Free 2 Be Me

Free 2 Be Me

By Philip J BradburyArts
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Free 2 Be Me episodes

  • WTBN session 4 - clarity of place and time

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    If we aren't clear about our descriptions, especially when there's a change of time and/or location, readers disengage with our writing. Like radio announcers, we only have our words to hold our readers. We know what we're writing about but our readers don't. This is my first attempt at describing my commute to work - an hour's cycle ride to Surfers Paradise.

    CYCLING TO WORK
    The boom gate goes up and down as I cycle out of the confines of the over-fifties complex and, before me, is the openness of nature. The serpentine cycle track ahead wends its way through mower-loved grassland and between trees verdant with birds of every screech and squawk imaginable – magpies, cockatoos, parrots, lorikeets, kookaburras – while silent ibises strut about like officious rubbish collectors.
    To my left is the tidal lake with the shy, rising sun pouring golden syrup across the rippling waters.
    I’ll say hello to Pete with his poodle, Jack with his … yes, his Jack Russell, Marjorie with her clacking walking stick and other regulars in this early-morning sunshine.
    Some strangers look startled as I greet them, speeding by, and I know, in a few days, they’ll initiate the greeting and raise their eyes above the ground. Connecting with transient others is a learning curve.
    Black is still the new black in town but, here, it’s every other bright colour imaginable. Is it that they’re retired and free, that they live close to nature or some other reason? Not a black garment to be seen and their smiles and banter are as vibrant as their attire.
    There’s two men in waist-high water, casting their nets and then an old chap sitting on the lake-edge with his line out and pug dog snoozing wheezily beside him.
    Three hundred yards later, two teenagers have clambered over the security gate and are fishing off the private wharf. I yell gidday, give them the thumbs-up and they laugh back – a shared celebration of victory for harmless anarchy.
    After five minutes of weaving round curves and dodging walkers deaf to my bell, I break out into a cul-de-sac as trees give way to houses on my right, the inflowing lake my constant companion on my left. Then through another, shorter forest ride.
    I appreciate that every tree and bird call is different as I zoom out into another street – square is the shape of houses and the colours are limited to white, beige and grey. No one would dare painting their abode in green, red, green or blue. Like the black clothes in town – and in every café – we don’t want to stray from the unspoken rule about being different, like everyone else.
    Mind you, when I get to work I will change out of my green and white lycra and into my slacks and business shirt. We’re all captives of the rules of engagement, somehow, aren’t we!
    So, half an hour along the black and white road, watching every black and white car – lest they’re not watching me – I come to the Big Blue, the Labrador beach with the screech of seagulls and smell of brine. This is another concrete path for bicycles, prams, wheelchairs, walkers, runners and dogs … and two chaps cycling along with a budgie on each of their shoulders.
    As I cycle closer to Surfers Paradise, the colours, body-shapes and languages increase in variety – the whole planet sampled in this holiday microcosm. The other preponderance I notice is, as the relentless waves play their calming music beyond the smooth sand, are bodies puffed up with exercise and steroids as they stiffly strut their tanned skins before us. Pete, Jack and Marjorie think these people are funny but they regard themselves with grave seriousness.
    And I wonder … does the water’s inability to judge encourage people’s creativity and variety? Does nature allow us to be our unabashed selves in ways we can’t d

    26 min
  • WTBN Session 3 - Story Structure

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    Make your story structure fit the way we live, so readers will engage more with your novel, short story, memoir or non-fiction book. And a story including the first 3 stages of Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey is below:

    CHANGING GLORIA SOAMES
    Arthur Soames had a wife whose movements he could predict with unnerving accuracy: Monday – vacuum floors, clean toilet and roast pork for dinner. Tuesday – wash towels and sheets, her tapestry group and then steak and chips for dinner. Wednesday – wash clothes, clean kitchen and chicken Kiev for dinner. And so on.
    It had never occurred to him, an accountant, to change anything. He was happy with their routine … well, that was until he realised computers were infecting his occupation and could take over his job. He resisted these new-fangled gadgets for years, until he acknowledged his dwindling clientele meant his expenses were more than his income. He felt hot and bothered at that thought but resisted telling Gloria. He knew what she was like when her mother died and his manly pride couldn’t admit his failure as a man and then upset his fragile wife.
    But these pesky computers didn’t go away and so he rehearsed a speech at work, many times, fortified himself with a three-sugar cocoa drink and stormed to the front door with all the effrontery of a penguin defending its nest. However, that effrontery evaporated like a politician’s promise as Gloria met him in the hallway, wearing black heels, black slacks and a white business shirt with a coloured logo on the pocket.
    His mouth hung open like a broken purse and she smiled as she’d never done before, like she’d just stolen the last cookie.
    “Can we have a chat, Arthur?” she asked, waving towards the table that had been set with teapot, teacups and a platter of several biscuits. Definitely not the Yorkshire pudding he was expecting.
    He complied dumbly with a thousand thoughts whirling round on his brain: Is this the I’ve-had-enough divorce talk? The I’ve-found-another-man talk? The I’ve-discovered-I’m-a-lesbian talk? The I’ve-been-diagnosed-with-cancer and have three months to live talk?
    “First thing, Arthur,” she said as she sat and poured the tea, “is that this change is all good. For both of us. No bad surprises.”
    He nodded dumbly while his brain wondered how any change could be good.
    “See, since my mother’s funeral, I have been struggling …”
    “You have?”
    “Yes, Arthur, and I didn’t know how to tell you how sad I was and how paralysed I felt.”
    “I know that …”
    “Please, please let me finish.”
    “Oh, right.” His brain had shut down, now that it was out of questions.
    “Despite the paralysis, there was the urge to go on as it hit me that we only have one life. One chance. We don’t get a rerun.”
    “Oh.” Is she considering suicide?
    “I also know you’re stuck in a rut with your business and need space to step back and rethink.”
    “Oh, gosh.” He didn’t know he needed that.
    “So, over the last six months I have been doing a real estate course.”
    “You didn’t ask me,” he said, plaintively.
    “I knew you wouldn’t agree so I used my meagre savings and, yesterday, qualified and, this evening, I have my first client.”
    “You’re a real estate agent?” He tried to squeeze this new occupation into the small box he’d built for her in his mind. It didn’t fit.
    “Yes, naturally!” She smiled gloriously and she really did look beautiful.
    “Why naturally?”
    “What’s my name, Arthur?”
    “Uh, Gloria Soames.”
    “And that’s what I’ll be selling. Glorious homes.”
    They laughed together for the first time since the funeral.

    30 min
  • Poem - Just Let It Go

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    A poem about how to write and how to live your biggest life. Enjoy!
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    3 min

About Free 2 Be Me

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If you are ready to understand your life at a deeper level.

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