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John F Tracey, my grandfather the poet

John F Tracey was a poet. And a clockmaker. And a dedicated walker, having never seen the need to get his licence in 20th century Brisbane. First there were the trams, then the buses and trains and always his two feet to take him wherever he wanted to go. He was a father of 6 and a grandfather of 22, and the husband of his beloved Mary Ellen. I think it was Mae that really inspired him to write. It doesn’t take Agatha Christie-like deduction to figure this out because he wrote (at least) dozens of poems dedicated to his love for her.

It was about a year ago that my aunt, Lorraine, gave me a medium-sized suitcase marked with a taped ‘Margie Telford’. She’d moved out of her home of over half-a-century and was giving just about everything away: books, bric-a-brac, plastic bags filled with clothes and accessories, kitchenware—a lifetime of possessions gathered since her first home burnt down in outback Queensland. Generosity comes naturally to her but this was a complete decluttering of one’s life. I think I was given the most precious item of all: a suitcase filled with my grandfather’s writing, including scribblings and thoughts and drafts of the poems that he wrote.

Lorraine recounted the times she would hear him muttering to himself, turning the words this way and that until they lay perfectly formed in his mind. He did this on paper too. Line by line, he would purge his thoughts, going this way before drawing lines through that direction and returning to the crossroads in his mind to take a different road. The scribblings are his creativity in action.

I remember as a child the constant wonder my grandfather held for every moment from the cracking of macadamia nuts with his grandchildren in the backyard to the endless blue sky of a hot summer’s day to the perfect cadence of a well-formed sentence. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have borne witness to such awe because it set the stage of possibility and endless hope in my heart. Under my grandparents’ 3-bedroom house at Gordon Park, that held 8 people at one time, my grandfather had tables of pens and papers, as well as various tools and clocks in different stages of development. It was like the world wasn’t big enough for his creativity, and in the cool underbelly of this house it spewed out in all directions.

Over the last few days, I’ve been thinking more and more about my grandfather’s poems. And I’ve pulled down that suitcase from the top shelf in my cupboard and am reading them again. It feels like I have different eyes now. But maybe it’s my heart. I think it’s because I’ve crossed a threshold and committed to living this life of creativity. Nothing is the same. Including his words.

His energy and creativity are part of my lineage, and I don’t take that for granted for one moment.

Here’s a short scribbling of his I found on the back of a flyer for a writers event:

There is a gem of joy in every day

Be on alert to find it.

It will not tarnish or decay
If in your soul you mind it.

A suitcase of lifetime wonderings

The pull into the unknown

So it’s been a minute or two since I last wrote, but while you may think I’ve been dilly-dallying my life away and ‘wasting’ precious moments like a child skipping through a field of grass, arms-outstretched to the sky, I promise I haven’t been a solely squishy mess of indolent flesh. I’ve been paying bills, renovating a house, raising children, maintaining sanity (most of the time), and clinging ferociously to my outrageous mid-life dreams. And now it’s time to get back to my hellfire spirit and write. For that, I’m ditching the uninspired corporate world where I’ve spent the past decade literally writing hundreds of thousands of soulless words (your corporate world might be inspiring so no judgement here!) and have decided to live a life of quiet art. (More next time about the practicalities of how I’m doing that without becoming homeless.)

Who knew it would take me decades to fling open the doors to my own party, but here I am! And I’m inviting you to join me!

Here you’ll find bubbles and spritzers, coffee and chai and even some writing + a little about my creative pilgrimage as I crawl and leap, skip and weep my way along this narrow hilltop path that has the most amazing views of the horizon. I swear I can almost see the other side of the world from here.

It seems inevitable to be here finally, choosing my destiny, because I’ve always had that power; I’d just forgotten somewhere along the line. I’m not sure why I was so scared before, but somehow that’s gone now too, and I think it’s because The Pull finally has me in its thrall.

The following poem was dreamed into being overnight. I woke up with the words fully formed and on the tip of my tongue. I was so afraid I’d forget them that I kept mumbling the lines over and over again until I roused myself and wrote them down at my desk.

If you’re asking why now, this is my answer.

The Pull

I can’t help but feel the Pull.
Is it a noose around my neck or a lifeline?
I go with the latter and reach out because I’m drowning anyway.
I’m airborne and swing from side to side.
Exhilarated and terrified as if high on childhood.
Rootless, I see the possibility.
It’s over there on the horizon—
The horizon of possibility
This is the Pull
Urging me beyond myself.
My soul has felt that pull for eons.
Sometimes I’ve been dragged towards its wisdom; sometimes I’ve died resisting.
And sometimes, I think, I’ve inched my way closer.
This is one of those times.
On the upward swing, I let go of my lifeline and fly towards my horizon of possibility.
For this moment, I am light, filled with the rising sun.

– Margie Telford 2020

Coffee, poetry and the magazine MEANJIN – photo taken on Boundary St, West End Brisbane

Novel writing course … and Morocco

I joined a nine-week novel writing course today. It begins next Monday. I want to get this damn book written⁠—the one that’s been rolling around my head like a lost pinball for a decade. That’s all I want. Just one book written. No matter the outcome. It’s not too much to ask for from these lazy damn bones, is it?

