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Anne Skyvington

The Art of Creative Writing

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Travel

beauty-and-the-eternal
Travel

The Great Beauty

In the movie “The Great Beauty”, the 2013 Italian film by Paolo Sorrentino, a tourist, after taking photos in Rome,  collapses and dies. The message is clear: See Rome and die!

Like the protagonist in the film, my abode while in Rome (in my case, the Palatino Hotel) was almost overlooking the Colosseum. A flight of stairs opposite the hotel led up through an archway between walls covered by vines to the top of the hill. From there,  you looked down on the ancient stadium, constructed for gladiatorial events two millenia ago.

At one stage in the movie, the ageing protagonist, Jep, thinks back on his life, which has also been the life of the city, and realises he has spent most of it searching at parties on the rooftops and in the gutters for what he calls la grande bellezza – “the great beauty”. He actually finds the underbelly of the city: gangsterism, triviality, hypocrisy and decadence.

We could walk in any direction for hours, to be overwhelmed by ancient beauty. Ten minutes’ away to the west was the Roman Forum. You had to pay twelve euros to wander around in here. It was well worth it, and there was less chance of being relieved of your wallet by pickpockets in here.

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An ancient street in the Forum

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Statue of twins suckled by the wolf

Romulus and Remus, the twin founders of Rome, were said to have been suckled by a she-wolf, after their mother was forced to become a vestal virgin. Roma was named after Romulus, who favoured the Palatine Hill on which to construct the town that became Rome.

I took many photos and videos on my i-phone while wandering around the ancient ruins in the Forum, visited on 15th October, 2015 one day before our 40th wedding anniversary; which we celebrated in Rome and in Paris, two of our favourite cities. The following photos I found online:

the-forum

The Roman Forum

The Garden  containing Statues of the Vestal Virgins was beautiful and full of pathos. It harks back to an ancient cult of which little remains today. The virgins were chosen from aristocratic families to watch over the eternal fire that represented the city’s life force. One of their more macabre tasks was to prepare the mixture containing salt to be spread over sacrificial bodies.

gagarden-of-the-vestal-virgins

The Vestal Virgins

As in all cultures, but particularly as regards “the Eternal City”, there is an underbelly, symbolised by the ruins of the Colosseum, where unspeakable acts of horror were committed at another time.

the-movie

The Great Beauty was last modified: July 4th, 2021 by Anne Skyvington
September 15, 2016 1 comment
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cavtat-village
Travel

Back to Cavtat in Croatia

Cavtat Harbour is one of the prettiest places I’ve ever been to. Slate toned mountains against green hills, turquoise waters and blue skies; in the village terracotta roof tiles and cobbled stones, all combine to create an impression of stepping into fairyland for me.

cavtat-harbour-mountains

Cavtat Harbour

Beautiful Croatia has been the host country to the International Stuttering Symposium for two years now.  Participants all stay at the  Hotel Croatia, built during Tito’s reign on the edge of the Adriatic Coast. From the sea, it is reminiscent of a cruise ship, not at all like some of the ugly Soviet buildings of the era.

croatia-hotel-cavtat

Croatia Hotel

The waters of the Adriatic here are advertised as “the Mediterranean like it used to be.”

adriatic-sea-cavtat

Hotel Croatia: View from the Balcony

It’s a village-like atmosphere in the town, with cobbled streets winding upwards from the harbour.  You can ride a bicycle around the peninsula, stopping to view Roman ruins, taste local cuisine, visit museums and swim. and artwork by notable artists which would be worth your time to see.  The Church of St Nicholas has Icons of the  saint, an alabaster relief from the 15th century, works by Benedetto Genarri, and paintings by Sicilian painters.

cavtat-village.

The Village of Cavtat

You can catch ferries to one of the many peaceful islands, or visit the bustling walled city of Dubrovnik,  a favourite haunt for tourists.

Source: Listen to this organ in Croatia that uses the sea to make hauntingly beautiful music.

