My first review of my memoir on ArtsHub and I'm crying. I'm so, so happy. Sending this book out into the world is probably going to be the hardest thing I've ever done, after writing it. This review is soothing my anxiety just a little.

Amra Pajalić's Things Nobody Knows About Me.
Amra Pajalić has written this memoir in the style of a novel. She makes frequent use of dialogue and describes in detail how people thought and felt. She avers that ‘while every event depicted in this book did occur, I have used fictional devices to recreate dialogue and setting. . . . I have also compressed timelines slightly in order to create narrative flow.’ That this memoir has been partially fictionalised, however, does not detract from its sincerity or frankness.

Pajalić recounts her childhood exploits and relationships with no holds barred. This includes her sexual experiences, conveyed as fully as the other events that shape her life. That sexual abuse occurred then, as now, is hardly a surprise. A friend tells the teenage Pajalić, ‘My uncle comes and plays with me while Mum is at work. He takes off our pants and we do stuff.’ This is the same friend who shows her how to steal chocolate bars.
Pajalić spent many years of her childhood in Bosnia, being brought up by her grandparents, who held old-fashioned rules about how a young girl should behave. They cared for her in their own way, even if that included instances of painful physical punishment. Breakfast was ready for her and everyone in the household when they rose because her grandmother would start her long day by getting up at five in the morning to milk the cows, collect the eggs and prepare food.

However, most of Pajalić’s youth was spent in Australia, and in the part-time care of her mother, Fatima. Many of Pajalić’s recollections feature her mother with whom she had a strange and difficult relationship, overwhelmingly because, unknown to her, Fatima was afflicted with bipolar disorder. Fatima’s illness was mis-diagnosed for many years which resulted in her being frequently in and out of hospital, and in being subjected to incorrect and damaging mistreatment. When she was not ill, Fatima was a loving parent, although at times her desire for a suitable partner got in the way of her other relationships.

There are many reasons that can motivate a person to write a memoir. It could be to record past friends and family, it could be to set the record straight on events in which they played a role, it could be for self-aggrandisement or to emphasise a point of view. Pajalić’s motivation to write her memoir is clear from her dedication of Things Nobody Knows But Me:

'Dedicated to my mother, Fatima, and all the women who came before me whose lives were full of sacrifice, so that mine would be full of choices. And for my daughter, Sofia, who stands on the shoulders of these strong women and is able to reach for the sky because of them.'

Pajalić has succeeded in making her point with this memoir. Because of the strong women in her past, who did the best for her in difficult situations, she was able to make good choices for her career and marriage and is confident that her daughter will have even better prospects than she had.
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Rating: 4 stars ★★★★
Things Nobody Knows But Me
By Amra Pajalić
Transit Lounge Publishing
Format: ISBN :978-1-925760-20-0 Trade PB 272pp
Rights: World
Release / Publication Date: 01 /05 /2019
Categories: Forthcoming, Non-Fiction
$29.99

I received advanced copies of my memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me to be published in May 2019 by Transit Lounge and made a video about it.

If you subscribe to my mailing list you will receive a free Ebook-an extract of my upcoming memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me to be published by Transit Lounge. View previous newsletters here.

After my stepfather passed away, my mother's Bi Polar re-surfaced and she was hospitalised. I'm blogging as I process what happened.

