Encouraging a New Writer

By Rosemary Nissen-Wade (WordsFlow facilitator)

The WordsFlow writers’ group recently presented a young writer, Revinda O’Donnell, with a brand new notebook purchased from the proceeds of our last anthology. 

Left to right: Revinda, Kay, Rosemary, Eddie

What happened was that, after a few years of producing zines and chapbooks, we decided we’d learned as much as we needed to from that exercise and didn’t wish to continue. That left us with money over and the question of what to do with it. We tossed around the usual ideas, like having a party, until someone suggested it would be appropriate to use it to help and encourage new writers. But how? And which new writers? It wasn’t as if it was a fortune.

Then we remembered that Kay, an early WordsFlow participant, now teaches at local ACE Community Colleges. She began by running literacy classes for young adults and developed that into a writing group. I told her our plans and she said, ‘I’ve got the very person!’

Revinda is a single mother from an abused background. Kay and Tia — the course supervisor, who is also a qualified psychologist — describe Revinda’s writing as eloquent and exciting. The book she’s working on includes her poetry, a memoir, and transcripts of court cases she was involved in because of the abuse. She told us she felt that if she could survive her background and come to a good place, so can others, and that what she has to share could be helpful. She has titled the book, Forgetting Horror.

When Kay told me about Revinda, my next question was, ‘What does she need that would be helpful to her writing?’

‘A laptop!’ said Kay, after only a moment’s thought. ‘It would make such a difference to her.’

So Eddie, the production manager and treasurer for our last anthology, who also knows a thing or two about computers, did some research.  We had thought, with our limited funds, we might have to look for a good second-hand one, but he found a special on a new machine. He consulted with Cheryl, WordsFlow’s computer expert, to make sure it was a good buy. It was! After we handed it over to Revinda, he sat with her awhile to help her get familiar with it. 

The presentation was a happy, and not unduly formal occasion. We invited Revinda to visit our group when possible to share her writing with us, and she said she’d love to.

The Creek

By Nan Doyle

This poem — about an Australian childhood that some of us are lucky enough to remember, and which probably still exists in some places— has recently been aired a number of times on the radio program Australia All Over, giving it one of the widest audiences any writer could hope for. It has touched a chord with listeners, many of whom have contacted Nan asking for copies. We're proud to share it here.

Do you remember when we were young, Tom?
We’d scarper away to the creek,

On Sundays at one, before Church had begun

And the treasures of nature we’d seek.

We knew where the birds had their nests, Tom

We knew where the fish liked to hide

We knew where the maidenhair grew, Tom

And we knew where the bees had a hive.

We used to laugh at the world, Tom

As we merrily hunted for frogs.

We ate lilly pillies and called them wild cherries

And crossed over the creek on a log.

Then we’d go back to the house, Tom
As the clock was striking three.

We had the primeval instinct of kids, Tom

To be home for afternoon tea.

Then the lectures would start, Tom

After the parson had gone,

Our souls must be headed for Hell, Tom,

if wagging church was so wrong.

I remember the day you protested,

In tones begrudgingly meek,

‘If God wants to talk to a bloke, Dad,

Why don’t he come down to the creek?

‘It’s hard to sit still in church, Dad,

When you’re only a boy like me.

We don’t make much noise at the creek, Dad,

And there’s interesting things to see.

‘Why does God live in a church, Dad?

Where an hour seems more like a week?

If God wants to talk yo a bloke, Dad,

He oughta live down at the creek.’

I went there today for a walk, Tom,

And nothing has changed very much.

I sat there and breathed in the peace, Tom,

And memories came back with a rush.

I found something good there today, Tom,

And I’ll give you this secret to keep.

He was there with us all of the time, Tom.

He’s always lived down at the creek.