1,720,966 research outputs found
Anthology of Austraian Music on Disc: CSM: 40 A Selection of Twentieth Century Australian Piano Music Disc 2
No full text
Anthology of Austraian Music on Disc: CSM: 40 A Selection of Twentieth Century Australian Piano Music Disc 1
No full textFrancesca Rendle-Short
No full textRendle-Short, Francesca - ANUTECH, The ANUTECH Prizes - Short Story and Poetry Literary Competition 1995. Photographer: Hay, Stuar
Bite Your Tongue
No full textMrs Angel Rendle-Short said that a book given to her daughter, Francesca, as an English textbook at school would teach her to be a permissive rebel. (Courier Mail, 1975) There are some things you should never speak about. In Francesca Rendle-Short's family, silence was golden. So to break ranks and tell stories about her peculiar family life and her mother's moral crusading should send this daughter straight to hell in a ball of smoke and flame along with all those books her mother wanted to burn. Some stories are hard to tell. But like reading, writing stories changes everything. Set in 1970s Queensland and also contemporary times, Bite Your Tongue is an elegant mix of novel and memoir that is in turn harrowing and delightful. It threads together the childhood story of the fictional Glory Solider, with the thoughts and experiences of the adult author, Francesca Rendle-Short, as she looks more deeply into her mother's activism at the time of facing her mother's death. Can a daughter forgive her mother for making her a pawn in her conservative moral crusades? Can greater understanding reinstate love? What does a mother owe a daughter and a daughter a mother? Bite Your Tongue is the story of the deep bond that exists between a daughter and her mother, no matter how difficult that mother might be. It is also a story of acceptance.Front Cover -- HalfTitle Page -- Title Page -- Copyright Page -- Dedication Page -- Contents -- Prologue -- It's a sin -- Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9 -- Chapter 10 -- Chapter 11 -- Chapter 12 -- Chapter 13 -- Chapter 14 -- Chapter 15 -- Chapter 16 -- Chapter 17 -- Chapter 18 -- Chapter 19 -- Chapter 20 -- Chapter 21 -- Chapter 22 -- The most secret of all places -- Chapter 23 -- Chapter 24 -- Chapter 25 -- Chapter 26 -- Chapter 27 -- Chapter 28 -- Chapter 29 -- Chapter 30 -- Chapter 31 -- Chapter 32 -- Chapter 33 -- Chapter 34 -- Chapter 35 -- Chapter 36 -- Chapter 37 -- Chapter 38 -- Chapter 39 -- Chapter 40 -- Chapter 41 -- Chapter 42 -- Chapter 43 -- Chapter 44 -- Chapter 45 -- Kill! Kill! -- Chapter 46 -- Chapter 47 -- Chapter 48 -- Chapter 49 -- Chapter 50 -- Chapter 51 -- Chapter 52 -- Chapter 53 -- Chapter 54 -- Chapter 55 -- Chapter 56 -- Chapter 57 -- Chapter 58 -- Chapter 59 -- Chapter 60 -- Chapter 61 -- Chapter 62 -- Chapter 63 -- Chapter 64 -- Chapter 65 -- Chapter 66 -- Chapter 67 -- Chapter 68 -- Chapter 69 -- Chapter 70 -- Don't ever tell -- Chapter 71 -- Chapter 72 -- Chapter 73 -- Chapter 74 -- Chapter 75 -- Chapter 76 -- Chapter 77 -- Chapter 78 -- Chapter 79 -- Chapter 80 -- Chapter 81 -- Chapter 82 -- Chapter 83 -- Chapter 84 -- Chapter 85 -- Wings ablaze -- Chapter 86 -- Chapter 87 -- Chapter 88 -- Chapter 89 -- Chapter 90 -- Chapter 91 -- Chapter 92 -- Chapter 93 -- Chapter 94 -- Chapter 95 -- Chapter 96 -- Chapter 97 -- Chapter 98 -- Chapter 99 -- Chapter 100 -- Dr Joy's Death List: Burn a Book A Day -- List of illustrations -- Permissions -- Acknowledgments -- Back CoverMrs Angel Rendle-Short said that a book given to her daughter, Francesca, as an English textbook at school would teach her to be a permissive rebel. (Courier Mail, 1975) There are some things you should never speak about. In Francesca Rendle-Short's family, silence was golden. So to break ranks and tell stories about her peculiar family life and her mother's moral crusading should send this daughter straight to hell in a ball of smoke and flame along with all those books her mother wanted to burn. Some stories are hard to tell. But like reading, writing stories changes everything. Set in 1970s Queensland and also contemporary times, Bite Your Tongue is an elegant mix of novel and memoir that is in turn harrowing and delightful. It threads together the childhood story of the