I arrive in the hospital and she is lying on the couch in the communal room. It is darkened with the lights turned out and another patient lies on the coach next to her, fast asleep. “You came at a good time,” she says, a bright smile on her face as she holds out her hands so I can help her stand up. “I just had a nap.”
She has red lipstick on her face and mascara on her lashes. “Look, I did my make up.”
“Yes, you did. You look beautiful.”
We go to her new room and I take out her washing and stack it in the wardrobe. She has been moved out of the high dependancy ward where she had to share a bathroom with the other patients,  a fact that she found distressing as clarity returned. Her toiletries were under lock and key and she could only receive them upon request from the nurses. The wardrobe was locked and she could only access her clothes when they unlocked them.
When she showed me her new room her face was wreathed with smiles. “Look, my own bathroom. And my make up is there.” All her toiletries are splayed on the vanity. “And my clothes.” She opens the wardrobe, where her clothes are neatly stacked.
“And look at this, my flowers and card and photo.” She now has a beside table where she has gathered her prized possessions. A woman she knows came to visit and brought her beautiful roses from her garden, their perfume filling the room, a plastic bottle serving as a vase. I brought a Polaroid photo of my husband, daughter and I for her to look at, and she has a birthday card for her 65th birthday from my sister.
After I organise her clothes we go to the hospital cafe for a coffee. I get us coffees and we sit and talk. The mania of her Bi Polar has broken and she is able to listen, to take turns, to reflect on and engage in a conversation.
She talks about my stepfather’s passing and cries. We talk about whether the best thing is for her to return to the house that they shared together.
“I’m worried about some the safety issues,” I tell her. “Even if we take the unflustered walls and unfinished floors out of the equation, there is no front step, instead bricks are stacked side by side. I nearly rolled my ankle the other day. The back stairs have no rails, and the shower is a bath/shower that you already struggle in and out of with your knee. Now that he’s not there to help you I’m worried.”
We talk about whether she should sell the house and move. Start afresh, or whether having the renovations that my stepfather began 10 years finally finished and then living in the house is better.
“At the end of the day, you need to make the decision, Mum.”

If you subscribe to my mailing list you will receive a free Ebook-an extract of my upcoming memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me to be published by Transit Lounge. View previous newsletters here.

Last year I attended a writing meeting on the 18 December with my writing group the Pink Ladies, feeling on top of the world. My novel was going well, family was good, life was great. There were stresses on the horizon-mum had two operations coming up in the new year and I was having to take over more of her care, but everything was manageable. On the 27 December my stepfather passed away and my life broke into before and after. On the 29 December we buried him.

For the next three days we pulled together as a family to care for my mother. On Tuesday 1 January she was admitted to hospital with a complete breakdown. Every day she is coming back, bit by bit, there are glimmers of her returning to reality. Life is so tenuous and hard at the moment. The future is a dark uncertain place. My every day revolves around arranging what she needs, visiting her in hospital, coordinating her care for her health problems. Cycling through grief that fells me on a daily basis, grief for the loss of my stepfather who was the closest thing to a father I have had in the past 31 years. Grief for the life my mother had that is over. Grief for the life that we must now all embark on. Grief for my stepfather and the pain that he was suffering that I didn't know about.
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​I am frozen in time and all I can do is take one step in front of the other and cycle through this. Life changes on a dime. We all know that. Knowing it and experiencing it are still very different things. I know we're going to be okay. I know my mum will be okay. All I can do now is endure until life is better. There will be life after this. I just don't know what it is or what it looks like. But I have to believe. In the meantime to survive I have to write. Write my way through this. So that's what I'm doing.....

I sit with Mum in hospital, the colouring sheet in front of me. She talks, without taking breath, telling me about the new religion she has started. “I know everything. I know what it all means,” she says and picks up the colouring book I bought her. “Read here.” She turns to the introduction and I read it to her.

Within a minute her attention wanders and she starts speaking again. The words pour out of her. I concentrate on the colouring book, the soothing feeling of crayon the page, colouring in geometric shapes, focussing on which colour to put where, ensuring that I look up and make eye contact with her, repeat back what she says, respond with a quip every once in a while, nod affirmatively,  and let her words wash over me like waves on an ocean. Let them wipe me clean. She needs to speak, she needs to be heard. Between the moments of delirium there are clues to her condition. When she tells me she was raped during the night, chased around the room, I enquire about the UTI she was diagnosed with in the emergency department. Is she receiving antibiotics?

The antibiotic treatment was not transferred, the nurses tell me. They have to get a urine sample and test it before they can begin treatment. For 24 hours they try without success. At my next visit I urge her to drink and then go to the toilet. A nurse helps to collect the sample. It takes three days for the results to return and they commence antibiotic treatment again. I feel like a failure as a daughter for not following up earlier about the antibiotic treatment continuing. I assumed that it was. My assumptions keep proving false and she suffers for it.

