No Full Stops

Musings on life, learning and soul searching…

Running Out of Road 23 January 2012

Genre: Creative Non Fiction


Click here to read the story: Running Out of Road


This is a longer piece of memoir writing that explores the inclination of running away from the self.

This piece of writing was one of five pieces shortlisted for the Judith Rodriguez Prize 2011. To find out more information about this award click here: Judith Rodriguez Prize.

It is currently being showcased on Deakin University’s “Writing Evolutions” website along with the winning piece and other shortlisted pieces.  To read more of the showcased pieces click here: Writing Evolutions.

My story has been enjoyed by my peers for it’s real life drama and commended for my use of distinct voices. However, I personally do not like this story of mine… because I do not like the self that I had to revisit in order to create it. I suppose this is the nature of being human when we evolve into better versions of ourselves. So as cringeworthy as I find my story, I share with you on the chance that you may also relate to it.


The Creative Void 12 November 2011

Filed under: Conscious Choices,Writing Life — Rachael @ 11:59 am
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Of the many trials in writing, I have taken on a pretty large one this week. In fact, you’re a part of it if you are reading it. It began with the decision to write, and I mean really write. Not necessarily well and not necessarily professionally, but I mean write as my life purpose. It is what I do and everything else exists to serve it. That was the beginning, and as huge as it is to completely restructure your life, it is not the hardest part.

The painful trial was birthing it into the public domain. I suppose one of my writerly strengths is that I find it easier to be the entirety of my messy human expression on the page, than face to face. But those pages have been mine until now, shared at my discretion. The thought of my most intimate self serving as a curiosity for strangers is alien, yet not nearly as confronting as the transparency I now offer to the people I face, who think they know me.

If I was the type to paddle in the shallow end of the pool, I would have blogged happily into the binary void. But in a moment of truth, I connected my inner world to the identifying device of Facebook. It felt like standing on the highest platform of those diving towers at public pools. And then, I let go. Diving head first into the deep end of nothing nearly as contained as a concrete body of water. I gave myself away.

In the tense hours that followed, I felt that something had been torn out from inside of me. I ached. And I ached at the hands of my own doing. I felt that as I became available to others I became a stranger to myself, so discordant was this feeling from my normally private self. I invited my world to peer beyond my extroverted face and into my introverted centre. The two now fused as one.

I am floating in the creative void, bathing in the unknown. I realise that I already am everything I ever wanted to be, and that is all there ever was, is or will be. It is beautiful in all it’s ugliness. I have nothing to fear but myself, and there I am unafraid. I am free now, I am all of what I am, all of the time.

I am a writer.


The Courage of Your Convictions 8 November 2011

Filed under: Conscious Choices,Writing Life — Rachael @ 12:30 pm
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Until my rather public meltdown on the steps of the Saint Kilda Library a few hours ago, I really did believe that I lived my life fairly fearlessly. I’ve made difficult choices in order to live in alignment with my beliefs and values. I’ve stepped into the unknown and muddled my way through as best I can. I’ve learned to be my authentic self regardless of the consequences. Yet the framework, that in my mind, was the foundation of my fearlessness, turns out to be my most self sabotaging area of limitation.

My tutor and mentor asked me today, “What do you do?” My response required a countdown of duties listed off on the fingers of my right hand.

“I write operations manuals and training programs for the franchise industry.”

“I take freelance professional writing jobs… Reports and stuff.”

“I work a sales and client services job… To mix it up from all the cerebral work.”

“I do volunteer work for animal activist organisations.”

“And I study a double degree in writing and literature.”

My mentor nodded and tried again, “Yes, but what are you?”

“Well, I’m a writer”, I replied.

She pushed further, “But what kind of writer?”

I could feel my frame droop. “I’m a creative non fiction writer”.

The realisation that nothing in my life is prioritised around what I most wanted to do is soul crushing. I’ve quit a stable corporate job, sold a house, lived with meager funds, given up living alone and asked for help when I didn’t want to, in order to study what I love most. And here I was with that very dream buried, at the bottom of the pile, of my manic and fragmented life.

I’ve been hedging my bets. I have my finger in any pie that passes my way.  I have a foot firmly in the two worlds of my old life and the life that I dream of. I am living in fear that I can not make a living as a creative writer. And perhaps I won’t. But I will never find out unless I let go completely and boldly follow my path into the life that I want. Back into the unknown, where I thought I had already earned my stripes.

I am at yet another crisis of crossroads. And I already know that there is only one way for me to go. I already know that from the greatest leaps come the greatest rewards. I already know that whatever i do, i’ll be alright. I already know that I have the courage of my convictions.

So with puffy eyes and a soggy tissue I pick myself up from the steps of the library, walk past the curious glances and begin plotting out my next steps.


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