The story that waited for me

I’ve been commissioned to write a book. That still feels extraordinary to say. Not because I didn’t think I had it in me – but because this book has reminded me of skill sets I had tucked away. Some I’d forgotten. Others I never knew were there.

I can’t give away the title, and I won’t walk you through the plot. But I can offer glimpses. .

A barefoot child on a dairy farm. A marriage that unsettles the whole village. A funeral, too soon. A son who breaks. A woman who does not.

The book is set in the Jamberoo of the early 1900s -back when the land ruled daily life, and community reputation could make or break you. It’s a chance for me to write about the complexity of family grief, the silence that follows a child’s death, and the way small towns handle trauma. It’s also letting me reflect on the burden of stoicism, the quiet strength of women, and the weight of religious and cultural expectations.

At its heart, this is a story about forbearance. About the kind of dignity that doesn’t ask for applause. About how people endure the unthinkable and still show up to milk the cows.

It’s personal work, but not confessional. I’m drawing on history, memory, imagination, and finding in myself a storyteller I didn’t expect to meet again.

This book is not about Jamberoo alone. It’s about what binds all of us, wherever we live. Compassion, endurance, resilience. Love that doesn’t announce itself. Grace in the everyday.

I’m grateful to be writing it. Grateful for the trust, the challenge, and the reminder that even now, especially now, I still have something to say on behalf of the people who came before me .

#TheStoryThatWaitedForMe #WritingJourney #HistoricalFiction #Jamberoo #RuralStories #CreativeProcess #Rediscovery #Forbearance #WomenInHistory #Resilience

 

 

The Power of Storytelling and Digital Legacy

Documenting history matters, not just to remember names but to honour lives fully lived and the impact they had on the world.

Have you ever stopped to think about whose story in your life deserves to be told?

Have you considered documenting your family history?

When we want to learn about something, we turn to Google, but what about the stories that are not there?

The ones that exist only in memories, passed down through conversation but never written down?

My friend Gaye Steel, former marketing manager of McDonald’s and Telstra, once said,

“If you can’t be found on Google, you don’t exist.”

Of course, we know that is not true.

Our lives, relationships, and impact are not measured by search results. But in today’s world, if a story is not documented, it can be easily forgotten. That is why storytelling matters. It ensures the people and moments that shape us are remembered.

Many people throughout history are invisible in the digital space, and I have made it my mission to change that. The National Library has archived my blogs as part of Australia’s digital history, recognising the importance of recording our experiences. But you do not need to be a writer or historian to ensure that the stories of your loved ones are preserved.

One simple step is to label your treasured photos. Add names, dates, and locations to the back of old family pictures. Tell the stories behind sentimental objects in your home. Even a short note explaining why something matters to you can turn an ordinary object into a meaningful piece of family history.

My own family’s history is deeply tied to the Illawarra. My maternal ancestors arrived in Kiama in 1831, and my paternal family settled in Dapto in 1841. The men in my family were well documented, but the women’s stories were largely missing.

My great-grandmother’s obituary, which only refers to her as “Mrs John Lindsay,” speaks volumes about the era in which she lived. It highlights how women were often defined by their husbands with their own identities overshadowed. Despite being described as an “ideal wife and mother,” her individuality, accomplishments, and personal story were left untold. It raises the question of how many other women’s legacies have been reduced to a mere mention in relation to their husbands.

When my parents passed away, I realised there was no public record of them, no trace of their lives online. Growing up, we did not even have family photos displayed in our home. I only discovered a picture of my mother through a Jamberoo Family History Facebook post.

That moment changed everything for me. My cousin, Mark Emery, has been documenting our family history for The Bugle, and through his research, I found my parents’ wedding photo and a beautiful image of my mother at 15. By writing about my parents, I have not only preserved their names but kept their stories alive, ensuring future generations can find them, remember them, and understand their lives.

My own journey has been shaped by storytelling. After leaving home and marrying young, I unexpectedly became a farmer’s wife. Later, I managed a pharmacy, but a series of armed robberies deeply affected me – an event that forced me to re-evaluate my path.

Stepping away from pharmacy, I found purpose in community engagement. I helped establish the Kiama Wine Show, promoted dairy through school programs like Picasso Cows, and was ultimately named Kiama’s first Electorate Woman of the Year. These experiences reinforced something crucial.