When she tells me there are insects in her ears, those are the vertigo stones, swishing around, disrupting her balance. I am at the movies, attempting to have a much needed outing with my daughter and husband, trying to imitate normality. It occurs to me that I should check my phone to see that there are no calls about Mum. A missed call from the ward. She fell out of bed that morning. They heard a scream and found her on the floor. She was checked over by doctors and was uninjured. I am stuck, do I return to the movie, attempt normality. After running on nothing but adrenaline for 10 days I feel weak and need to eat. It’s not safe to drive as I am. Do I jump in a taxi and hurtle to the hospital? They said she was all right. I decide to have lunch and then go visit. When I arrive she is all right, but incoherent. She can’t tell me what happened. Someone was chasing her, tormenting her, but she can not be clearer than that. She is frail. As I walk her from her room to the communal area she wilts, and grabs hold of my arm for balance. The next time I go to the movies I rest my muted mobile phone on my stomach so that I can feel the vibration of a phone call.

Later, when I return from hospital, my daughter asks if our lives will ever be normal again. “Of course,” I reassure her, a pit in my stomach opening up. Will it though? There will be a new normal, perhaps, but I am now forever on call, primed for the ringing of my phone, to know about Mum. She has so many medical conditions. I am chasing doctors, chasing follow up treatments for the parathyroidism she was diagnosed with 8 months ago, and still has not been treated. It is growing in her throat, making it hard to swallow. She tells me she needs water, otherwise she will die. Another manifestation of real symptoms into her manic framework. She will not die without water, but it is bothering her, hurting her, making it hard to swallow. 

The parathyoiridism is leaching calcium from her bones. She has arthritis in her pelvis and legs, has to be put on a waiting list for knee surgery. The calcium has calcified her kidney. She has regular appointments with a nephrologist. She is in a psychiatric ward. The doctors there treat her psychiatric condition, the Bi Polar she was diagnosed with over 40 years ago. I am the one who has to ensure that all other treatments are being followed up.

Going to the hospital and sitting with her become an oasis. In these moments of time I can just colour in and listen. Soon the sound of her words and the swish of the crayon go together. She sees this as her time to proselytise, I see it as the time to investigate the madness within. To see how close she is to returning back to herself. Is the mania losing its grip?

Her eyes are not glowing the way they used to during a manic episode. They look tired and calmer. Is it a transformation brought about by her breakdown in her sixth decade or is it because this mania is grief induced, a different beast. People get unhinged from grief, even if they are not diagnosed with a mental illness. Could this just be a natural break, a fracture in her reality as she attempts to piece together her life before he died, and to accept the life that she is embarking on now.

She asks me how long she was in hospital. I tell her it’s been a week. I outline what happened. Another positive sign. She is coming back to reality. She is in the high dependency ward with a shared bathroom and is bothered by it. I help her shower by standing guard, getting the toiletries from the nurses as they are kept locked away. The first few times she is singing, talking the whole time, her words echoing off the tiles. Yesterday there was silence, she said a few things, but was not talking constantly. Another good sign. 

The tension inside me is beginning to loosen. But another battle is about to begin. As she comes down from her mania she will need to process her grief, think about the life she will now live. The future is scary and uncertain for all of us. I don’t know what it looks like. I have to flow down the river, not knowing the destination. There will be rough weather and extreme weather events. I have to hunker down and wait out the storm.

If you subscribe to my mailing list you will receive a free Ebook-an extract of my upcoming memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me to be published by Transit Lounge. View previous newsletters here.

This year will mark my fifth year as a teacher. It feels like quite an achievement considering the statistics out there about teacher retention, particularly in the first five years. A quick Google search yields various statistics, in some instances 30% of teachers leave the profession, while others state the number as closer to 50%. Either way the fact is that teachers face the highest risk of leaving in the first five years, as a result I’ve felt like the five year mark will indicate my legitimacy. By making it to five years, I am now officially a teacher.
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It’s not just the feeling though, there is also a sense of this gig is getting easier, in some senses at least. I am more comfortable with my pedagogy, classroom management, and having been fortunate enough to teach at the same school, I have now settled into my comfort levels with the ebbs and flows of a school year. Things that never get easier are the constant changes to curriculum and therefore the need to update and re-write curriculum documentation, the constant need to justify the work we do as teachers, and the constant negativity in the media about teachers. The easiest part of my day is the time I spend in the classroom with my students, while everything outside of it is hard work.

