Category Archives: Gunnas-Masters

“The Beginning” – a prompt exercise by Natalie Read

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

Words – “lucky dip”.

Picture – a naked young woman sitting on a sofa looking at a skeleton.

Prompts – underlined.

Once upon a time there was… Isn’t that the perfect beginning to a story? Actually, is there really a bad way to begin a story? Even if it doesn’t start well, by the very nature of it beginning it now has room to improve… Once upon a time there was a girl. And, as so often happens in these cases, once upon a time there was a boy. Well, a man technically, but a boy at heart in every way. There are many philosophies as to what brings us together in life – fate, destiny, or maybe it is all just a lucky dip. Whatever the reason, this girl and this boy were brought together. Not in an outstanding sort of way – mutual friends, the usual sort of thing – it was hardly love at first sight. “Like at first matching of wits” would be closer to the truth. Every day after they were brought together was, well every day was different. That’s life. Is there such a thing as an “every day” occurrence? There are always variants. Even your morning coffee differs in temperature and strength. But every day after they were brought together led to the next day they would meet. One day the boy asked the girl to go for a walk, just the two of them. It still wasn’t love, but the like was certainly growing and the wits were still matching. The walks became more frequent – more fun, more fulfilling – until it did, somewhat unexpectedly, become love. Not the sort of honeymoon, stars in your eyes kind of love that so often burns out as fast as it ignites, rather the sort of love that left them feeling as if they had been married for 45 years but had somehow not noticed the time passing them by. Because of that they grew together faster that they might have, catching up to the 45 years of togetherness that seemed to exist between them. The walks became dinners, the dinners led to nights, and the nights led to weeks in what would clearly be a lifetime of endless days and nights, of walks and dinners, of wits and love. And because of that it never crossed their mind – lifetimes are sometimes far from endless… Who knows what is at play when people are driven apart. Fate? Destiny? Or is it all a matter of luck? Whatever the ultimate cause, there came a night when the boy did not come home. Two men came to the door…. But not the boy – the boy would not be coming home again. There would be no more walks, no more wits…. But there would always be love. Because no amount of fate, destiny or luck can undo love. And so the girl goes on, her love undying, doing her best to live life for the both of them. Until finally, or so the girl hopes, they might be brought together again. Through fate, or destiny, or luck… In the afterlife? Or another life? Perhaps feeling a strange connection that seems to surpass the ages. Where the girl and the boy might begin their “once upon a time” all over again….

The Beginning.

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The Rise Of Rose (A RWBY Fanfic) –  Joel Campbell

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

–PROLOGUE–

The woods were silent. Not even a bird, calling out to its chicks could be heard. There was a thick layer of snow on the ground, among with many fallen trees that couldn’t stand the weight on the snow. Each of the trees in the mountain range was without leaves in this time of year but instead were tainted a bright white from the endless amount of snow gently drifting down from the sky, which gave them the nickname ‘ghost trees’. The branches on the trees faced upwards, and in their bare state, created the illusion that they were angrily demanding something from the gods. These trees overpopulated the valley, making it very hard to see a few metres in front of you.

It truly was a desolate place, with barely any animals visiting this area. Stuck in a huge valley between two mountainous ridges, it was almost impossible to get down. Almost. A small women, dressed in a white hood and cloak, was dashing in between the god-forsaken trees, dodging the snow that fell from the tips of the trees. She was clearly looking for something, and the ears on top of her head kept straining and moving as she tried to hear something. Then she heard it.

Screaming. High pitched, ear shattering screaming that completely destroyed the serenity and silence of the night. She quickened her pace and felt the beginnings of a furious growl in her chest. The screaming continued, getting louder and louder as she got ever closer to the source. She leapt over fallen trees and tried not to slip as she crossed a frozen lake. The screaming was nearby, but it echoed throughout the winter wonderland she was currently in. She stopped moving as she heard something that made her blood stop.

