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Reibus

I love language, I love what you can do with it, I love learning new words, finding the origins of old idioms, discovering new writers and seeing how they put their stories together. I love colloquialisms, localisms, vernacularisms and jargon! I love how every reader has a different visualisation of a writers' words. I hope you will enjoy the images the words paint within you.

Crossroads

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June 01, 2020

Quotes

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Time to forget

July 22, 2016

I wrote the poem "Time to forget" back in February 2014 . It's included in this prose. Does this sound like someone you know? She had nothing important to think about. Everything which had been valuable to her had gone. Including her children. They didn't even talk to her now. Lee could remember her history, but it no longer meant anything to her. She remembered her childhood. She knew that she had loved it, but now her parents were dead. Her husband had vanished, wherever she didn't know and didn't care. She had never disconnected the bond between her children and him; she had - then - felt that was important. However they now took him in, she didn't care about. Her only friend was her dog. Beautiful, she thought. She was 13 human years old, but in dog years she would be 91. Or maybe a bit older. Jess would die this year. Maybe. But Lee'd read a poem. She opened her favourite internet website, found the poem. She had loved it. Maybe it was...

Thanks, Pop

September 09, 2017

September 2017 - Often nowadays I forget to write. I haven't written in any of my blogs for a while, and I haven't written a short story - until now, when I joined a Bachelor of Arts group through OUA and for Griffith University. My major will be "Creative Writing" - if I can do that! This prose is not a short story, but tells how my Pops got me to love reading. From that, I wrote. My grandfather was a reader. He loved books and I became enchanted with them when I discovered his bookshelves hidden behind the huge couch. Before he taught me about his own books, he bought a book each for me and my brother and sisters every birthday and every Christmas. I remember that Enid Blyton's The Children of the Cherry Farm (1940) and The Magic Faraway Tree (1943) were written before I was born, but I didn't read them until I was a preteen: around 9 or 10. Dymocks' recent book page overview describes The Magic Faraway Tree in these words: "escape from th...