I read Gabbie Stroud’s memoir Teacher and was struck by some of the things that have helped keep me in teaching. I work at a school that has an embedded mentoring system for all new teachers and teachers new to positions of responsibility. Having this support in my first year was invaluable. I remember sitting in the social staffroom in my first year with my mentor Kiran and she would go through the textbook and show me which chapters correlated with which weeks of the Student Weekly Planner. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t comprehend simple instructions such as this without support. I feel very fortunate that I’m working in Staff Development for the past two years and supporting new staff as I remember too well the grey fog of fatigue in my first year of teaching. I had numerous chest infections that felled me for days at a time, a cough that lasted for months and wouldn’t leave even with four doses of antibiotics, and was so fatigued that I did not have any memories of the last two weeks in term two.

We also have a very robust Wellbeing department who are qualified social workers who deal with student issues. In the five years I’ve been teaching I have had issues of self harm, suicide and bullying surface in my classrooms and have been able to refer the students onto Wellbeing to support them. Another thing that I love about working at my school is the support of Coordinators whose role it is to communicate with parents so that I can focus on the job of teaching. I have parent teacher conferences twice a year, and outside of those times any concerns go through the coordinator who communicate with the parents on an ongoing basis. I love this. While my school is not perfect by any means and with any workplace there are issues, I feel very fortunate that this has been my first teaching experience.

I also realised that another thing-I’m lucky to have is a househusband who has taken on all the caring of the household. While this wasn’t our choice (he has had to take a backseat and retrain and start a new career) and this has created some financial tension because until this year we have been a one income family, it has meant that I can just be teacher. I have been able to just focus on my full time job and in the first few years when teaching was encroaching on my personal time and took all of me, I still had small pieces left to be with my daughter because I haven’t had to take on any household responsibilities. I don’t know how to use my washing machine, have vacuumed three times in the past two years, and when I went away with my writing group I had to get instructions on how to boil eggs, so I have been well and truly spoilt. Next year as my husband establishes his new career and takes on new hours, I might actually have to learn how to use the washing machine, maybe.

By far though the most important thing has kept me in the teaching profession have been my students. Our cohort are incredibly lovely. I have been in the classroom preparing for an induction by taking down chairs, and a student I never saw opened the door, asked me if I needed help, and then proceeded to take down the chairs for me. They are, in general, incredibly respectful and appreciative of the hard work I put in.

In the five years I have worked as a teacher I have had the opportunity to teach English and Humanities for every year level 7-10, as well as develop and teach Creative Writing as an elective at Year 10. This year I am taking a foray into English as an Additional Language and have loved having this opportunity to teach students who are new to English. It has been my most challenging class to date with the various student levels and challenging behaviours, and yet when I had my students complete a student survey on my teaching they were the ones who I received the highest endorsement from. Just as we tell students that the hardest tasks are the most challenging, so too does the same apply with teaching.

This time of year I have been teaching poetry in English. An activity that I undertake with my year 7 students is a list poem. I have been teaching year 7 students for five years, and have completed this activity in the last three years. Each time I introduce the activity to my students I model the poetry writing where we write a poem about me as a class. Reviewing my previous poems I’ve realised that they are window into my evolution as a teacher.

I am poem, 2016

I am a lover of books and a slave to my muse
I am curious to know other people’s life stories
I am a wackle, my laugh echoes like a witch’s cackle
I am the red pen that constantly criss and crosses words on a page
I am the smooth, creamy dairy milk chocolate that sweetly melts on my tongue
I am the sadness as I watch mothers and daughters bond together and remember the times I was without my mother
I am my daughter’s demands for hugs and cuddles on my tummy
I am a mother, teacher, writer, and reader

In 2016 I was struggling to maintain my writing while I was teaching full time. It felt like a constant battle to find writing time. I had friends at work who made me laugh a lot and there were comments that my laugh could be heard across the whole staff room, or as I liked to joke, “they can hear me in the next suburb.” My students got to experience my red pen in their notebooks as I learnt the most effective way to give in class feedback was correcting and writing comments as they wrote. Chocolate was my daily companion as I found ways of consuming sugar to keep going. I was writing my memoir and reflecting on my relationship with my mother, which had been fraught during my youth, and the closeness I had with my own daughter who still slept with me. I realised that all of my identities were interconnected and felt quite proud of that.