“MUUUUUUUUUUM!” Came the long, drawn out, torturous scream. Her lips pulled back into a wicked snarl, she sprinted faster than she had ever moved before, getting ever closer to the screams. Crossing the lake, she saw a large log cabin amidst a dense area of trees. She was exhausted, and her head was throbbing painfully from the blow to her face from her daughter’s captors. But nothing would stop her, nothing will stop her from getting her daughter.

“MUUUUM, PLEASE!” The scream pierced the night, shattering all rational thoughts from her head. She dashed to the cabin and smashed the door down.

“RUBY! WHERE ARE YOU!” She screamed.

“MUM! HELP ME!” Ruby’s voice appeared to come from beneath her. Locating a staircase downwards, she jumped down. The staircase was massive, going down at least 20 metres. She turned a corner, and her body clenched up in anger. Her daughter was sobbing and screaming uncontrollably, in the middle of the room. She was strapped to a table, and four men surrounded her. They were huge, giants seemingly made only of muscle. They all appeared to hold a form of dust in their hands.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing to my baby!” She screamed loudly. All four men turned around.

“Well well well, looks like mother wolf has come to save her pup.” The man closest to her said as he laughed. “Too bad she’s too late.”

“What are you talking about!?” She exclaimed. The man simply laughed.

“The process is done! Unfortunately for you, this is the last time you’ll see your daughter.” Her eyes flashed with anger. She growled menacingly, and her ears and tail became fully erect. The man’s eyes widened, as panic briefly flashed through his eyes. But it was only for a second, as he lunged at her. She quickly sidestepped the man and brought her fist down on his temple with strength deceiving for her size. The man folded like a sack of potatoes, and the light in his eyes faded. She glared menacingly at the other men.

Without a second thought, she threw herself at the closest man, swinging her right fist at him. He ducked, but he didn’t see her knee as it slammed into his nose, destroying it. Blood was streaming down his face, and his nose was flattened. But he wasn’t done.

He reached out and grabbed her ankle. He pulled her to the floor and pulled out a sword. He thrust at her, but she quickly leapt out of the way and landed on her feet. She retreated a few paces, only to see the two other men pulling out swords, and approaching her menacingly.

She pulled out her own weapons, which were twin katanas. They were a brilliant white but seemed to almost glow red. She swung one, and embers flew off the edges of the sword. The men both lunged at her, one swinging high and the other swinging at her legs. She leapt into the air, blocking the sword aimed at her throat.

She half flipped in mid-air, and as she flew over the man’s head, she swung both swords into his chest. They pierced his lungs, and thanks to the fire dust embedded in the katanas burned him. His blood superheated and boiled as he shouted in agony, screaming for mercy.

She pulled her katanas out of the dying man’s chest and flipped out of the way of the other man’s sword. He swung again, this time clipping her cloak. The man stepped forward and aimed a blow at her midsection. She readied her katanas, preparing for the blow to come. But as he brought the sword down, the quickly spun and changed the trajectory of his strike.

She brought both her swords forward, desperate to defend herself. A loud clang reverberated throughout the small area they were in as their weapons bounced off each other. She stumbled backwards at the strength of his blow, and he kept pressing the advantage.

Seeing that she was off balance, he wound his arm back, preparing to deliver his strongest hit. She realised that his entire left side was unprotected, so she darted forward, keeping herself close to the ground. She dragged her katanas on the ground, allowing them to spark as she lifted them up, and thrust them into his side.

She jumped up, pulling out one if the katanas as he aimlessly flailed his sword around, desperately trying to kill her. Suspended in midair, she delivered a vertical strike to the man’s throat and watched him gargle as his throat filled up with blood.

“You’re not too bad, you know that?” The man with the broken nose called out. She glanced around and caught sight of him. He was standing next to Ruby, his sword against her throat. She felt her pulse quicken. Ruby was sweating profusely, and her eyes were wide with fear.

“Let her go!” She shouted desperately.

