Veronica Foale

Author: Veronica Foale

  • No Clean Feed

    I don’t get political very often. Especially not here.

    HOWEVER.

    The Australian Government, namely Senator Stephen Conroy has given the green light for a ‘Clean Feed’ to be applied to Australian internet.

    News posts here, here and here.

    In laymens terms, this means that come next August, MANDATORY ISP filtering will occur on all internet.

    It’s not up to the Government to say what I can and can’t look at on the internet. I am an adult and so long as my activity isn’t illegal (ch*ld porn) then the Government should have NO RIGHT to filter my internet.

    It is up to me to keep my children safe on the net. Not the Government.

    See NoCleanFeed for more details and if you agree with me, sign the petition.

    SIGN PETITION AGAINST CLEAN FEED.

    As a web publisher, this scares me senseless. Officials have admitted that the filtering, while effective against the kind of sites they are wanting to filter (a blacklist, if you will. who knows what exactly they will be deeming ‘not suitable’) there are also plenty of false positives, ie: sites blocked that shouldn’t have been.

    Does that mean I could ‘accidentally’ have Sleepless Nights blocked, what about Veronica Foale? Or what about you. What happens if your website gets blocked?

    I don’t agree with it. It is censorship plain and simple.

    Sign the petition against it. Please.

    ***

    Feel free to copy/paste this entire post to your blog if you like. Just remember to give credit to either http://somedaywewillsleep.com OR http://veronicafoale.com

  • Dream Sequence – An exerpt.

    Hannah walked through a darkened field. Barefoot, she felt the grass under her feet, slightly wet and softly spongy. The air was frosty and she saw her breath sparkle in front of her face, although she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t sure where she was going, or why, but she knew something was driving her forwards.

    Unwilling now, her feet continued their slow march forwards. The feel of the ground underneath her changed and sharp rocks bruised her soles with every step. She stepped gingerly, afraid to put her feet down, scared of what she might find. Thorns caught at her as she moved and vines trailed up her legs, attempting to pull her down into their midst. She was left bloody and raw as she tried to move away from their grasp.

    She struggled on as sprites flew about her head, batting at her face and pulling at her hair. Something tweaked her nose and ran away laughing as she screamed in desperation. The vines had wound around her torso now, leaving her unable to move. Sobbing, she let them pull her feet out from under her and she lay down amongst the stones and thorns. Laughter echoed in the distance as she shut her eyes.

    Hannah gave up struggling and pushed herself into the darkness. The world turned on its head and dumped her upside down and screaming through space. For long moments she fell before simply stopping gently and coming to rest.

    ‘Where …. Where am I?’ she called quietly.

    Nothing answered. She hung, suspended in time and space, unseeing and unknowing.

    ‘Help! Help me! I’m lost!’ she cried desperately.

    Slowly the ground coalesced underneath her and she felt softness pillowing her head. Gentle hands stroked her, soothing her tears and hurts.

    ‘You’re safe now’ they said and Hannah trusted them implicitly.

    She relaxed into their care, feeling softer and safer than ever before. The hands that stroked her became firmer until they bound like iron and she couldn’t move. She struggled against them but the more she moved the tighter the binding became. She opened her mouth to scream and nothing came out. Above her someone knelt and looking at her sadly, brought their weight to bear on her eyes. She could feel the pressure building until she thought her head would explode….

    ***

    It’s a work in progress and I’ll probably play with some wording througout today as I reread it here on the blog.

  • Smoky Skies

    I lean out of my bedroom window, camera in hand.

    In front of me, the sun sets through the smoke. Behind me, my daughter whines at the closed door while my son tugs at my leg demanding attention.

    I ignore them and steadily snap away, catching the slow descent of the sun, keeping it frozen in time.

    I can taste the smoke from the bushfires on my tongue. It’s only faint, but there nonetheless. We’re safe here, the nearest fire is 40km away and heading in a different direction.

    Slowly the sun disappears behind the hill, leaving the sky streaked purple and red.

    Smoky Sunset

  • Calling me

    This place calls to me; silky smooth, I want to trail my hands up and down its length.

    Write on me it says as I wander about the house, procrastinating. I need you. You need me. Write on me.

    This place of mine that bears my name, I itch to fill it with words. To feel it swell and grow with me, to feel it take on a life of its own. I want to be known. I want people to know who I am, to say, that’s her, she’s a writer. I knew her. I taught her. I helped her birth her baby, I know her and now her name is known.

    I want that, but the wanting feels selfish.

    ***

    Open your soul and sell your words. Spew them forth onto the page and scream your story.

    It’s not my story though. It’s her story. And she’s gone quiet these last few days, leaving me staring at a word document and longing to feel her breathe down my neck, telling me what to say.

    ***

    I’ve not had a panic attack in a few days. At first, I thought it was a good thing, until I realised that it’s because I am refusing to think anymore. I’m refusing to do anything but cope.

    Denying the pain works wonders for the issues arising from it. Long term though, it’s not a pretty sight.

    I think that is why she is gone. I can’t feel anything at the moment.

    I’m too caught up in coping.

    And still this place, it calls to me.

  • Procrastinating

    I open my word document and the words flow like water, out of my fingers and on to the page. The words, they write themselves and I am merely a vessel.

    2000 words in 20 minutes and I feel drained, stripped of energy.

    It’s been busy here. I keep putting it off, ignoring what I need to do. I sleep and I dream her voice, screaming at me to write her story. I’m merely the conduit for her to spring to life.

    She needs more of my time and energy.

    I need more of her life.

    I need the time to write her out and bring her together. To give her bones flesh and her body soul. I need time to craft her together, to let her take over my life.

    And still tonight, I find myself procrastinating.

    Again.