I am poem, 7B 2017

I am kind and smart, your cheerleader and your coach
I am a ready ear, always waiting to hear your stories
I am the scribbling red pen that writes in your notebook
I am the mind-seeker searching for your ideas
I am the seeker of justice and impartial judge
I am the tears that fall at the cruelty in the world
I am the book of unturned pages at the front of the room
I am a teacher

When I asked my students for my two characteristics they said I was kind and smart. This class was easy to classroom manage and I felt like they could see my lighter side. A lot of them had difficulties with friendships and there were some cruel comments, so I had to be their referee. We bonded over our love of books and I started a classroom blog where we posted book reviews.

I am poem, 7B 2018

I am scary and funny
I inspire terror and sometimes I make you laugh
I am full of wonder at your curious quirks
I am crink, the knife cutting a cake
I am the shimmering blue horizon on a sunny beach
I am the inspiration that moves your pen
I am the cruel insult that cuts you to the quick
I am the crinkling page I turn to find out your story

This year my year 7 class have been challenging and I have had to be very authoritarian hence why they see me as scary. My two most often said phrases have been “There’s the carrot-if you finish this task we’ll get to play a Kahoot quiz, and the stick-if you don’t you stay in at lunchtime/recess to finish.” I have discovered red velvet cupcakes and they are my current favourite dessert. A few weeks ago I spent an amazing day at the beach with mum and kept remembering the feeling of watching the waves on the ocean and the horizon shimmering before me. The school introduced English students having a writing notebook for the whole year and I feel like I have really developed my pedagogy around using these and teaching the process of writing, revising, and re-writing.
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I just met my new Year 7 class during orientation on 11 December. I wonder what sort of a teacher they will inspire me to be?

If you subscribe to my mailing list you will receive a free Ebook-an extract of my upcoming memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me to be published by Transit Lounge.

I have been wanting to write a blog post about my forays back into being a student, however have felt quite self conscious about the whole process. I am doing a PhD in Creative Writing at La Trobe university on a part time basis while I work full time as a teacher. I’m fortunate in that my task is to write an 80,000 word novel and a companion exegeses of 20,000 words. I have seven years to complete my PhD which feels manageable and I'm hopeful it won't take that long.
 
Doing a PhD has been one of my bucket list items and I always thought I’d do it at some point, but never planned to be doing it now and I’m still slightly shell-shocked that I’m actually doing it now.
 
What I have learnt along the way:
 
The proposal you submit does not mean you can’t change your mind.
Last year I began a historical crime novel that was slightly based on my mother’s experiences of being a migrant and suffering a mental illness. As I wrote the book it kept expanding in scope and until it incorporated the Vietnam War. Then a conversation with Vikki Petraitis derailed me. She asked why did the story have to be set as a historical fiction because there was more scope to explore women’s lives in contemporary fiction.
 
Vikki had begun her PhD, as had our other friend Kimberley Starr. They had been mentioning that I should also do it but I was feeling inferior. This wasn’t something I could do. And anyway I was already working on a book that I was committed to and a PhD had to be on something new. After Vikki’s conversation I realised that in making my novel a contemporary story I was effectively beginning again. I decided to change point of view, change the main character from a house wife to a journalist, and thought that since I was beginning again I might as well submit an application for my PhD.
 
So I did, and I got in. My supervisor requested a chapter-by-chapter plan of my novel and I started writing my first chapters. But something wasn’t clicking with my main character. I needed her to be a fearless outsider and decided to give her backstory as a survivor of the Balkan War genocide in the town of Srebrenica. In order to create her voice I started researching Srebrenica and writing chapters from my character’s point of view as a young adult.
 