“Now now, where’s the fun in that!” He said as he laughed. “How about you put your weapon down, and we can discuss things like rational adults?” She looked at her feet and dropped the katanas.

“What do you want?” She asked quietly, venom lacing her voice.

“I simply want to leave here with my life.”

“Then give me my daughter, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“See, I don’t think it’s gonna work like that. My boss has put way too much time and money into this girl to simply let her walk away.”

“What have you done to her? What interested could you possibly have in a ten-year-old girl?” She growled.

“We have merely improved her.” He shrugged. “Now, you’re gonna leave, and never come back. In return, your precious daughter won’t be slaughtered.” Her whole body tensed, shaking in anger. She looked at Ruby. Ruby nodded at her. She bent over to pick up her katanas.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The man cried out.

“Leaving,” She said. But at that moment, a flurry of roses petals erupted from where Ruby stood. With Ruby out of the way, she sprinted forward and buried her weapons into the man’s eyes. He screamed, but it was quickly cut off as the blades penetrated his brain. She pulled her katanas out as he slumped to the ground.

“Mum!” Ruby cried, as she leapt into her mother’s embrace.

“There there,” She said back, as she wrapped her tail around Ruby. “Let’s get out of here Ruby.” They stood up, and Ruby clenched her mother’s hand. Snow was drifting down from the sky as they walked out.

“Mum, I’m too tired,” Ruby said quietly as if simply talking was too much for her. Ruby’s mother picked her up and cradled her. She quickly realised that Ruby was extremely hot to touch.

“Ruby, are you feeling ok? You’re burning up!” She exclaimed.

“They said this would happen…” Ruby said tiredly.

“Who said what dear?” She questioned.

“They said the dust would change me,” Ruby mumbled, trying to keep her eyelids open. Ruby’s mother’s eyes widened at this. She almost collapsed in shock.

“They said what!?”

“They said… that the dust would… change me…” Ruby muttered, before falling asleep.

“Did they really… No, they couldn’t have. It hasn’t been done for decades, centuries even. Surely she misheard, or imagined it.” She thought to herself, as she readjusted Ruby in her arms. She bolted away, needing to get home as fast as possible.

She emerged in a small clearing, with trees surrounding her on all sides but one. On the north side, was a humongous cliff. She peered over the edge, but she couldn’t see the bottom. She walked away, and her pocket started to vibrate. She sighed, and gently lay Ruby down in the clearing. She pulled her scroll out her pocket.

“Summer, do you read me?” Summer smiled.

“Good evening Tai. I found her.” Summer heard a loud sigh of relief.

“Oh thank gods,” Tai muttered. “Are you far away now?”

“Yeah, I’m about an hour away. Ruby fell asleep the moment I got her, and she hasn’t woken.”

“Poor girl…” Taiyang said sadly. “She’s been through so much.” Summer’s ears pricked up as she heard a twig snap in the distance.

“Look, Summer-”

“Tai, quiet!” Summer whispered harshly. The ears on the top of her head wriggled about, straining to hear any sign of movement.

“Summer, what’s wrong?” Taiyang asked, concern creeping into his voice. Then Summer saw them. Huge, black beasts that resembled bears emerged from the tree line. They had massive claws, and bone armouring over their body, which had strange markings on  them. There were four of them, and they rushed out of the tree line and sprinted straight at Ruby. Summer realised that these monsters were Ursa. She threw the scroll the ground, drew her weapons and charged in.

“I JUST GOT HER BACK!” Summer screamed as she slashed the neck of the nearest Ursa. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!” The Ursa nearest to her stumbled forward and swiped at her. She flipped backwards, her back foot skidding on the edge of the cliff. Summer cursed as she leapt forward again.

“Summer!” Taiyang called through the scroll. Summer didn’t reply as she noticed a large pack of similar looking beasts emerge out of the tree line, however these ones resembled wolves, not bears. Ruby slowly stirred to life, and her eyes widened in horror as she saw the scene in front of her. Her mother stood in front of Ruby, and before her were three Ursa, and thirty or forty of the wolves, which were called Beowolves.

