Annie Drum ‘s first collection of short stories will be launched by Neil Boyack on May 1st at the tenth anniversary festival, Clunes Book Town
These are razor-edged stories investigating the bounds of identity, provoking questions: How do we travel? And more importantly: What do we travel as? Read the full Press Release on the Pomonal Publishing website.
…when she gave birth there was a sense of something sacred and almost like order. Throughout the labour Hero kept asking – how big is the egg? The large nurse said – a baby, you’re having a baby. The other nurse laughed, a sort of a crazy sound, and Hero thought she must be a bit off centre. When the large nurse presented her with a darling little bird in a tight white blanket Hero thought her heart might burst…
The launch will take place in the ‘Newstead Literary Tattoo Presents’ segment, in the Warehouse at 3.00 pm. To attend you will need to purchase a festival ticket. This will enable entry to all of the many exciting literary events of the weekend. See the festival website for further details.
Two weeks till we launch Annie Drum’s first collection of short stories. An event I’ve anticipated for nigh on thirty years, after reading an early story by ‘the girl downstairs’ in a block of East Melbourne flats.
Why has this taken so long? Well, the radical change in the ideology of publishing houses, for one thing. In this advanced stage/age of capitalism, in a society obsessed by the concept of perpetual-growth-driven profit, a beautiful voice is easily overlooked. (This, of course, is exactly why small, non-profit publishers like us had to come into existence.)
And perhaps also life itself has intervened, slowing down the pace at which Drum could pursue her career in literature. But this slower maturation of her voice will perhaps, like a good wine, prove worth the wait.
Today I am a tree, tall and alive, with sap crystals on my body. The wind is strong but I sway with it, we are the same. My trunk is wide and my jewels wink and glint in the sun. People walk by and never see me amongst the other trees. A little way up the street is James Owen, he is also a tree. That’s where he went, you see. I smile at him, and he waves a branch at me.
Watch this space for more about this magical collection of stories over the next two weeks. Maybe I can entice Annie to speak to us about her work on this blog.