Narrator Magazine Blue Mountains Summer 2010

Narrator Magazine

Blue Mountains

Summer 2010

Smashwords Edition

narrator MAGAZINE is published by MoshPit Publishing

Shop 1, 197 Great Western Highway, Hazelbrook NSW 2779

MoshPit Publishing is an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

P: 1300 644 680 ABN 48 126 885 309

http://www.moshpitpublishing.com.au/

http://www.narratormagazine.com.au/

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This ebook may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other books by this publisher. Thank you for your support.

Cover: ‘Bejewelled the Glassy Palace Vibrates’ - Jennifer Gabbay - 2009, oil on board

‘This painting is from a series of works on Venice - a city unique in its canals, architecture and masked balls. Reinterpreting the life and colour of Venice through imagination and illusion, I have endeavoured to imbue the works with an emotive spirit and an expression of movement and rhythm via fragmentation and distortion.’

To contact Jennifer Gabbay, please call 0425 224 890 or email jennulla@aapt.net.au. Website will be coming soon.

A few words from the publisher ...

We are thrilled to bring you this second edition of Narrator Magazine.

We are also thrilled with the kind words that people have sent in and with the general response to the first issue. Most newsagencies across the Mountains have been incredibly supportive, as have several of the independent bookstores—so on behalf of us here at MoshPit Publishing and the contributors to the first issue, a big THANK YOU!

The good news is that Narrator now has its own website at http://www.narratormagazine.com.au/. This means that you can now upload your stories, poems, essays and artworks directly to us via the ‘Submit’ page on the website, and no longer have to send us a separate declaration. By uploading your submission you are agreeing to the terms and conditions on the website, which makes it easier all round.

We also have a Facebook page, so please join us on Facebook for regular updates regarding submission close dates, new issue dates etc.

The other good news is that due to the response to the first Blue Mountains issue, we will be introducing other regional issues over the coming two years, as well as what we are calling our ‘Genre’ issues. If you like to write in a particular genre, such as romance, horror, mystery etc, you can contribute to one of our Genre issues. These will be made available nationwide, right across Australia, so if your piece is chosen to go in that particular Genre issue, you will receive nationwide exposure of your writing! For more information please go to the ‘Genre’ page of the website.

One of the issues with Narrator Magazine that troubled us from the start was the knowledge that to feel free to publish stories with adult themes and language would mean restricting contributors to the age of 18 or over to avoid any nasty repercussions. This led to a couple of emails from disappointed, but keen, under-18s. In an initial attempt to provide a forum for our youngsters, one of our first Genre editions will be the Youth Issue—specifically for under-18s. If you know of any under 18s anywhere in the country who would like to have a shot at getting their writing published, please refer them to the Genre page at www.narratormagazine.com.

As a result of feedback, we have decided to invite guest editors and writers to award the prizes for each issue’s contributions, and use the voting system for a single People’s Choice Award. Details are on page 34.

But now it’s time for you to start turning the pages … enjoy! Thank you for purchasing this quarter’s copy of Narrator Magazine, and best wishes for a safe and enjoyable summer from all of us here at Narrator.

Jenny Mosher

December 2010

Winning Entries for Spring 2010

Our first issue, Spring 2010, was well received and voting quite frantic on some days. The eventual winners were:

First prize—$200 goes to Zoya Kraus of Blackheath for her touching poem ‘Bright Spark’

Second prize—$100 goes to Robyn Nance of Valley Heights for her entertaining poem ‘The Liberation of Ted Farmer’ and …

Third prize—$50 has had to be doubled as we had two third prize winners! Tying for third place were Elizabeth Diehl with her intriguing story ‘Everything Seems to Broken’ and Greg North with his clever poem ‘Black Future’.

The poems certainly struck a chord last issue! Congratulations to all winners, and also everyone else who contributed to the first issue. Simply having the courage to send your work in speaks volumes.