All of the Beowolves sprinted at Summer at once, but she cut through the first wave like it was nothing. Limbs were flying, and blood was painting the snow. Summer was hacking at everything in her path, leaving nothing but a trail of destruction.

One of the Ursa galloped at Summer and reared on it’s hind legs as Summer approached it. The Ursa howled, and soon enough the other two surrounded her. She leapt onto the chest of the Ursa in front of her and shoved a katana into its heart. Summer backflipped away, pulling the katana out as the Ursa fell backwards.

She landed on the head of a Beowolf as it sprinted the past, and planted her blades into its brain. It collapsed and skidded along the ground, and Summer was forced to roll off it.

She sprinted at one of the Ursa but realised as she got closer that she couldn’t the see the other one. She was about to leap onto the Ursa when the other one rammed into her, sending her flying. She dropped one of her katanas in midair, and couldn’t see where it landed. She landed heavily, further injuring her ribs. She struggled to breathe as she was winded. The rest of the Beowolves charged at her.

Out of nowhere, Ruby leapt into the fray with Summer’s other katana. She decapitated the leading Beowolf and sliced the arms off the Beowolf behind it. One of the Beowolves leapt at her, and Ruby was forced to dodge its flailing arms. One of the beasts came from behind her, and Ruby quickly pivoted, dodging it’s arms and puncturing its heart.

Summer was exhausted. She’d been fighting for almost an hour, and every time she killed, another two seemed to take its place. But she couldn’t leave Ruby. Ruby was fighting like never before, determined to get out of this frozen hell. But she too, was beginning to tire. A Beowolf stuck at her, and Ruby couldn’t raise her blade in time. The beast swatted the katana away and began swing at Ruby.

Ruby rolled underneath the arm of the beast and jumped onto it’s back. The Beowolf squirmed and tried to get its assailant off it’s back, but to no avail. Ruby then grasped the beast’s head between her hands. The beast howled in pain as Ruby’s hands got hotter and hotter. The screaming got louder and louder until Ruby’s hands were aflame.

But shockingly, it didn’t cause her any pain. Ruby jumped away as the beast erupted into flames, causing the Beowolves who were nearby to panic. Summer, meanwhile, was struggling to take down the two Ursa. She was exhausted, but her maternal instincts refused to let her stop.

Until she slipped. She face planted and rolled away just before an Ursa crushed her. Ruby looked over and saw Summer in trouble.

“Mum!” She shouted as she leapt over the Beowolves in between them. She activated her semblance and dashed to her mum in a flurry of rose petals. But to her horror, she realised her mum was being held down by one of the Ursa.

“MUM RUN!” Ruby screamed, her voice tearing at her throat. Summer looked up and smiled.

“I love you Ruby!” Summer said, unusually calm.

“MUUUUUUM!” She yelled hysterically, tears streaming down her face. She kept sprinting, but it was too little, too late. The other Ursa stomped down, shattering Summer’s skull, killing her instantly.

“NOOOOO!” Ruby fell to her knees, disregarding the fact that the was in serious danger. She screamed into the night, crying uncontrollably as the Grimm closed in. However, many long sharp icicles were raised from the ground and surrounded Ruby. She leapt up, and threw her arms and legs back, sending the icicles hurtling towards the Grimm that surrounded her. The icicles buried themselves into the vital organs of every single Grimm in the area. They howled out in pain, and slowly crumpled towards the ground.

Ruby slowly crawled to Summer, openly weeping as she did.

“Mum, please wake up,” She said softly. She poked her shoulder. It was obvious that her head had caved in, thanks to the tremendous power of the Ursa, which had somehow managed to break through her aura.

“Mum, please. Don’t leave now. MUM PLEASE!” Ruby shouted, not caring of anymore Grimm heard her.

