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- Fly, Road, Rail – A trip north, west, south, east then north again – We head off January 2, 2023
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Irene Waters
Irene Waters 19 Writer Memoirist
I began my working career as a reluctant potato peeler whilst waiting to commence my training as a student nurse. On completion I worked mainly in intensive care/coronary care; finishing my hospital career as clinical nurse educator in intensive care. A life changing period as a resort owner/manager on the island of Tanna in Vanuatu was followed by recovery time as a farmer at Bucca Wauka. Having discovered I was no farmer and vowing never again to own an animal bigger than myself I took on the Barrington General Store. Here we also ran a five star restaurant. Working the shop of a day 7am - 6pm followed by the restaurant until late was surprisingly more stressful than Tanna. On the sale we decided to retire and renovate our house with the help of a builder friend. Now believing we knew everything about building we set to constructing our own house. Just finished a coal mine decided to set up in our backyard. Definitely time to retire we moved to Queensland. I had been writing a manuscript for some time. In the desire to complete this I enrolled in a post grad certificate in creative Industries which I completed 2013. I followed this by doing a Master of Arts by research graduating in 2017. Now I live to write and write to live.
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Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers
A Walk in Time: Friday Fictioneers
“Get them boots offa the table Fred.” Marion’s face screwed up as she spat her words with venom. “Love, believe me, them boots are magic.” “Baloney. Get rid of ’em or I will.” Fred remained motionless, watching Marion put on … Continue reading
Fruitland: Friday Fictioneers
“Did ya have a good holiday?” “Yeh. Weird but.” “Howzzat?” “Just… welll….everytime we went through a tunnel, and there was lots of em, at least eight, we could hear a child’s voice say one sleep. New day coming. She said … Continue reading
Tuvalu Thoughts: Friday Fictioneers
The line is cast No longer can the hook be seen Through water murky – rust, oil and other waste mingle Fish bites The line reels in Fish gasps black sludge drips drip…. drip from open sores leaking black, rotting … Continue reading
Cartons of Crystal: Friday Fictioneers
Sarah stood looking at the packing cartons. Two held kitchen ware, one a dinner service, eight were books, three office, one clothes whilst the remaining eighteen boxes were marked crystal. Why had she kept all this crystal? They never used … Continue reading
Sacrifice: Friday Fictioneers
The masked men dragged Griselda through the stream, soiling her long white gown. She refused to walk until whips lashed her back, forcing her to crawl upward to escape their stinging punishment. At the top the High Priest grabbed her. … Continue reading
Conquering the Blue Mountains: Friday Fictioneers
The three men looked back at Gregory’s farm. Greg’s wife waved from the verandah, the smallest of his three children clinging to her skirt. He turned, brushing a tear from his eye. The pack horses were laden with six weeks … Continue reading
Remembering Towton Battle: Friday Fictioneers
“Lord Towton I just adore your house and that sculpture.” The American tourist pointed to the large chain mail upside down helmet. “Thats a memorial to the downed men of Towton Battle. Come see the dining room.” They entered a … Continue reading
Too Late: Friday Fictioneers
The young boy lived up the road. Whenever I saw him he seemed to droop, never looking at you, his brow a field of ridges and furrows and his shoulders sagged. He never smiled and the most response from him … Continue reading
Dressed for the Ball: Friday Fictioneers
“Joan was trying to hide she was pregnant, so she invented the farthingale.” “Are you sure about that?” “Absolutely.” “Are you pregnant?” “Absolutely not.” The hors d’oeuvres were offered but Abigail could not reach the tray to take one. “You’re … Continue reading
Family Dinner: Friday Fictioneers
I stood and looked at the remains of the dinner party I’d thrown for the family. Chairs were hurriedly pushed back and skewed. Most of the time Alan had sat with his back to our Dad’s new wife. At … Continue reading
Reflections and Nightmares- Irene A Waters (writer and memoirist) 