Table of Contents

Poetry

Aggifanakapan – Joana Na Na Goanna

Alone Together – Sonia Ursus Satori

And Noise Kills Empathy – Michele Fermanis-Winward

Blue Denim – John Egan

Breakfast at the Stockmarket – Alan Lucas

Characters – James Craib

Death of my Grandson - Mary Krone

Fly a Kite – Joan Vaughan-Taylor

Juju Shimmy – Albany Dighton

Opinions Vary – David Bowden

Spirit of the Mountains – Reginald Reid

Stick It! – Gregory North

The Curse – Sonja Van As

Untitled – Margaret Dighton

What I Wish I Could Be – Robyn Chaffey

Short Stories

All About Ticker – Mark Riches

Autumn Katoomba Moon – Sandy Mac

Balloon Trip – M.Grace

Bullion – David Berger

Daniel – Sue Artup

Fluid Notions – Sonia Ursus Satori

George the Enchanted Tortoise – Nana J

Guests to Ghosts – Arthur Gray

Identity – Karen Maber

Memories of the Creek – Axel Williams

My Lovely Garden – Taffy Campbell

On a Wet Night – Alan Lucas

Paris Match – Samantha Miller

Roast Beef – Paris Portingale

The Horse Hair Shirt – Mark O’Flynn

The Last Flight of the Cockie – Aristidis Metaxas

The Loaf of Bread – Linda Yates

The Tin Boats of Opoutama – Peter Benson

Three Dollars and Thirty Cents – Rebecca Langham

Essays

Classic Hollywood and DW Griffith – Albany Dighton

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree – Rosemary Baldry

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Three Dollars and Thirty Cents – Rebecca Langham

This late age of the world’s experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a well of tears. Tears and sorrows; courage and endurance; a perfectly upright and stoical bearing.

- Virginia Woolfe (Mrs. Dalloway - 1925)

Gina sat silently staring at the starkly cold kitchen bench. She rested her elbows against the pebbled laminate and sank her face into her palms as though searching for a different, more pleasant, reality inside her own hands. She lifted her head—it felt heavy upon her stiff neck. She rested her chin against the backs of her entwined hands.

Gina’s eyes wandered across the surface of the bench. It was worn, faded, in need of rejuvenation, much like her life. Each small blemish had a story behind it, some from before her time in the three bedroom house in Lawson, but many more had appeared since she and her family had moved in three years earlier. It had been so exciting, galvanising, and special. After living in a caravan with a baby and her husband for almost a year the space in their new home was so liberating, it had refreshed her and made her once again thirst for domesticity and family life—a thirst that had all but dried up as the aluminium walls had started to slowly suffocate her. The moment she moved in she had wished, for the first time, that she and her husband earned more money, or that they would miraculously win the lottery (despite never buying a ticket) so she could have a little fun with the space. She planned the landscape of the front garden in her mind before settlement had even been completed. She had picked out different tones of green to create a magnificent feature wall in her eldest daughter’s room, pinks for her youngest as she was more prone to fancies of princesses and tiaras. Gina would put her display unit, full of trinkets and baby photos, over in that left corner of the dining room (and what a joy it was to have a dining room, rather than a paltry booth crammed in next to the refrigerator in the caravan). Her husband never let her buy the display unit though and the paint in Kelcie and Samantha’s rooms peeled from the ceiling like flakes of skin from an especially sun burnt child.

Gina touched her index finger to a small cut on the bench top. It was around three centimetres long and quite fine, probably not even noticeable to most people. It was the most recent. She had been cutting up carrot sticks to give to the girls. Samantha was at an age when she enjoyed trying to feed herself, though it usually resulted in a rather spectacular mess. Gina, that day, had felt somewhat at sea. She cut the carrots instinctively, having done the same thing every day for several months. Her mind, however, was awash elsewhere. She floated in a deep, dark sea surrounded by an impenetrable mist that blocked out everything but the soft sound of water lapping against an invisible shore, too far off to see, but which she could sense was there, nonetheless. Her peaceful and lonely floating had been rudely interrupted when the screen door had opened loudly, sending vibrations through her hands and causing the knife to slide along the edge of the cutting board and slice into the bench top. She had rushed to push the board along to cover her indiscretion before Mick saw what she had done. Before they had married he had only ever laughed playfully when she was clumsy like that as she often had a tendency to lose focus. Now, however, he took such lapses in concentration like an assault on him personally and though he never hit her, he had other ways to make her pay.

Gina looked away from the bench and down at her eldest child, Kelcie, who was playing quietly on the tiled floor. She had her legs crossed neatly beneath her small frame and was using her thin fingers to twist the dial on a plastic telephone. Kelcie was an especially quiet four-year-old. She rarely cried or had tantrums and she was more empathetic than your average pre-schooler. On one occasion she was concerned that her sister, three years younger than her, was getting cold. So in an attempt to warm her and keep her safe Kelcie had delicately lifted the bunny rug from the floor and placed it over the heater in the belief that making the heater warmer would thus warm Samantha. And naturally, the resulting fire warmed the entire living room. Gina had laughed after she had put out the small flames in a panic, finding her daughter’s concern endearing. Mick, however, sat Kelcie alone in an empty bathtub for over two hours so the toddler could supposedly think about what she had done. Samantha remained sleeping throughout the entire incident—totally oblivious to the developing family dynamics.

Gina picked up her faded purple wallet from the bench and began turning it over cyclically in