fictional Glory Solider, with the thoughts and experiences of the adult author, Francesca Rendle-Short, as she looks more deeply into her mother's activism at the time of facing her mother's death. Can a daughter forgive her mother for making her a pawn in her conservative moral crusades? Can greater understanding reinstate love? What does a mother owe a daughter and a daughter a mother? Bite Your Tongue is the story of the deep bond that exists between a daughter and her mother, no matter how difficult that mother might be. It is also a story of acceptance.Description based on publisher supplied metadata and other sources.Electronic reproduction. Ann Arbor, Michigan : ProQuest Ebook Central, YYYY. Available via World Wide Web. Access may be limited to ProQuest Ebook Central affiliated libraries
Writing wrongs: the art of crossing over to 'unbite' the tongue
No full textIn a new book about studio spaces and studio practice, Brisbane painter Joe Furlonger states: ‘The happy accident is probably my motto, I think the only way forward is by making mistakes, and I make plenty.’ If you sin once, you can sin again. In this article I am exploring this idea of ‘happy accident’ as it relates to writing a very particular and ‘rebellious’ Queensland story. How as an artist you begin to rely on these mistakes as a means of propelling yourself forward in your creative endeavours; how mistakes, even when they show you up in a not-so-good light, become a way of opening yourself up to the imagination and new possibilities. To write anything a writer must betray something. It is transgressive. It places you at the very juncture of risk. For any writer, collisions of this ‘oops-I’ve-made-amistake’ kind can be confronting, how more so for someone ‘mining the body’ for her material and direction. In this case, in writing a ‘return to Brisbane fiction’, there’s a chance of ‘making different’, transformation. In other words, autobiography/fiction as a reckoning, a ‘righting’. To reclaim self. Be with the body. Here find the tongue
Illicit desire
No full textAll photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability,” Susan Sontag wrote in 1977. When I was small, on some Saturday nights when my family wasn’t entertaining people from the church with barbecues, we’d beg to have a slide night. We’d crowd into the lounge room, close the curtains and ooh-and-aah at my father’s pictures of us, his family. Looking at photographs is a bit like reading books; they invite such acute feeling, where you reveal yourself in the most intimate of moments. Whatever that feeling is, they illicit desire. Here, the word ‘illicit’ spelt with an ‘i’, as a verb – because in my family desire was illicit, like alcohol, like dancing
Illicit desire
No full textAll photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability,” Susan Sontag wrote in 1977. When I was small, on some Saturday nights when my family wasn’t entertaining people from the church with barbecues, we’d beg to have a slide night. We’d crowd into the lounge room, close the curtains and ooh-and-aah at my father’s pictures of us, his family. Looking at photographs is a bit like reading books; they invite such acute feeling, where you reveal yourself in the most intimate of moments. Whatever that feeling is, they illicit desire. Here, the word ‘illicit’ spelt with an ‘i’, as a verb – because in my family desire was illicit, like alcohol, like dancing
Artists Talk: listen to the imagination
No full textHow does the imagination work? How do artists working in different forms move from the very beginning of an idea to something they are ready to share with the world? How do artists - even the most experienced - contend with the possibility of failure? And, how do we develop a robust reflective and creative practice in our creative writing programs? This article doesn't pretend to answer these questions explicitly, rather, in its own elliptical style, it explores the possibilities of creation, how to express the inexpressible, how to share the most nascent of ideas. It introduces the reader to the Artists Talk program that has been developed successfully at the University of Canberra as a model of practice
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