As I submitted my chapters to my writing group Pink Ladies they told me this felt like it was a whole new book. I forged ahead, but the muse was in fine form and started creating a further story arc from the point of view of a young adult. I submitted my new chapters to my supervisors and at our next meeting shared my new idea for my novel. They were supportive and told me to go where the passion was, and so now I’m writing a young adult novel about a refugee girl who is a survivor of the genocide. I feel like it’s taken me three tries to figure out my next novel but I am now fully committed and so excited about this book.
 
So if you’re thinking about doing a PhD just put in a proposal and start writing. If the project changes it will be okay. You don’t need to know everything before you start, you just need to start.
 
A PhD will provide you with a support mechanism to write
One of the hardest things about being a writer is that in most instances no one is actually waiting for your book unless you have a book deal, which most of us don’t. This means that writing in a regular basis requires lots of discipline and self motivation, which can be really hard to find when you’re working full time, you have a family that you need to spend some time with, and friends and family that you want to maintain a relationship with.
 
I’m working full time as a teacher which means that I have to be disciplined about writing and find time to meet my supervisors. I meet my supervisors every school holidays and so my goal is to write 2-3 chapters every 2-3 months. I also have a writing group that I’m a member of and we meet once a month. So every month I need to write at least one chapter and submit to my writing group, and then every 3 months I need to submit a few chapters to my supervisors. This means that I have deadlines I have to meet and so I have to prioritise my writing. My current schedule is waking up at 6 am to write for at least an hour every day before I go to work in order to make sure that all these wheels keep turning.
 
While sometimes it feels that the writing is moving at a glacially slow pace, it is moving. I’ve clocked up 15,000 words and while they all need lots of work, I am slowly crafting the building blocks of my book.
 
Exegeses, shme-exegeses
I’m not really sure what an exegeses is and the more I sink into the rabbit hole, the more I find out what it could be. I basically have to write a 20,000 word essay which is a companion to my novel. So this could be a literature review of novels that are in some way connected to my novel. One idea is a literature review of crime novels featuring Bosnian characters, another is a review of novels set during the war, and talking about how this informed by book. I could also do a self reflection on my writing process. I’m unsure what my final exegesis is but as I my novel develops I feel like it’s going to become much clearer.
 
My supervisors told me to focus on writing the book as the exegesis is supposed to be a companion to my novel, and until I write my novel I can’t write this. I’m also not stressing about this part of the process. I’m focussing on the novel and ensuring that I collate my research so that I have all the breadcrumbs that I need at the end of this process.
 
Research is a necessity and so is developing tools to collate the research
I am writing a historical book and half of it is set during a war so research is a necessity. Research is a complicated business. While it’s easy to research what I need for the war, I’m not sure what I’ll need to write my exegeses, because I don’t what it will be. So I have to be really diligent in compiling my research so I can come back to it later.
 
I use Scrivener to write my novel, which I love because it is easy to write chapters and have synopsis, but I’m also finding it useful for compiling research. I can import websites and have them in my document for later.

​I have also created a separate research folder and documents for each book I read listing quotes and page numbers so that I can refer to it as needed. As I’m writing I need to list my footnotes so that I know what piece of historical research I received from where so I’m inserting footnotes into my Scrivener documents.

Typing up research has been really time consuming so I bought a digital highlighter and I’m finding that much easier to scan information from books and have it converted into a digital file.
 
I bought a Scanmarker Air which is $119 US and by the time the conversation rate and postage was taken into account is actually closer to $160 AUS. It works really well and there are a few corrections I have to make after it has scanned documents. I'm attaching a short video showing how it works.

I’m still figuring out the research side of it, but I’m feeling more confident in my compilation of research because I’m able to find what I need as I need it.

​PhD and the network of smarter friends
This is my first year of completing a PhD and I feel very lucky in the network that I have in my friends Vikki and Kim, or as we call ourselves The Antigones. While we knew each other beforehand working together on our PhD has really solidified our friendship.
 
