Inspired by Etta James' song of the same name, 'A Sunday Kind of Love' was written for a good friend's wedding. You can read it, in full, over at The Suburban Review x


'... Take the tram down Lygon Street, early June. Look out your shadeless window near Barkly and see Julia—taller than usual in Kuwaii shoes. He’s there beside her—carrying a cardboard box of scones and bread: warm, soft, fruit-filled. The street is busy for Friday noon, shop fronts fluttering. See him lean into her, just slightly, and smile. Then your ride, it rings and surges, and all you’re left with are colours—theirs—lingering as flecks in worn tram glass ... '

Story written for Julia Ostro
Image by Lisa Sorgini

Read a small story of mine, 'Grevillea', over at Seizure Online.


' ... She’d spent hours in silence the first few days – bunch-legged on the Kmart banana lounge with her hair the colour of custard powder, her book stained with Lipton ... '

Read 'Sediment': shortlisted for the inaugural Right Now Fiction Prize—judged by Tony Birch and Anna Funder.

' ... Oscar's neck smelt like jasmine that night, like orange blossom, or maybe just like the Cottee's cordial I used to drink when I was small ... '

Read 'Bloodwood' in Overland's Summer Fiction Edition, edited by S.J. Finn. 

'Likewise, in Alice Bishop’s story ‘Bloodwood’, the protagonist, May, is in the interesting and complex role of being her own observer. Unsure how she feels about what is going on in her relationship, yet very aware of her responses to it, this is an acute, wistful rendering of a day in May’s life. ‘Bloodwood’ is a beautifully drawn story about not quite being able to do what you know you should.'

S.J. Finn—Guest Issue Editor


‘ ... You trick the flowers, love,’ he added, winking at May as she took another bunch in her hand. ‘And they’ll be good to you.’ When May opened the car door a wave of hot air enveloped her. The steering wheel too, was warm, and the vinyl seats prickly against the backs of her thighs ... '

'Paper Flowers' was originally published in Voiceworks Magazine #85
 

' ... When you first took me to Rose’s place it was September and the powder from the wattle trees fell about my shoulders like snow. The walls were still like gardens then. There was the smell of toast, maybe detergent, as your mother, Rose,  first led me through the hall, showing me each of the rooms: the study with her desk—covered in fabric scraps and half drunk cups of tea and wine; the spare room still full of your old things—posters of cars and notebooks full of sketches; and her own bedroom— three different quilts on her bed, a half drunk glass of wine on the sideboard, maybe some peppermint oil, some gin ... '

You can still pick up a copy of the latest Visible Ink at Readings, Carlton. Read my story, ‘Paper Squares’, inside. 

' ... By the time we made it to Hiroshima you were only wearing pants and the white blouses you bought when you decided to stop owning second-hand anything, including the floral dresses you wore back when your mother still drank honeyed whiskey with Jim on Sundays. I still wore the same jeans I always had, the same cotton blend shirts I’d always worn. When we passed a window of plastic tamagoyaki you smiled and I remembered, for just a moment, how you used to take the glasses from my face ... '