Tucked into his back pocket as he heads from the town camp back out to home, Arch carries a pre-paid mobile. He hasn’t got a job – he only just left school – and most times, takeaway is all he eats on the weekend. But the mobile? It’s precious. They’ve all got them, all his mob. Most of the time, as long as they’re close to Alice, the service is not so bad.

Way up on the Cape York Peninsula, seven year old Tara shouts with frustration at her screen. After five minutes of “voice dislocated from moving lips” distortion, the face of her teacher has completely jammed – just as she was about to give an answer. Now someone else is going to get in before her.

Recently I was asked how I manage ‘writer’s block’.  This was my response.

I write lyrics, poetry, prose, blogs etc and there are times when there just doesn't seem to be any flow for more.  I used to panic a bit about that, but then one day I realised that when I was getting a lot of creative ideas, I wouldn't bother to keep a record of them all and would just work on what was most prominent. 

As human beings we have an extraordinary capacity that no other being has. We can write. We formulate ideas, expressions, theories, paradigms and feelings and can then articulate them in written form. So many of us keep a journal of some sort. Why do we do this? Why the compulsion to put down on paper what has transpired, or what has become revolutionary to our thinking, or even the things that have hurt us deeply?

We had journeyed together for two days, stopping first in Mildura and Robinvale, then onto Broken Hill, the coach filled with guitars and happy voices melodiously singing old favourite hymns. The trip had been fun, new friendships formed, much sharing over meals and long hours on the coach, and then the 'magic' happened!