The LibranHorse: A Fiction Writer's Circle.

Beer and Pizza. By John Filby. 02-04-2018. 0817 hrs. My husband has his best friend over today. He needs to have the company, something I can’t or don’t give him anymore. Yes, every morning he wakes, looks at the world and says good morning to me, and that he loves me. Then the day starts. This is the routine. Today and probably into the evening my husband and his childhood friend will spend time together. He needs this and he gets it. No doubt it will be pizza and beer and whatever sport happens to be on television. This is their bonding. I don’t mind at all because these things and the camaraderie he craves, and I cannot give this to him. The TV is on and it is golf, they chat about the players and the rules and joke that they could do better even though neither of them has ever picked up a club in their lives. One beer down and some crisps are opened. The saltier the crisps the more beer they will consume. The channels flick and now they settle on some kind of football, the r...

Bastille Day By John Filby. 14-07-2016 @ 1308 hrs. Bastille Day and everything French comes to mind. We have adopted many words from French (as well as every other language). We have taken on some cultural aspects too, just think of food and also fashion. French is widely spoken, and I think it is the second official language of sport such as the Olympics. We call the French frogs but wonder why? Don't they eat frog's legs? I can imagine a ward of amputee amphibians with prosthetic limbs or in wheelchairs. Words like beret and ballet and cuisine. What is a French Fry? Is it really from France? Or just one of those terms that evolved from nowhere or a memory of a child who ate chips like that once decades ago in Paris? Paris the city of love but I do recall my time there was not as picturesque as my memorial postcards. Yes, the Eiffel Tower was there but I recall it not being so monstrous in real life. The Pont Neuf was lovely too but don’t recall seeing the other eight....

After the Storm By John Filby 17-06-2016. 1625 hrs I see you after the storm. The lake has spewed its contents far beyond its shores. Paperbark fallen to the sodden ground. Your protection has been removed. How will you fare in the season ahead? I touch your fallen bark and feel softness and warmth that you have now lost and hope you will recover. Your leaves are also scattered and have lost their greenness and youth. Now they are fallen and resemble the hands of my grandparents, dry and wrinkled, but full of life and stories to tell. I wish to soothe them and be nurtured by them. Your seed pods are broken and hope that their contents have been carried forward to a new place of growth. The storm has supplied the perfect environment and the shelter to aid the sprouting of new life. A few flowers have opened after the storm, the change of weather has encouraged this natural event. Your openness will attract birds and insects to pollinate and spread the seeds to grow the winter colour...

I am back where i need to be but the creative flow has drizzled to almost nothing. I start to write and nothing comes. I am using time to edit or complete existing words. I am attempting to put together a book of 'shorts' from all the things I have written since I can remember. I do not care if it is ever published because I am writing for other reasons rather than riches and fame. I hope the creative flow restarts soon. I will continue to edit and redraft untilnew ideas come my way.

That Mary MacGregor song goes through my head as I write these words. Have been living in Tasmania for the past two years and have made the decision to move back to NSW. This has been the hardest decision we have had to make. This is a magical island full of wondrous things. NSW means a move back to the familiar and the family. This is not necessarily the best :( Circumstances have meant that we need to be back in NSW and that is where we will be in one week's time. I have regretted having to make this choice of love or duty. More on this later.

How can we know when we are appreciated? Should we take it for granted that we are doing a good job until told otherwise? Why does it need to be this way? Why can't people just tell us 'thank you' , 'you did a good job', 'I love you' without making us 'earn' the compliment. Why is it so easy for people to say negative things rather than positive ones? Where has common decency gone? Where are basic manners?

I suppose if I knew everything that I know now then, would I do anything differently? Question of the century? Yes in some ways I would like to know when certain events were to occur so I would be better prepared. I don't believe we should rewrite our own history but then why not? I suppose we learn from our 'mistakes' as this is how we grow to maturity and pass on our life experiences and knowledge to others.