(in Zadar)

Back to Cavtat in Croatia was last modified: September 7th, 2021 by Anne Skyvington
September 8, 2016 2 comments
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small-aircraft
PoetryTravelWriting

High Flights: Beginnings and Endings

 High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr

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High Flights: Beginnings and Endings was last modified: July 19th, 2017 by Anne Skyvington
September 2, 2016 4 comments
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white-bird-in-flight
TravelWriting

A Bird’s Eye View

We’re heading for the air space over la Belle Paris, where we will spend such a memorable few days, meeting up with Véronique and Thierry, and Manya and Hakeem. You can tell it’s France down below from the beautifully sculpted blocks of land, some tilled, others awaiting cultivation: the richness of the French agricultural tradition.

french-countryside-2cvWhereas Venice will be a feast for the eyes, Paris is style, fresh food in street markets, wonderful cuisine and products in delis, and interesting, generous people. Admittedly, there’s also a creeping sense of depression there, as the young abandon ship and take off for richer pastures further afield: New York, Sydney, Berlin … anywhere they can find work. But things augure well for the future, so long as its youth return, once the economy recuperates. Few leave for good.

Mark had one day working hard in Paris teaching the Lidcombe Program. He was exhausted afterwards, but we were served dinner: ‘foie gras d’oie’—home-made by Thierry!—and baked lamb with vegetables and sauce and lots of red wine!  It was a real feast, and a once-in-a-lifetime experience, like staying in the Presidential Suite in Cavtat. But I must admit to suffering from ‘mal au foie’ the next day.

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A Bird’s Eye View was last modified: July 10th, 2017 by Anne Skyvington
September 1, 2016 4 comments
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taormina-city-sicily
TravelWriting

Why You Must Visit Sicily

Gorgeous Sicilia!

It’s been on my bucket list, ever since hearing about its marvels and beauty from my Italian hairdresser. Over the years I’ve explored the north, middle and south of Italy, but never ventured down as far as Sicily. Following are some reasons I’ve gathered together for visiting this gorgeous island.

sicily-in-colour

Sicily is one of Italy’s most alluring destinations, with mesmerizing landscapes, delicious food and a mix of cultures that, over the centuries, has left a mixture of architectural styles throughout the region.

Sicilia, as it’s called in Italian, is the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea, sitting off the toe of Italy. “Italy is a popular destination for Australian travellers. In a way, Sicily can feel more off the beaten track, which is perhaps part of its charm,” said Dean Van Es of  Fast Cover Travel Insurance.

Other reasons for visiting this island, apart from its beauty are:

 

The Food

cous-cous-and-seafoodIt is perfectly acceptable to arrive home from Sicily with a bit more girth than when you left. If you haven’t then perhaps you haven’t taken full advantage of the fantastic foods you will find in Sicily! Of course there are the expected Italian dishes to try, including various pizzas and pastas. But you should also try the oranges and other citrus fruits, almonds, pistachios and olives which grow in abundance. You can indulge in delicious arancine, which are balls of saffron rice with meat and cheese, as well as panelle, a popular street food option made from fried chickpea flour. There is also fresh ricotta to try, along with fried ricotta, cannoli, tricotta and cassata.

 

Palermo

The capital of the island, Palermo is brimming with history and culture. Days can be spent wandering through the city and absorbing the stunning architecture including Piazza Pretoria, the Quattro Canti, the Metropolitan Cathedral, the Zisa, the Palace of the Normans and the Capuchin Catacombs. And that’s just naming a few! After a day exploring you can unwind in one of the many boutique hotels.

palermo-fountain-monument

Fountain Monument in Palermo

You can get a sense of Sicilian life in Palermo with a trip to the markets. Shop for fresh fruit, vegetables, fish and delicious breads and cheeses along one of the main market streets such as Ballarò or il Capo.

 

Syracuse

syracuse-ear-of-dionysus

Ear of Dionysus, Syracuse

Syracuse (or Siracusa in Italian), in the southeast corner of Sicily, is a hub of historic sites with ruins dating back to the sixth century. It’s an absolute must-see for anyone interested in Greek history and culture. Here you can see the ruins of the Temple of Athena and walk between the various sites in Ortigia including the fountain of Arethusa and the Piazza del Duomo.