“Ruby?” Her ears pricked up as she heard her name in the distance, but she didn’t care. She kept crying, almost to the point of hyperventilating. She crawled until she was next to her mum, and rolled up into a ball.

“Ruby? Ruby!” Taiyang called out. He’d obviously ran the whole way from their house. “Ruby what’s…” His voice trailed off as he saw Summer.

“No… No please…” He said weakly, trying to believe that she was alive. Taiyang stayed motionless for a few minutes, trying to comprehend the tragedy in front of him. He turned to Ruby. She had cried until there was nothing left, and now just rocked back and forth, while sucking her thumb. With glistening eyes, he picked up Ruby. They walked home in silence, praying that this was all just a horrible nightmare.

–END–

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No Excuses – Louise French

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

 

New Year. Time for change.

What am I gunna do.

Procrastinate. Facebook! What did we do before Facebook?

Look. A masterclass!

Google.

Ohh, do I like her? Do I like what she has written? Have I even read anything she has written?

Must have, she wrote for The Age.

Just do it. Stop thinking about it.

Never gunna do it without the first step.

Book. Commit.

Do I really want to go?

Better things to do with my Saturday.

Like what? Facebook. Just go!

Lots of people.

I am sure they are all writers.

Not like me, just a gunna.

Maybe not!

Everyone needs some support; a push; permission to create.

Write in bits, it all adds up.

You aren’t creating world peace, you are just trying to write!

Make a space. A mental space. Delineate.

Just get it down.

Just write!

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Introducing… Single Girl 2 Stepmum – Stephanie de Lancelle

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

I didn’t follow the traditional path.  None of the ‘typical’ girl meets boy, falls in love, gets married and lives happily ever after.
Well actually, I did do that.  But not the way you’d think.  And not in that order.  And not just us.
His three kids were along for the ride.  And as a twenty-something who’d been used to looking after myself, and with (so I thought) no one else who could relate to the experience, this was the beginning of an enormous but daunting adventure.  And a whole set of challenges I had never imagined.  Part of a truly modern love story that I’m happy to share…
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Can we talk about how the government contributes to domestic violence?  – Serrin Dipity