I’ve devoted much of my ‘studying’ life to writing—an undergraduate degree in creative writing; a postgraduate degree in writing, editing and publishing; countless weekend courses; one six-month long novel writing course (where I think I wrote about 400 words in total)—and here I am again, handing over my credit card in the hope that this one will propel me towards completion. Or at least half-letion. I know that I just have to get the story down (the story that I think it is now, not the one I’m sure it will become) . The editing, the pulling-apart and putting-back-together again will be like having a wine at sunset sitting on the deck of your favourite seaside pub (bloody easy). I like figuring the problems out once I can see the story’s full potential down on paper. It’s like a puzzle where some of the pieces don’t quite fit or, more often than not, are incompletely the wrong shape, and I have to figure out how to re-shape them or bin them and start again with the knowledge of what won’t work to create the piece of art these words will become. And by ‘art’, I’m not talking myself up. Anything that comes out of the imagination of a human being is art. That means the first car was a work of art. The first shuttle into space. The first pair of shoes. The first eating utensil. The first poem. The first drawing. And then all the ones that came afterwards. We’re all artists, whether we think of ourselves that way or not, because we’re human.

And I’ve decided to join the human race. Follow me over the next nine weeks, as I write the first 20,000 words of my novel.

p.s. here are a couple of photos of Morocco, which I visited recently with my sisters. Best. Holiday. Ever. Beautiful country. Hospitable people. Awesome fun with sisters.

New: proofreading and editing courses!

Several years ago, I taught writing, editing, and proofreading at a Brisbane university. I really loved the experience. Recently, an editing client from a large corporation asked if I ever conducted any proofreading and editing training. I responded oh-so-casually with a, ‘Hell,yes!’ I love the interaction, and I love seeing a person come across a really simple strategy that will make their writing and their work so much better and more efficient.

This organisation is lovely to work with, so I leapt at the chance to teach there. Last week, I delivered two x two-hour training sessions for some of their staff. Call me a nerd, but I love talking about words, sentences, grammar, syntax, structure, and all that jazz! This is the beginning of another chapter in my book. More training to help people make every word count.

If you’ve found yourself staring at words on a screen (or on paper) and trying to navigate a treacherous road where sentences and paragraphs aren’t really coming together in the best way possible, then perhaps an editing course is for you! Discover the key strategies to effective proofreading, learn the common mistakes that people make in their writing, and become a grammar guru within a couple of hours. I’m so excited to share my new courses with you: Solving the Proofreading Puzzle and Editing Essentials. Check out what I’m doing here or contact me to find out more info.

I deliver the training in-person and tailor it to suit your needs (and your workplace).

Words are my jam. They can be yours too!

 

Whenever I walk, I think of better ways to write, edit, and teach.

More words, more fun, and how to find your ‘voice’ in writing!

My WordWhisperer business has exploded. And I’m so grateful. I have new clients from New Zealand, the US, and the UK, as well as here in Australia. All of it comes from word of mouth.  To say I’m blown away by the abundance of work that flows to me would be an understatement. I’ve been freelance writing and editing part-time for about seven years now, and all that has laid the foundation for a fully-fledged business in the present.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself because I feel like I’m living a dream where my days are spent in the midst of words as I help people with perfecting their stories and messages. Guiding clients as they bring an idea, which is felt, imagined, and dreamed about but not fully formed, into fruition is one of my favourite things to do. I truly feel like I was born for this.

What it all ultimately means, though, is that I get to live life on my terms, weaving in time for family and loved ones, music festivals, travel, friendships, and service to my community—and it makes for a good life. And I never forget to appreciate that.

A winter’s day at Broadbeach

I’m deep into editing two books at the moment, as well as website content, and delivering a training program. Honing an author’s voice is like finding the pearl in the clam at the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes it takes a little time (and holding your breath), but it’s always worth the effort. Whenever a client asks me how they find their ‘voice’, I always suggest they start with how they speak. Jot down a few lines in your normal speaking voice, I tell them. Say it like you would if you were speaking with your best friend over a cup of coffee. That’s a great place to start. If you’re funny in real life, let it come through. If you’re more reserved, allow that to show. The key is being authentic to both yourself and your story. The voice of your characters, if you’re writing fiction, will be different to your voice if you’re writing a blog post. No matter what you’re writing and what tool you’re using (i.e. a blog post or a character), make sure you have something you want your reader to take away from it. That’s your starting point. From there, you can start to build your scaffolding around it, which could include the characters and plot. Before you know it, you’ll have written your entire story or blog post. Tell the story you want to tell, not the one you think will get you the most readers—or acclaim.

Tell your story. Even if it’s only six words long. (‘For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.’)

There’s no time to wait. Unless you’re off to a music festival… then tomorrow is fine.

 

Sunset over Bluesfest at Byron Bay

 

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Contact me

e: margie@margietelford.com
m: 0416118701
Brisbane, Australia

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Recent Posts

  • John F Tracey, my grandfather the poet
  • The pull into the unknown
  • Novel writing course … and Morocco
  • New: proofreading and editing courses!
  • More words, more fun, and how to find your ‘voice’ in writing!

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