Prose makes for a fine line between poetry and story, but I think I’ve successfully found a way to marry the two. Like pretty much everything I create, this one is to do with my children. They ARE my world, you know. The writing group may tell me to move onto something new, but I say no, because I’m a good mother. I’m interested in their lives, I want the best for them…and if that means they’re all I talk about, well so be it. I, personally, think they’re pretty interesting.
This latest piece of mine is called ‘Ode to the Ball Pit’, and I wrote it while I was at my local indoor play centre. Friendly staff in Melbourne are hard to come by, but they’re paramount for me when I’m looking for a play centre. That’s when I take a little bof of a break from my mothering duties and let my kids be free to discover. They climb over the frames, dive into the ball pit, slide down the slides, create imaginary worlds…they’re creative like their mum, clearly. Here’s an extract, because I feel the internet at large will appreciate my artistry far more than this group of neanderthals.
‘Ball pit. Ball pit. BALL PIT. So full of balls. Colourful balls, of smooth plastic. Diving. Diving. DIVING in the ball pit. Child is gone, child emerges. I drink my herbal tea, unconcerned.’
Alright, I don’t want to spoil the whole thing. I have an anthology book coming out soon and you need something to give your relatives for Christmas. If they like ball pits or kids birthday party venues, Canberra or the surrounding areas, would work. On sale in a few days, maybe!
I’ve given up taking this group’s opinion on anything really. I mean, half of them aren’t even parents, and even the ones who are talk about things other than their children. What’s the point of being a parent if you can’t even talk about your kids all the time?