I am a Writer by Julie Cahill

Empty Nest Syndrome

How does it feel when your last child leaves home? The day my son left home, I squealed more like a dumped teen than a 46-year old over-devoted mother, but then someone told me I’d have to do my own thing. After years of lavishing my children’s whims, my thing? Did I have one?

Wife, Mother and Businesswoman

My children made me prouder than a Swarovski punch bowl but I had no time to even think about what I liked doing.

Both of my children modelled with Mostly Kids. We traipsed to auditions which were like meat markets, but their photoshoots were successful.

Adding to my ridiculous schedule, which incurred cartwheels during sleep, I ran our skip bin business because my husband worked away. I also managed the Middleton General Store full time. In between, I took care of my father-in-law who lived with us. He forgot me most of the time but loved me when he recognised who I was. I loved him continually, along with his colourful tales of Ireland.

My First Writing Group

Lo and behold when a new writing group started the day after my nest emptied, enthusiasm spilled from me like molten lava. Designated as the new facilitator, I got to run the group before I took my pencils from their wrapping. I set creative writing exercises, and glory be our first anthology was published nine months later.

I had enough life experience to rewrite Aesop’s Fables, the Bible, and the entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica. I just needed the tools, you know, correct sentence construction and punctuation. I had a full set of Derwent coloured pencils in my toolbox, but they needed sharpening. 

Now, I cringe at my early work. I can’t read it. Thirteen years on, my pencils have worn, but I keep sharpening.

My Writing Mind

‘Someone’s writing through me,’ I’d declared at first, astonished at what fell out — prolific words which made me wonder. I didn’t even know what I was writing until it appeared firmly in ink. Call me old fashioned, but surely writers have beginnings, middles and ending sorted before they commence writing? Not me!

Eventually, I realised that sections of my stories emerged from the play of dreams, some parts from previous decades and others from hearsay. 

I thought I was a total fruit cake until I discovered that writing for me is a therapeutic journey. I have grown with storytelling. It heals grief, anger and provides great joy.

When you write, I’d say, share it, burn it, or trample it to death if you wish but let the truth be known. You don’t need other people to tell you what to write, but when you publish, then you need to craft your writing for your audience.

Challenges as Storylines

I draw on family stories and my health in much of my writing. For example, my father’s passing was the most challenging period in my life, but he returns in many forms, in many stories, saying things he hadn’t time to say during his lifetime. 

He was as Irish as Irish is. Patrick Murphy by name. Perhaps that’s why I’m full of Blarney. Dad was my rock and hero, which gave my husband some huge pants to fill.  

Then there is Chronic Fatigue. It tops my list of bloody rude ailments. While it is intensely debilitating at times, I write myself sane. I also write on health sites as an ambassador for the condition.

Writing Achievements

My current project is a magical realism novel entitled Ten Pound Poms. Yes, it is the story of a family’s migration, my story, highlighting life’s magical moments.

I was invited with my writing group to attend an afternoon tea at Adelaide’s Government House after I read one of my poems to the Governor at the launch of Sand Writers’ anthology, Speak Out, 2019. 

I have many other publications under my belt, and I love to entertain my friends on Facebook with the oddities of my life. People tell me that my postings burst with lopsided humour.

Poetry

I began by writing prose, but when prizewinning Adelaide poet, Jude Aquilina converted it into absurdist stanzas, I discovered a whole new genre to release my humour.

Where I once despised rhyming poetry, thinking it immature and contrived, now, it flows from my nib as fluidly as waters from Niagara Falls. I regularly submit to Australian Children’s Poetry, as wee rhyming ditties warm the hearts of the young. Why not try it yourself?

Where Stories Emerge

I see stories in each new dawn, in nature and especially in majestic life-giving trees. The trees around my home whisper secrets, but they are not mine to tell. I hear the wind moving through the eucalypts on its way to our homestead, bringing tales of the sea.

Once, an ancient tree near my home, moaned in the darkness, sending the bejesus up my spine then down my gartered socks. In the morning, the ancient monolith lay hugging the earth, a tree that began its life long before my grandmother was born. My stories come from events like this.

Similarly, I draw on real-life to characterise; for example, an old man can be a gnarled periwinkle. A daft, laughing woman could become a gurgling jellyfish. 

I live a precious and privileged life, one that delights me to record to share as a writer. 

My Writing Tips

Write what suits you is my motto, as long as it is not defamatory or bullying. Life is too precious to harm a single soul. Remember, the pen is mightier than the sword. 

Being in a writing group where you are among like-minded people, is a beautiful way to improve your craft, share ideas and learn from collegial critique.

Author Bio