For years, agriculture faced negative press, and a friend in marketing gave me invaluable advice. “If you don’t tell your story, others will tell it for you.”

Recognising the need to change this, I  was established a charity to support young agricultural advocates in developing their storytelling skills. Over two decades, the charity worked with top journalists to train young people in crafting compelling narratives, ensuring that their voices were heard and their contributions to agriculture were recognised.

If we do not tell our own stories, others will tell them for us, or worse, they will not be told at all.

More recently, I made the difficult decision to close the charity I had been running. The challenges of working with schools post-COVID, combined with my growing passion for local storytelling, led me to refocus my energy on my own community.

The Bugle covered some of my community talks, and before long, they invited me to write for them. What started as pro bono work turned into a contract role covering council and feature stories.

The most rewarding part of this work is meeting and interviewing fascinating people, uncovering stories that would otherwise go untold.

Throughout my career, I have learned that awards and recognition are not about personal validation. They are about elevating a cause. Every time I won an award, I nominated someone else the following year, and I encouraged them to do the same. I am particularly passionate about the Hidden Treasures Honour Roll for regional women. Last year, I nominated three local women. They were honoured to be included, and now they are eager to nominate others in turn.

We all have stories worth telling, whether they are our own or those of people we admire. So, I leave you with a few questions.

  • Who in your life has a story that should be shared?
  • Have you considered documenting your family’s history?
  • Would you like to learn how to record these stories?

Let’s make sure the voices of those we love are not lost to time. Whether it is writing a blog, labelling old photos, or simply sharing memories with the next generation, every story we tell adds to the rich tapestry of history.

#Storytelling #DigitalLegacy #FamilyHistory #PreservingMemories #LocalHistory #Kiama #TheBugle #CommunityStories #DocumentYourStory #HistoricalRecords

How I Frustrated My Year 12 English Teacher—And Learned More About Myself Along the Way

Looking back on my final years of high school, I have to admit I must have been a nightmare for my English teacher. In Year 11 and 12, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a “model student.” I wasn’t rebellious in the typical sense; I simply refused to invest time in studying texts that didn’t resonate with me. And in our English syllabus, there were plenty that didn’t.

Take The Tree of Man by Patrick White, for example. While some found it profound, I found it dreadfully depressing, like trudging through emotional quicksand. And Tess of the d’Urbervilles? Equally exasperating. Despite the supposed literary merit of these novels, I couldn’t bring myself to see the world through their bleak lens. For me, these texts represented an obligation, not an inspiration. So, I did what any self-respecting, strong-willed teenager would do—I avoided them as much as possible.

But then there was Anne Frank. Her story moved me profoundly, and I couldn’t get enough of her writing. Here was a young girl, in the most horrifying of circumstances, expressing hope, resilience, and a love for life that defied her situation. Anne Frank’s words spoke to me in a way no other text on the syllabus could, and I absorbed every word, willingly and eagerly. If my teacher had allowed me to focus on texts like The Diary of Anne Frank, I probably would have been an easier student to manage.

Then there was Shakespeare. Although we didn’t have a choice in studying him, I tackled King Lear as a practical means to an end rather than a journey of literary discovery. I never grew to love it, but I became skilled at wielding its verses in exams. I memorised the key quotes, crafted answers that hit all the right notes, and delivered what was needed to secure a top 1% pass in English. To me, it felt like a bit of a joke—proof that academic success sometimes depends more on strategy than genuine engagement.

Reflecting on it now, I see that my teenage self was driven by a desire to find meaning in what I was learning. I wasn’t willing to fake enthusiasm for texts that felt hollow or irrelevant to my world. My teacher might have been infuriated by my selective engagement, but it was my way of honouring the power of words and stories. Only those that truly connected with me earned my dedication.

In the end, I think my journey through the HSC taught me more than a formal curriculum ever could. It showed me the importance of authenticity and the power of storytelling to capture our attention, inspire us, and help us make sense of the world. And if my teacher (Mr Howell) ever reads this—thank you for putting up with me. I may not have been the easiest student, but I left those years with a fierce appreciation for stories that resonate, and a strong resolve to find and share them in my own way.

#HighSchoolMemories #FindingMyVoice #EnglishClass #Year12Struggles #AuthenticLearning #StorytellingMatters #AnneFrankInspiration #SelectiveEngagement #PowerOfLiterature #EducationReflections  #Mr Howell