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

 
I’ve had this idea kicking around in my head for a while.  It has changed a great deal in the time since I first had it.  When I had my daughter, my partner already had a five-year-old who was living in a different state with her mother for the majority of the time.  My stepdaughter’s mother, Sally, was on a single parent payment as her only source of income at the time.  Anyway, when Brian looked into updating the information he gave to CSA (Child Support Agency) about his new child, we knew that this would reduce the child maintenance payments he had to give his ex-partner.  This was because he now had two dependents, his two daughters.  The thing is, because I was not working at the time and was unable to work because I was caring for our daughter, I was also financially dependent on Brian.  However, I did not count as a dependent as far as CSA was concerned.  Or, rather, I did count as a dependent for two weeks prior to the birth of our child and for four weeks following the birth of our child, so six weeks in total.
This is in contrast to the situation six years previously, when Sally first moved down from Queensland to live with Brian.  She already had a son from a previous relationship and, once again, her sole source of income for herself was the single parent payment.  When she moved in with Brian, as soon as she was spending more than two nights a week under the same roof as him, her single parent benefit was withdrawn.  This was because Brian’s income was such that it was enough for the two of them.  Sally still received child support from her son’s father, but the way child support works in Australia is that this money is provided for the child and is intended to support only the child.  We don’t have the concept of alimony, at least not in the circles I move in.
At the time, I was merely struck by how completely unfair it was.  When we were talking about Brian having to pay money, he was not allowed to count me as a dependent.  However, when the government is the one paying the money, as soon as Sally had another means of support, they withdrew her income, the only source of income she had for herself.  From the perspective I was in then, with a newborn baby and an awful lot of our household income going interstate every month, I thought that Brian should have been able to claim me as a dependent, thereby paying Sally less for his eldest daughter.
I hadn’t thought about this dichotomy in years, and my daughter is now almost seven.  A couple of months ago, I was sitting at Sally’s kitchen table in Brisbane, having a chat about the vagaries of child support.  Because these days we are all uber-mature and we can have these conversations.  I guess a lot of factors changed my perspective, including the improved relationship with Sally, my own confidence in my relationship with Brian and my own financial security.  Also, this was towards the end of the year where Rosie Batty was Australian of the Year and, as a result, domestic violence has been spoken of nationally a great deal.  For any and all of these reasons, I turned the situation around and had a good look at it from Sally’s point of view, that day around 13 years ago when she rang to update her living situation with Centrelink.  From this perspective, she had a 3 year old son for whom she received a small amount of child support from her ex-husband.  The income she received for her own maintenance, however, was limited to the single parent payment.  She moved in with her boyfriend, earlier than she would have had they been living in the same state and, because he earned a good wage, she lost the entirety of the money available to her to support herself.  This made her completely financially dependent upon her relatively new boyfriend.  There is no other way to look at it.  All the money that she had to support herself was from the government and this was removed as soon as she and her boyfriend began living in the same house.
Now, I haven’t been paying as much attention to current affairs as I’d like to, being busy with attempting a new career, lots of volunteer work and just generally living, but I have heard a few snippets of the dialogue Rosie Batty and many others have been stimulating.  From what I have heard, the answer to “Why don’t women just leave?” is fairly simple: They don’t feel they can.  Women stay in abusive relationships because they have the perception they cannot survive on their own.  What if this perception is accurate?  It seems to me that a policy of removing all of a woman’s independent income the moment she moves in with a man of adequate means is a recipe for domestic abuse.   He might not turn out to be controlling (Brian didn’t) but what if he did?  When he tells her “You can’t survive without me”, it’s true.  Even if he’s not violent, suddenly taking on the financial support of another person is a pretty big stress on a relationship, and I question whether relationships that are that uneven from the start are healthy.
I have a lot more I want to explore about this topic.  I just think that if A Current Affair can run a poll about whether women on welfare should be forced to take contraceptives, we can have a chat about the government making women entirely dependent on the men in their lives.  And whether that is okay with us.
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The Gunnas Masterclass – a f#@k relapse  – Harriet Knight

