Tuesday, 5 July 2011
This year started with a rusted knuckled anchor chain thrown off the deck of my brother's sailing boat as we vied for a spot on Sydney Harbour on the 31st December. Vodka and something sweet, fireworks like cannon blasts and falling fairies, a putter across the harbour to take Lisa home before dawn.
Hours afterwards a slick of sun found my face. I looked up to see a block of harbourside flats rocking from side to side like a piano metronome. We jumped into the green water and Paul's bird cooked loads to eat.
Later I waited for the others in Sirius Cove, a magical place stolen from another people. The cove cuts into the landscape and though there are mansions on top the shore is unkempt and sandy with tossed rocks. I swear I felt the thrumming of the land. I could have sat there forever.
These days, halfway through the year, I am in summer heat again, wishing I were near water. But Venice is full of tourists. The nearby beaches have no waves. I will wait for Corsica. Yesterday my youngest and I bought a tent.
Meanwhile my eyes hurt and the editing of this book goes on and on. And on. My editor is strict. He says the book works and should do well if it finds its way to the right audience. I can't even begin to think of this next step.