The time: Mid 2009
The place: ATYP Wharf 2
Me and several other Fresh Ink writers are packing a bunch of luggage into my Mothers subaru station wagon.
We are heading to the writer/artist retreat called Bundanon near the town of Nowra.
Now. I think i'm a good driver. And although Lachlan thinks I drive like an 80 year old woman, I still freak the fuck out every time I'm trusted with innocent peoples lives. For instance, this is pretty much what I thought would happen 45 mins into the journey
Tragically.
This did happen.
On the Illawarra Expressway, a stray banksia-man became wedged under my brake pedal. I was unable to stop and crashed into one of many bakeries in the town of Berry.
If I even smell a Scroll I start having violent flashbacks.
So R.I.P Fresh Ink Writer #4 (couldn't remember your name)
Anyway.
So we arrive at Bundanon and this place is AWESOME.
I'm talking grass. I'm talking trees. I'm talking a clothesline. It had everything.
(Just so you know, Bundanon is a house originally owned by the Artist Arthur Boyd. He generously donated it to the public for a space to get some creative work done...but all i know is that he must've had some fetish for marsupials cos I've never seen more wombats in my damn LIFE! They would literally walk into the camp-site, face covered in mange* and just hang out. Naturally I just ignored them and watched more Entourage.)
But in all seriousness. Bundanon was the best writing experience I've ever had.
Our task for the week was pretty much just produce work. We were given good-food, no internet and heaps of coffee. If you ask me that's heaven.
My friend had been talking about joining the army for a while and this always fascinated me. Is the army that bad? What makes someone want to join? Would I do it?
So began the first 14 pages of what is now Zetland...
*Wombat mange is a serious issue guys. Let's get serious.
CONTINUED IN PT 3
Yours,
Jasper