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

I had spent the last year trying to say fuck less, and then I came to the Gunnas workshop and have not  heard such a sustained and lyrical use of the the word fuck in a fucking long long time. I had developed  the view that the more someone said fuck the less they probably  actually did fuck. It’s use reminds me of  people’s relationship with cookbooks, the more they buy them the less they cook. How many people do you know who have loads of cookbooks , names of celebrity cooks standing vertical on kitchen bookshelves , yet if you were to eat a meal with them it would be done in a local restaurant. Again it is like pornography, the more someone accesses it in  the isolated space they call their private life,  the less likely they are to have a fun fucking time with someone whose idea of fun corresponds with theirs. Generally it seems that the relationship between the saying of fuck and the doing of it is inverted. However that inversion was turned  upside down today. Catherine it seems says fuck at an uncontested rate yet the way she talks would also suggest that she gets plenty of fucking action.
I say fuck for 2 reasons. The first one is that I say it in conversation with people whom I trust and with whom I can express myself in a fucking fun way. It is a pleasing experience shared with people share in the fun of it.  This version of saying it does not affect the rate of doing it.
The other reason for saying fuck is not so edifying . When fuck is said out of frustration it usually  pops out along with  fountain of stress hormone  pulsing through my body  and for me stress is not an aphrodisiac.  Hence not being  a stress relieving fucker, this experience of saying fuck tends to interfere with the  experience of doing it which is not so great for my lovely husband. So whilst I am happy to continue on with the expressing of fuck in my life I am not so keen on the stress that may come along with it.
Then I got to the Masterclass and I now have the fuck problem again. It seems that  Catherine has reignited my desire to lapse back into the habit of lyrical fucking.  I love saying the word fuck. I work as a part of a team of people who work dam fucking hard to support families and kids who are disengaged from school. The families and kids say  it, do it, scream it, graffiti it and mumble it under their breath. I say it too and when our team chats we say it a lot. We have all agreed that we don’t like the word  cunt and it is not part of the language currency of our  together conversations but we all  love the word fuck.
TheRe is a fucking  problem however, and that is my job is changing this year,  I am changing the population of people who I work with. To use the jargon I think I am on the edge of burnout.  I have been  working with low SES rough and tumble families who do dreadful things to each-other, yell at people who are trying to help them and then forget about it the next day. Families, who live in public housing , people with mental health issues, on no – or low income, who do gigs in the big or little house, have bad teeth and tell teachers off and generally have lots of baggage about school.
I have chosen this year though, to make a change. I love these  rough and tumble people and the area they live in and this is  my spiritual home, however I have felt that I needed a change of population of people who have problems that present in different ways. So I will be moving to a higher SES area working with families who probably think no-one understands how precious their children are . These are the types of families who will be demanding in different ways  and who will complain to their local member or minister of education if they don’t like the service they are receiving . Saying fuck when I work with these families will generally be out of the question.
So one of the things I had been  trying to do was some subtraction on the rate of the f#@king expletives that punctuate my conversational landscape. The maths on my f@#king had been  going well until I came  to the Gunnas workshop. Being at the workshop  was kind of like coming out of a  rehabilitation facility and then going into a coffee shop to find my drug dealer  unexpectedly sitting at a table ready with goodies to offer me. And Catherine was that fucking drug dealer. Being at this inspirational f@#king Masterclass was  like being reacquainted with  the ICE addiction of my past. I am now perplexed wondering if  that addiction will  come back to haunt me. The Gunnas Masterclass has become  my F@#k relapse and I don’t have a relapse plan.
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No edits. Straight transcript – Miranda O’Connell-Lever

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

So l find myself in a room of humour, wisdom, humility, generosity, honesty & experience. 30 seconds in l know l’m where l am meant to be today.
My bladder is so full that it’s actually holding up my breasts & l wish l’d worn knickers. This whole Vagina Health Advocate gig comes with risk. The words & ideas being shared are more valuable than the the potential loss of dignity.  Mental note to start the Kegels again. Any who, we all know that puddles are fun. Don’t we?
Didn’t we love jumping in puddles? Didn’t we flout authority & laugh at the threat of punishment for jumping in puddles? Wasn’t it exhilarating? We felt alive didn’t we?
That aliveness is my addiction to writing. I like the glow crafting words gives me. Bollocks. I LOVE the glow, it’s more than like.
Like is what you do on Facey. If you’re brave enough.
And.
I’m brave enough to do what l love.
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The Red Tricycle – Susan White

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

Once upon a time there were two sisters: an older one, who knew most things and a younger one, who learned everything she knew from her sister. The older sister had lots of rules. She loved them. Rules made the messy world straight, rules kept everything to time and they made her feel happy. But no matter how much the younger one tried, she couldn’t quite keep to the rules. She tapped out of time to the music and ran late for the bus. She never sang the melody but would add her own harmonies, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. The older sister thought if the little sister just tried harder, she would be able to live by the rules. But she couldn’t.

The older sister had a red tricycle with a wagon on the back. Every day, she would ride around the lemon tree in their backyard on her red tricycle. She liked the younger sister to ride in the back so they could enjoy the journey together. But as the younger sister got bigger, she no longer fit in the wagon. Still, the older sister insisted, so she would curl her legs up under her chin and squash herself in and watch from behind as her sister pedaled her way around the backyard. The older sister was pleased and the younger sister was glad to make her sister happy, even though it hurt to squash her legs in, she was scared she might topple over and fall out and she couldn’t really see anything from the wagon.

