Dim's Write Stuff

Have you ever left a book on the shelf for months and months, eager to read it but not quite in the right mood to do so? Other titles assume a kind of procrastinate preference over your erstwhile looked-forward-to folio until suddenly, it beckons, loud and unrelenting. Read me, read me now! I love the synchronicity of reading the right book at the right time. This is how I experienced, Kate Foster’s latest novel, The Bravest Word, at time when life needed a little more explaining and the soul a little extra massaging. Without getting over personal or dwelling on the genesis of this story or Foster’s motivation for writing this book, The Bravest Word , is honest and raw and incredibly uncomplicated in its complexity. Matt is an only child with the world at his eleven-year-old feet. He is on the cusp of football legendary-stardom and the start of secondary school. He has loving parents and buddies who always have his back yet for reasons unknown to him, mystifying and confusing, h

God love our mums. I know, I know; it’s no longer Mother’s Day. But that’s not quite true is it? Each and every day is a testament, or should be, to the stoic, tireless, selfless, fatigue-hazed, love-filled actions of mothers – everywhere. They walk with their hearts exposed, vulnerable, fierce, at times, uncertain. Always there, which is the crux of this unique picture book on motherhood, A Mother Is a House . Rather like a kangaroo nursing her joey in her pouch, safe, contained and snug, I cherished pregnancy, mourning the day when bub would eventually want out. But how does a baby perceive this perplexing first coming of age? What do they make of their mother? Sustainer of life. Guardian. Advisor. Mountain. House? A Mother Is a House affords readers a baby’s fascinating view point of this relationship from moments before their birth to their first tentative steps some 12 months later. Brief descriptive declarations carry reader and baby through the day to day activities baby’

Author in the Wild For those who believe authors working from home maintain a lifestyle of bottomless coffees, frequent contemplative sojourns to the garden to bath in soft sunshine and commune with one’s muse and enjoy uninterrupted hours of serene creative satisfaction, think again. Ridiculously full weekends mean my garden, like many of my manuscripts, is sorely in need of a hard prune-back. My muse is trapped in the untamed growth. There’s a saying Border collie owners like myself live by: silence is golden unless you own a border collie, then silence is stomach ulcer-forming. I have three – dogs – who knows how many ulcers. I have not experienced true serenity for nearly 20 years. My coffee mugs all have bottoms and I have to fill them myself.   That said it’s a short commute to work so I’m not complaining. In fact, I have had zero time to think in a straight line let alone whinge about the kinks. Here’s why. February: lull before the perfect storm, thought I might actually ge