I’m also finding the opportunities to develop a wider network incredibly invaluable. They have changed the rules with PhDs and we need to complete a presentation on our research and work as part of our candidature. In order to support us the English Faculty has been holding monthly Postgraduate Seminars for candidates to present and attending these has given me the opportunity to develop more networks and learn from others. There are also opportunities to attend professional development through the library and research centre and catch ups organised by faculty members. These opportunities to mingle and learn have really helped build my confidence and also made studying enjoyable. A have a whole new network of people to share ideas with and it’s so nice to broaden my horizons.

Reflections
I was speaking to a colleague who is also completing a PhD and she advised me to start a reflection diary to record my reflections on my project as I am undertaking research. I have started doing this and am recording how the books and research I’m doing is influencing my book and conversations I’m having with people that are influencing me. This might then help me with my exegeses in terms of being able to map my artistic practice.
 
Supervisors
I am very lucky that I’m being supervised by Paddy O’Reilly and Claire Knowles. Paddy is a writer that I have admired since she was published and Claire is an academic who is really helping me think through that side of it. I didn’t request any supervisors, they were allocated to me and I’m finding them incredibly supportive and helpful.
 
That’s all for now folks
So that’s it. That’s what I’ve learnt so far from this PhD business. I’m only ten months in so these are the early days and there’s a lot more to figure out.
 
Two bobs about the application process
If you are interested in applying for a PhD some things about the application process:

• You will need academic references-so people you know who have completed a PhD or are working in academia.
• My proposal was focussed on the creative work with lots of ideas and possibilities about what I could research to support it. So based on that experience I would say you don’t have to have a rock solid idea about the exegeses as there is an understanding that this will shift and change based on the writing process.
• I did not apply for a scholarship and I think those applications are more competitive so treat them as such.

If you subscribe to my mailing list you will receive a free Ebook-an extract of my upcoming memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me to be published by Transit Lounge.

Sometimes I feel like I have only one story I want to tell and that I've spent my whole life finding a way to tell it.

I have been a professional writer since the age of 20 when I enrolled in the Diploma of Professional Writing and Editing at the Council of Adult Education and had my first paid publication opportunity in Voiceworks Journal. I started writing a memoir then, a story about my childhood and my mother's life. About being the daughter of a Bi Polar sufferer and about the hardship that my mother endured being from a Non-English Speaking Background while suffering from a mental illness. I eventually abandoned it, scared off by the raw emotion.

​I still wasn't able to be vulnerable in the way that writing a memoir demands, and so The Good Daughter, my first young adult novel was born. My protagonist Sabiha is a Bosnian girl, who grew up in the Western suburbs, and had a mother who is a Bi Polar sufferer. I gave Sabiha my memories, feeling safe in disguising fact with fiction. I launched The Good Daughter into the world with a sigh of relief. I had exorcised my demons and was ready to move on

Then I became a mother in my 30s and all my childhood memories resurfaced. The first few months of being a mother I kept getting flashbacks to my childhood. Ten months after having my daughter I was diagnosed with post natal depression. As always writing was my saviour. I had no choice but to write a memoir, but how? It was a journey that took seven years and sometimes turned me inside out.

Getting published is always a dream, but getting my memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me published feels even more special. This memoir honours my mother and the hardship she has endured. I am so happy that Transit Lounge will publish my memoir in 2019 and I look forward to sharing my publication journey with you.

Things Nobody Knows But Me is the story of a bond between mother and daughter, and of the toll that mental illness takes on an individual, a family and a community. It is also an insight into Bosnian culture, and more broadly the experience of mental illness for people who come from non-English speaking backgrounds.

I was sixteen when my wagging caught up to me and I ended up in my high school counsellor’s office, and I finally learnt the medical label for the malady that had dogged my mother and affected my childhood. I had spent my whole life calling my mother’s illness a Nervous Breakdown, now I found out that my mother suffered from a mental illness called Bipolar Disorder.

In adolescence I became my mother’s confidante and learnt the extraordinary story of her life: when she was fifteen years old she visited family friends only to find herself in an arranged marriage. At sixteen she was a migrant, a mother, and a mental patient.