One day, she had a graze on her leg and didn’t want to squash into the tricycle. She argued with her sister and her sister’s face grew red. Mum came out and asked what the fuss was about. The older sister explained that she wanted to ride around the garden together and Mum said, ‘That’s so sweet, let me get my camera.’ Now the little sister had no choice. The older sister smiled sweetly for the camera as she pedaled past, but the little sister, whose graze was hurting and whose legs were aching, couldn’t smile. She had a look of suffering, a look of defeat and a hint of defiance in her face.

The photo became a family favourite, the two sisters doing something together, one having a ball and the other grimly surviving. Everyone laughed at the little sister’s pudgy little body, the rolls of fat in her neck and her sulky face. The little sister never forgot the feeling of being pushed into the red wagon, knowing she didn’t fit, and having to do it anyway.

And because of that, one night when her parents and her sister were asleep, she stole the family photo album, found the photo and hid it in her sock drawer.

Until finally, one day, her family was looking through the photo album and wondered where that photo had gone. The little sister said nothing about where the photo was. ‘I hated that photo,’ the little sister said, and her family was very surprised.

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A Gunna no more – Mary Williams

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

It’s the close of the day and I’m already wrestling with those all too familiar messages that allow me to dismiss the call and the urge to write. It’s now a deeply embedded, well-practiced manoeuvre. One that I know doesn’t give me any satisfaction.

And yet – after all that I’ve experienced today – a day that came to me as gift – the temptation to let the old stuff have its way could, and might easily defeat me.

Except that Dev threw out a challenge to write something and send it to her tonight, and I took her up on this – knowing even as I heard myself say “I will” that I would struggle to follow through.

In that moment there was a bit of wind, perhaps euphoria, filling my sails after a day at the Gunners Writing Masterclass. But there was something more. And this was the depth of feeling I sensed in the recognition Dev and other people in the class gave to Helen’s gift. This acknowledgement startled me.

I loved that the gift Helen gave was, so thoughtfully, a gift just for me. A gently humoured encouragement from a wonderfully gifted and most impressive young woman to her mother-in-law. I know how much she savours words and how elegantly she uses language, gifts inherited from her own mother, and gifts she is passing on to her children.

But it was your insight into the deeper meaning behind this gift, and what it says about the giver and her relationship with me that shook me out of what I can see now was form of complacency. Hearing strangers react in the way that you did startled me into accepting that I am loved; loved for who I am; loved without any strings, demands or expectations. Loved even though I’m a “Gunna”.

Well – I’ve decided that, as of tonight I’m a “recovering Gunna”! I’ve decided it’s time to begin chipping away at the layers and layers of defences that I’ve allowed to accumulate over many, many years. And to make the most of this exciting gift and grab this opportunity to, at last, begin to tell my story!

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A tune – T.S.White

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

“And here it is” he says to himself, shuffling the piano stool closer to the keys, knees almost touching the shiny black wood. Hands outstretched, two quick right left stretches of the neck and a long breath in.
Left hand octaves. Little finger and thumb holding down for four beats before changing. Laying a picnic rug of sound for the treats of the right hand to be arranged on.
“Here it is” a simple tumbling tune that holds no meaning bar that which the listener attaches to it. A ball falling down a flight of stairs.
And he’s crying now because it’s the best thing he’s ever done and it’s still an ants’ description of a sky scraper.
The right and left hand and the tumbling melody are like everything he’s ever attempted. Good but not… Brilliant.
He’s crying because he’s scared of this ordinary beauty. Scared of being satisfied with its round edges and pleasantness.
The tune revolves, coming back to the beginning which is really the middle which becomes the end.
It revolves like the hands of a child’s watch or… The moon.
He’s pretty messy now. Face covered with salt and snot and the sobs become giggles because who does he think he is? Who the hell is he to decide how good it is? How worthy? How meaningful?
The left hand makes its stately way through the pattern and the right hand runs about its legs like a puppy.
And that’s it.
That’s enough.
He wipes his eyes with the back of his hands and digs a tissue from his pocket.
“There it is” he says out loud to no one.

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