'I'm sure it will be okay. It's bound to be negative.' A Lulu Lemon-attired blonde, sporting a neat bob and a mask uselessly slung around...

‘I reckon they’re a flock of seagulls.’ ‘Seagulls! No way they’re seagulls. Seagulls have long red legs and webbed feet. Those birds have...

When creating character, consistency is vital. It's always best to check dialogue so that a character's speech is clearly identifiable....

by Fiona D'Souza The minarets had woken the family for dawn prayers fifteen minutes earlier. Hassan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes...

Sourdough. I remember the first time I laid eyes on it. It manifested itself as enormous round golden pillows, dusted in flour in the...

Number 22 in the street, the sturdy dark stained house belonging to the Jones family, stood on a prominent hill surrounded by what...

I Am a Tinder Guy Holding a Fish and I Will Provide for You by Amy Collier Photo No. 1 Behold my mackerel. I have caught it for you and...

Materialism isn’t everything but … Margo Hofmann Jurgens I remember when Tony was dating yet another model. His colleague - I suppose you...

by David Benn I glance up at the clock. Nine o’clock Sunday night and the boys are in their pyjamas, sitting at the kitchen table playing...

Two difficult aspects associated with writing have preoccupied my thoughts lately: first, finding the time and inspiration to begin, and...

Maybe it will help you to start writing if you give the question some attention ... so you'll know what space - mental, emotional,...

'Woke' or alt-right? Insta, Twitter or your own blog template? Sometimes I wonder how I'll ever keep up with the pace of change in my...

I wonder where it is? Where did I leave it? Maybe I lost it with my new Rayban sunglasses. I only had them for a week before they...

A story by DAVID BENN With both hands on the wheel of my Mazda Hatch, I watched a steady stream of black-and-red-uniformed pupils alight...

It is the year 1631 in Paris, and in the pale splendour of an early spring morning, the city of death awakes to the sound of a chorus of...

The man in the suit negotiated the last few steps along the dry wooden path – old slats protruding like broken ribs in the dirt path –...

the eye of the photographer ... Or in Rossella Venturi's own words on her morning walk, 'Oops - where's the Sydney Harbour Bridge?'...

An excerpt from The New York Times 19 June 2021 on Malcolm (1934 - 2021): Janet Malcolm, a Writer Who Emphasized the Messiness of Life...

Shoplifting Deano and Rusty slowly pushed the pedals of their BMX bikes along the footpath on the Clontarf foreshore to the old wooden...

When first we practise to deceive where do we preserve the real? Our lonely third eye sees true while the other two point different ways....