Things Nobody Knows But Me is about a mother-daughter-bond fractured by years of manic and depressive episodes, marked by powerful changes in mood and energy, that was eventually brought under control through an accurate medical diagnosis.

​I was funded by Creative Victoria to be mentored by Alice Pung in developing this book. Excerpts have been published in anthologies: ‘School of Hard Knocks’ in the upcoming anthology Meet me at the Intersection (Fremantle Press, 2018), ‘Nervous Breakdown’ was published in Rebellious Daughters anthology, (Ventura Press, 2016), and ‘Woman on Fire’ in Etchings journal (Illura Press, 2013).

It was a very long journey to get my memoir published and there was one person I really wanted to tell the news to. My mum. I was so wrapped I had to film it so I have the memory forever.

Subscribe to my newsletter below and receive an extract of my memoir titled ‘Woman on Fire’ that was previously published in Etchings journal (Illura Press, 2013) as a free ebook. 

Sometimes as a high school teacher I feel that I'm just rushing through curriculum and then every once in a while I have the chance to do something truly cool.

As a Humanities teacher I deliver the Respectful Relationships curriculum which covers different topics to help prepare students for today's world. One series of lessons was about identifying stressful situations and developing coping mechanisms.

Included within this we did a trial meditation session. I ran the lesson with year 9s and it didn't go over very well, and when I repeated it with my year 7s it went much better. The next week we had some time left before lunch and some of my year 7 students asked for meditation and half the class were really concentrating and practicing it. Afterwards I asked if they wanted us to do this regularly and I had a huge positive response, even from the ones who didn't seem to be practicing the meditation aspect, but it still seemed they loved the opportunity to have some quiet time to just be.

So I've introduced this as an embedded part of my lesson every Friday for the past few months. Every week I've been noticing that more students are getting engaged and involved. Today we did the session and the 5 minutes felt like 30 seconds. I've had one student mention it to a coordinator that he's using it as a strategy for anger management.

I had always thought that there was value in meditation, but now that I'm doing it with my whole class I'm feeling the benefits myself. I walk out of class feeling so much lighter and calmer, and I see it with my students. They are getting a little more centred and focussed, and better at being in the moment. 

​I've been using Smiling Mind which has educational programs and am just in the experimental phases, and yet I'm seeing so much positivity. I'm so excited because next year I'm going to introduce it from the get-go with my classes and really have the chance to track its positive effects, and I really want to explore some PD or research to support me. There's so much potential to support students with assessments. Everything they do these days is under exam conditions or involves some sort of testing and I can see that this could be a great tool for their educational journey and beyond. Will keep you posted on my progress, and would love to hear about anyone who uses meditation either in the classroom or in life. 

I feel like I'm writing all the time, but not actually moving forward. I have completed yet another revision of my memoir. It was 80,000 words and I cut it down to 60,000 words. I had to write a one page synopsis and found this resource that helped me write it.

Through this process I realised what the shape of my memoir was and what needed to go and what needed to stay it. I then re-worked the prologue to give it a better frame and I feel much about this current draft. It also made me realise that the process of writing a synopsis can really help you see what the story is so I'm going to do that for my novels from now on.

At the moment I'm revising my young adult novel. I wrote it in third person and now I'm re-writing it to first person to give it more of a voice. When I've finished that process, I'm up to chapter 5, I want to do a one page synopsis and see how it holds up structurally, then I can submit it.

My actual work in progress this year is a historical murder mystery set in 1969. I'm really excited about this project and was progressing quite well with it, but until I finish revising my young adult novel and get it out into the world, I have to leave it on pause.

So I have lots of things on the boil, but I don't really feel a sense of satisfaction. I feel like I'm in this constant process of suspended animation. The publishing industry is so slow and so brutal. I have been watching with awe as some writers I hugely admire have forged into self publishing.

Ellie Marney, one of my favourite young adult authors of the Every series, has self published her novel No Limits. It was quite interesting to hear that her current publisher didn't want to back this novel because they thought it was too different from the Every series. Because it was a part of the series she didn't think another publisher would be interested, so she self published, and reached #1 Amazon bestseller, I think, within the first few days of it being out.