by Gabrielle Morgan

Created on: June 01, 2008

A TIME TO WRITE

Isolation was something I wasn't used to. I was a city woman, nurtured on designer fashion, broken marriages, stress related ambition and an awareness of the social milieu to which I belonged. It was difficult to adjust to life out among the sheep and wheat paddocks. But survival was strong within me.

I had left a new dwelling to live in an old disused general store in a town which had almost died apart from one shop and a hotel. I lived with my brother who had little in common with me except to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives after losing our marriages, home and business.

A small pension made life much simpler. There was nothing to spend on my former luxuries of life which I had always taken for granted. Now I grew vegetables and the hens provided a ready supply of eggs. Water was not yet connected to the kitchen area which meant long walks to the tank and the bathroom.

There was only one thing to do, I was going to turn my life into a nirvana. I had always had a secret desire to be a writer. What better chance could I have than now, stripped of my former consumerism values. I had time, peace and a strong will to succeed. So I set up my old computer in the unlined room of my "will be" kitchen, and along with the spiders accompanying me started to write.

I joined a writers' group which met in a town an hour's drive away. We developed a strong bond and our meetings became the highlight of the month.

Then I had my first hint of success. I submitted a few lines to a magazine in answer to a reader's problem. It was printed and a check arrived for my trouble. I was on my way. Excitedly, I repeated the procedure and was duly paid. Maybe I was to become the new "Dorothy Dix!" I rather fancied the role of mediator to a stress laden society.

My next submission was to a religious magazine. I described a Mass I had attended in a graveyard where the farmers had congregated to pray for the souls of the departed in a very moving service which I felt should be commended to paper. The publisher thought so too.

It was then my new found career took a twist. I noticed an American recording company was seeking poems which could be set to music. With new found confidence in my ability, I sent them a poem, and to my amazement they wanted to immediately record my words to be sung by a top Nashville singer. My mind spun with the expectation of fame.

This led my thoughts to music. My grandmother's upright grand piano stood in the huge area of the dusty old shop. I fingered the keys wishing I could play and suddenly decided to have lessons. After all, if I was going to be a songwriter I would need to know more about music.

Then began a new phase in my life. A serious devotion developed between me and the piano and it became a great joy to master its keyboard. I spent hours practicing daily. It gave me an enormous challenge to make it live again to produce the marvelous quality of sound it was originally designed for.

In adversity and poverty it seemed to me life had just begun. Notification arrived to announce I was winner of the Weekly Times writing competition and I had won a holiday on Mt. Buffalo, an Australian ski resort.

The most wonderful thing was my secret writing ambition led me to write a short story which changed my life. The story was inspired by a painting. The artist liked it so much he corresponded to me for two years at the end of which we met and married.

My isolation ended.

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