Saturday, 29 March 2014

Pigeons rachet from a branch,
Like brittle pages, wind riffles leaves,
Low, bruised nimbus are summer’s thieves.
A change is on the way.
Blinds rattle, a door slams,
Raindrops in dust find sudden death,
All that lives holds its breath.
A change is on the way.

Wind-whipped wrappers, like baubles, on gates,
Ink lines of ants homeward scurry
Gaggles of children from schoolyards hurry.
A change is on the way.
Hatches are battened, chairs flattened,
Hasty unpegging of laundry to plunder,
A howling dog competing with thunder.
A change is on the way.

A ripping lights the sky,
A smattering, a splattering
A drizzling, a mizzling
And zigzags rend the sky
A rivulet, a brooklet
A-streaming, a-teeming
Rush, gush, lush
Cool change.

 © Rhonda Pooley  2014

Sunday, 9 March 2014

My Writing Process Blog Tour
Melissa Gijsbers Khalinsky invited me to My Writing Process blog tour. Link to her at

What am I working on?
At the moment I only have time for short story writing because I’m busy making a platform of speaking engagements to showcase my book Cambodian Harvest which will be released in April. I’m looking forward to getting back to working on my novel which has an historical premise. You can read my latest short pieces, Of Mice and Angels, on Rhonda Pooley - Writer (blog)
 or A Day At The Beach  on   

How does my work differ from others of its genre?
In terms of the biography, Cambodian Harvest, I have aimed for a journalistic approach which is not common among Christian biographers. I particularly admire Peter McSimons’ style (although not necessarily his politics!). My short stories and novel might be termed ‘literary fiction’ by some, but they aren’t so high falutin’ as that - trust me!

Why do I write what I do?
I’m interested in how the past impinges on the present - for better or worse – and how people handle that. My stories reflect this even when I haven’t set out with that consciously in mind. I write from a biblical world view, but with a non-Christian audience in mind.

How does my writing process work?
Slowly! And I’m a very linear sort of fiction writer. I like to start at what I think is the beginning and then work with a particular ending in mind. But in practice it rarely works out like that. Achieving a good ending is always the hardest thing for me.

Next week you will meet Anusha Atukorala on the Writing Process Blog Tour. Anusha is an accomplished public speaker as well as a writer of encouragement and warmth. Visit her at ‘Dancing in the Rain’: 
I have invited two more writers but I haven't had confirmation and information from them yet.

Tuesday, 4 March 2014


Murial Mouse, in black beret and red smock, paused, paint brush in hand. Friend Merry gave an admiring sigh.
            “How come you’re so famous, Murial?”
            “Pull up a cushion and I’ll tell you,” said Murial, wiping a speck of paint from her nose with the back of her paw.
            “While I was still a bump in mummy’s tummy, she dreamed a dream about me. At the time, she was eating cheese and reading about Mike the angel who painted his sister’s chapel, so she…”
            “Don’t you mean…?” interrupted Friend Merry.
            Murial raised an imperious paw and made a mouth zipping motion.                            
            “…So she knew about big dreams. She dreamed I would paint…heaven.”
            Murial closed both eyes and paused as though waiting for a drum roll to stop. “When she told me about it, it became my very favouritest bedtime story. ‘Merle,’ she’d say, ‘Merle…’
            “But your name isn’t Merle,” frowned Friend Merry.
            “How do you expect me to finish this story if you keep interrupting,” snapped Murial.
            “’Merle’, she’d say, ‘Anyone can dream big dreams, but they come to pass little by little. You must remember that.’ So I practised painting, first on a mouse pad, then on a mouse tarp.”
            “Do you mean a mouse trap?”
            “I mean one of those big plastic sheet things that cover mouse holes and keep out the rain. Where was I? Oh yes,” Murial continued, “One day it occurred to me that if that Mike angel chap could paint ceilings, I could paint walls. So I painted my bedroom, the bathroom, the long wall in the hallway…”
            “Different colours or all the same?”
            Murial raised one eyebrow.
            “I painted white horses and thrones, and rainbows and a huge crystal sea. I used all four walls of the kitchen to do the angels, of course, because of there being thousands of them. And that, dear Merry, is how I came to be famous.” She twitched her whiskers. “And how I got my new name.”
            “How so, Murial?”
            “Because of painting all those Murials, of course.”
            “But, but, but…” squeaked Friend Merry, jumping up and down, “You mean a…a… mural!
            “Exactly,” said Murial, striking a pose at her easel.

NB: Murial’s mum was a big fan of the Bible. She knew about Joseph and Abraham. That’s how she knew about big dreams. Murial knew about heaven from reading the Book of Revelations chapters 4, 5 and 19 and also Ezekiel chapter 1. And if you read Revelations 3:12 you will see she is not the only person to get a new name.

© Rhonda Pooley 2012


It’s weird. I feel weird! On April 1st (it’s a good thing I’m not superstitious) my book will be on the shelves, actually in print and available for purchase. It’s been two years of my life given to researching, interviewing and writing, a year looking for the best publishing option, and almost another year waiting for its release.  And now the hard work begins, they tell me. Marketing.
            I think I will enjoy this part when I’m actually doing it. I like people. I like listening to their stories, I like telling my own.  But merely thinking about the cold calling to make the opportunities to do that is daunting.  It reminds me of those last few minutes when you’re standing in the wings about to make your stage entrance. Sweat-making terrifying. But it’s all onward and forward and lead on, McDuff, because you can’t stand still. The show has to go on. So I need to give myself a daily pep talk, keep my eye on the prize, and engage in the journey one step at a time.
            I’m reminded that prizes and treasures are very often at the end of dark tunnels and hidden in dark caves, so I’ll be looking for light, and some light bulb moments, to lead the way. And that brings to mind a really old hymn:
                                    Lead, kindly Light…Lead thou me on
                                    Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
                                    The distant scene; one step enough for me.*

* Cardinal John Henry Newman