Sunday Blog 256 – 25th October 2026
It’s Sunday night in Dubbo, and we’re turning for home. Well, not exactly; but we’ve reached the halfway point of a two-week cycling trip. By we, I mean darling husband and an intrepid band of Perth cyclists from the Over 55’s cycling club. I’m not cycling; I’m one of the support crew. I drive the van to the rest stops and then onto the motel we’re staying that night. By day 2 I’d already badly scraped the side of the van when trying to execute a U-turn in a small town street. The pretty wooden stakes around the street tree were in my blind spot.
In short, it’s not been an easy experience. There’s been illness (perhaps you can hear that I have also succumbed to the cold going around) and bike issues on top of what is already quite a demanding support role. I’ve been soul searching as to why I said I would do this, and counting the days down till it’s all over.
That’s in between marvelling at the beauteous countryside and the sounds of birds familiar and strange. In the small pockets of spare time I have been working on my creative writing studies and reviewing edits for my memoir. I’ve been binge-listening to the wickedly funny Yellowface for my studies; a satire on racial diversity and writerly longings.
Perhaps that is why this quote in Julia Lawrinson’s recent Substack post got me in all the feels.
No one can advise or help you – no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?
Letters to a young poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, 17 Feb 1903