‘Write what you know’ they say, but as a new parent all I knew was dirty nappies, sleepless nights, and the smell of milk permeating everything. I felt like it had all been covered. I didn’t want to become “just another mommy blogger” writing about the daily minutiae of raising kids.
Film festivals often claim to be motivated by a desire to put a spotlight on emerging talent but restrictive entry requirements can mean that entering is a big gamble for the very independent films they wish to exhibit. Are film festivals really encouraging new talent or could it be a marketing ploy?
Months of sleep deprivation, loss of physical autonomy, extended exposure to high-pitched squealing sounds, and long hours of rocking back and forth. By the time I got some normalcy back, I realised I was in love, and that perhaps it was a form of Stockholm Syndrome.
SuperMum. She is that lady in the daytime ads for paper towels and other household products. Her home is immaculate, her hair always done, her kids are neat, and when little Timmy comes in caked in mud she simply tilts her head to the side and smiles, hands on hips. Ah, Timmy.
“It’s too nice” he says as I stare at a video of a raw chicken being ironed. I glance at the next screen to see a man licking a large knife. “It’s just not confronting enough” he says. It seems my friend and I have different ideas of confrontation when it comes to art.
Before I had a child, before the idea of a child was even conceived in my mind, my body and I were at war. It never looked the way I wanted it to, it never fit into the clothes I liked. I wanted to look sleek, I wanted to eat doughnuts for breakfast and fill myself up
About ten years ago I boxed up or sold all my belongings, packed myself just one bag, and caught a train to Halls Gap with the intention to walk through the Grampians. Being young and foolish, I had not packed enough food or researched the route and there was no GPS. Not that it mattered,
New Australian film The Dream Children tackles topics of same-sex marriage and adoption rights. Now showing at the Melbourne Queer Film Festival, the film had its world premiere recently and was well received. However, underlying the celebration was the sombre realisation that in the six years between shooting and the launch, not much has changed in
I’d never been part of a formal ceremony before. I wasn’t baptised, bat mitzvah-ed, or confirmed. I skipped my graduation night. I’ve never been married and no one has ever asked me to play flower girl or bridesmaid. But when my first-born arrived I found myself wanting to have a formal ritual. My desire was