Non-fictionOver cups of tea, Vince was soon telling me stories. About his grand­father, his Ngadjuri heritage, the Aboriginal boys’ home he’d lived in for seven years, a small town called Curramulka where he’d captained and coached the local Australian Rules football team. He also told a story, in passing, about how his mum had to hide him from welfare after his dad died, when Vince was a small child.

Essay IT WAS IN a Melbourne museum that I realised I didn’t know the traditional name for the area in South Australia where I’d grown up. I was leaning over a large map of Victoria carved in wood and displayed...

MemoirI WAS IN a foul mood a few weeks back. In a flash of bleak insight, I wrote on a scrap of paper: I hope I don't die today, this would be a very bad mood to die in.When...

EssayA FRIEND ASKED me what drew me to live in Tasmania on and off for the past thirty years. I sketched an outline of the island on a blank page in my notebook.'It's a heart,' I said.'It could be...

Memoir IN SEPTEMBER 2020, two months into Melbourne’s second lockdown, I was in my local park doing my allotted hour of physical activity when a pleasant feeling that wasn’t just feel-good-exercise-chemicals flowed through me. A surprising thought followed: ‘I’m really happy.’ I’d just...