I am 61, female and I live with a poet, which is why I write prose.

I was born in England, but have lived in Australia since 1971.

My writing comes from two inner 'desks' - "The Australian Desk" and "The English Desk." You will never know which one you may be approaching until you sit down. It is the way that I am.

Bob, my Australian poet, par excellence, and I live just outside a small country town in New South Wales. We rent an old farmhouse where our beloved ducks, 'chooks'(chickens), dogs and cats can live in harmony.

Sometimes the Prose writer and the Poet meet in accord and create an occasional 'Hybrid.' They are strange, but beautiful creatures.

I belong to three other writing communites, each one has its uses. One, has a terrific editing facilty and a lock up feature. Another provides a lot of feedback for me. Yet another provides valuable input on my 'English' flavoured pieces.

Some of my stuff you read here, may be on another site you have visited, so these are my names I use - then you know I'm not 'plagiarising' my own work.

Only two names - diddi and Elisabeth. Any other name you find IS plagiarising my work!

I believe in re-cycling, until I get it right. That may never happen, but I'm still going to try.

Fond regards, to anyone that reads this!

Lis.

My passion is ...

Life.

I know too much about ...

Trivia.

My parents always told me ...

Don't speak until you are spoken to.

My childhood ambition ...

I wanted to be a Greyhound Trainer.

My favorite memory ...

Meeting Bob.

Why I write ...

It's just like breathing. It is necessary for my survival.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

I listen to the radio and a varied selection of music.

My first job ...

Clerk with British Aircraft Corporation.

My best moment ...

Each day brings a 'new' best moment for me.

My inspiration ...

sometimes it's the most trivial thing that inspires me.

Creative Writing > Humor Humor: One of those days

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The problem, as always, was how to fit the chicken in.

Mrs Beaton in her famous cookery book, (Tome, would be a better word) stated in her recipe for cooking a perfect Goose, "First catch your Goose."

So, spirited lass that I am, I went out to catch a chicken for dinner. I had, as yet, to catch my perfect chicken. I had tried chasing, cajoling, copious amounts of bread and sheer athleticism. It was if the rotten feathery things read my mind before I started. Or, it may have been the axe in my hand that alerted them to frantic flight. However, this time I was determined to provide from...

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