A gray day is remarkable here in this city of hard blue skies and flat line thermometers. And when the gray day comes with rain the locals lose the plot, abandoning public transport to travel by car, averse to puddles and umbrellas and possibly wet hair.
So when I drove to the cultural precinct for the last of my creative writing seminars today the car parks were full, forcing me into a more expensive option further afield.
I was late for class. And slightly damp, having dodged Chinese tourists through Southbank and a crocodile file of primary-school children on excursion at the museum on my way to the State Library. But it was worth the splashing and sticky dash to get there.
For a couple of hours I ignored my emails and reactivated my right brain. And I gained a new perspective on creative writing. Apparently it takes discipline and consistency. Who knew?
I also learned some formulas for approaching the task and gathered intel on resources; books and websites and podcasts and – always my favourite – software. In fact, I’ve purchased and installed new software on my laptop and phone already and I’m using it to write this. Notice the difference? Well, at least I’m writing.
After a coffee and cornish pastie I made my way to a clinic for my annual mammogram. The last one was two years ago. (My approach to annual is loose.) I spent three hours in a bathrobe, called into various rooms to have my breast tissue poked and prodded and photographed. I left reassured but considerably poorer.
Nothing like having your breasts sandwiched between Perspex to remind you that you’re just a collection of potentially abnormal cells
— Angela Bensted (@twothumbswriter) March 7, 2018
