Featured Writing on Tall And True

The bedside pod's androgynous voice delivered Alex's wake-up call and segued into the soothing electro-ambient music it had selected for his weekday alarm. Like most of the Adaptive Generation, Alex suffered stress and anxiety attacks and needed a gentle start to the day. He couldn't have survived the olden days of his grandparents, startled awake by alarm clocks with bells, buzzers and blaring radios.

My son bought a 2007 Toyota HiAce van in 2023, which I helped him fit out as a mobile home. That December, we took the van on a 4,800-kilometre dad and son road trip from Sydney to Perth. This September, I drove the van on a 7,560-kilometre round trip with my dog from Sydney to Uluṟu.

The TV news opened with a cross to the weather presenter. "The weather is looking unusual, Mandy," the newsreader said. Relaxing on his living room sofa, scrolling on his phone, Dave was barely aware of the TV. "Yes, Tom," Mandy confirmed on TV. "A pocket of fine weather will settle over the city tonight."

As I wrote in August's blog post, I don't believe in omnipotent beings or contact with alien lifeforms. I also don't believe in heaven and hell or an afterlife. But like the three stories I shared in the post, that hasn't stopped me from exploring the possibilities of an afterlife in my short stories.

The door slid open with a whoosh, and I stepped through the time portal onto the landing field. A light rain was falling, and floating in the grey skies, the Hindenburg manoeuvred towards its mooring tower. I groaned. The world is full of history. Why can't I witness cheerier moments?

He stood sweating on the stone bridge, catching his breath and riffling through his hiking pack for his heart pills. It was a still, hot summer day, like their first visit to the bridge. But he was forty years older now, and alone.

Friday evening peak hour, and I'm driving home via the local Chinese restaurant. The queue at the nearby petrol station stretches until the weekend. I'd skip it, but Mel reminded me about the kids' Saturday school sports when she texted me to collect takeaway for dinner tonight. And I won't have time to stop for fuel while ferrying Tommy and Tess across town tomorrow morning.

Before I became a dad at forty, I was an uncle in my thirties. I loved playing uncle with my nieces and nephews, and from the experience, I knew I'd love being a dad, too. Some of my nieces and nephews are now in their thirties. But my youngest niece is nine, and she likes to write stories with Uncle Robert.

A trip to springtime Japan clashed with the April 2026 Not Quite Write Prize. I've submitted a story for every flash fiction competition run by the Not Quite Write Podcast since July 2023. But I couldn't dedicate a weekend to writing a 500-word story while holidaying in Japan with my family. So I wrote a haiku.

Episode 107 (8 December 2025): Bernie sat by himself on the far side of the emergency department waiting room. Elsie and Rita were sitting together, near the doors to the operating theatres. Elsie was sobbing, and Bernie wanted to console her, but he couldn't face Rita's wrath again. "It's all your fault, Bernie!" she'd shouted at him.

In 2019, approaching the 30th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, I found a timely book in a secondhand bookshop: The Berlin Wall, 13 August 1961 – 9 November 1989 by Frederick Taylor. The book inspired me to write about my contrasting visits to Berlin as a backpacker in 1987 and 1995.

Two disclosures. Firstly, I've known Ashley Kalagian Blunt for several years, from her work at Writing NSW and conversations on social media about our writing projects. Secondly, I am not a big reader of crime fiction. But I know it's a popular genre, and after binge-reading Dark Mode, I can see why.