march! And if I don’t listen to the signals, the army completes a hostile takeover. It occupies all my mental space, leaving little room for me to think about anything else. I write to let the soldiers do their job: fly in peace out of my head and into the world

The popular project to show the world who we really are can be summed up in the search for the self and why it’s become such an important quest for our identity. A new force, yet age-old, this search has in recent years taken on extraordinary importance due largely to the digitalisation of our experiences in the world, leading to a need to express what the self really means. The quest goes back a long way, however, into Ancient Greek times, with the emergence of Socrates, one

Jack slowly opened the door to the study and looked in. ‘Are you in here, Dad?’  His voice was at once inquisitive and sheepish. It was not quite assertive yet not quite timid. It was caught somewhere between adult and child. This voice means he wants to talk to ask me for something , I thought. It is usually financial.   And, of course, he knew I was in there. It was evening. I am always in the study on Sunday evenings, working at my laptop while taking in the beauty of the

(Short fiction set in Watsons Bay, Sydney) ‘Hey buddy, wake up. This is the last stop.’  These words hang in the ether until the...