 

Mount Etna

Mount Etna is the tallest active volcano in Europe and just one of Sicily’s six UNESCO sites. You can explore around the volcano and come across stunning panorama views. Seeing ash shoot up from the volcano is a sight you won’t forget.

mount-etna-sicily

Mount Etna

 

The Aeolian Islands

The Aeolian Islands consist of seven main islands, all notable for their picturesque views, rugged coast and sandy beaches. If you have time between exploring Sicily’s historical sites, relaxing on one of the beaches in the Italian sun is a perfect way to spend a day.

lipari-aeolian-islands

Aeolian Island of Lipari

 

And that’s only the start!

 

 

 

Why You Must Visit Sicily was last modified: July 17th, 2017 by Anne Skyvington
August 29, 2016 7 comments
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a-stream-in-yugoslavia-1968
Life StoriesTravelWriting

Adriatic Romance … Rijeka to Titograd

My Travel Journal through Italy and Yugoslavia in 1968

My journey from Paris towards the Ukraine in Russia continues … with entry into our first Communist country, Yugoslavia, and the drive along the spectacular coastline there.  Once again we are delayed by car troubles, this time a forced stopover at Camp Borik, a beautiful lakeside camping ground near Zadar, where we meet up with young Italian men, who take us dancing and romancing. Pulling ourselves away, with regret, we continue ever onwards towards Dubrovnik, Titograd and Kaselin.

  The 4th Day, July: The Adriatic Coastline in Italy

The romance of the Adriatic coastline!  It had captivated us from Venice onwards. We’d made good headway and reached Trieste—beautiful Trieste—on the rocky Adriatic seashore at 8.30. The sun had gone down; the sky was pink. We passed along the cliff road leading around the city.  The youth hostel was marvellous, like a palace set in trees at the foot of the hills, overlooking the sea.  We were given the last beds.  I took a cold shower and changed into my one sun dress.  We rushed out with little over half-an-hour to eat and return to the hostel.  Luckily, we found a tiny bar, where we were served pizza and gelato very quickly and sat there, marvelling at this beautiful Italian environment. We recognized other Australian voices as we went in to sleep at the hostel. Liz moved out on to the balcony. We slept well.

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Adriatic Romance … Rijeka to Titograd was last modified: February 23rd, 2021 by Anne Skyvington
August 29, 2016 1 comment
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Castle Trieste
Travel

From Paris to Russia and Back in 1968

My Travel Journal

The first leg: Paris to Italy

I set out from Paris, with two girlfriends, Liz and Kay from Melbourne, in the summer of 1968. We were studying at university and I was working at the Air Attachée in Paris, which is where I met Liz. The trip stands out in my memory as one of the high points of my life.

The Italy leg would set the tone for the whole trip: exciting, adventurous, frustrating, exhilirating, with breakdowns and meetings with foreign mechanics (“machina caput!”) in every country.

July, 1968: Paris

It hardly seems credible now, when I think back on this time. I was young, naiive, and looking for adventure. I’d just lived through the student and workers’ strike in France, which ended in a near revolution. The fear at the time was that General de Gaulle might send in troops to break the stand-off between police and radical students in the Boulevard Saint Michel.

I’d spent the previous twelve months in Paris, working as a clerk at the Australian Embassy, the Air Attaché section; handling secret files labelled “Mirage Jets” or some such. It was boring work, but I’d earned enough money to move on to a more interesting job as a teacher’s assistant in a provincial high school. I was also enrolled in the first year of an Arts degree. During my time at the Embassy, I’d made some good friends, in particular, two girls from Melbourne. Liz was studying Linguistics at the Sorbonne, while Kay was writing a thesis on Jean-Paul Sartre; me, an ex-primary school teacher with no degree under my belt at all. At the end of the twelve-month Embassy position, instead of saving my money, I’d acted impulsively, as usual, and lashed out on a second-hand car.

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From Paris to Russia and Back in 1968 was last modified: September 14th, 2021 by Anne Skyvington
August 29, 2016 1 comment
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landscape-of-delphi
TravelWriting

Delphi and its Sacred Ways

Ancient Greece

Ancient Greece gave such a lot to the world, including architecture, philosophy and theatre. I thought about this when I visited Greece with two friends in the late sixties. Stories of Delphi  and the oracle had enthralled me when I was studying at Teachers College a few years previous to this.

the-sacred-way-delphi

The Sacred Way

Armidale Teachers’ College

Miss Margaret Mackie, my Philosophy teacher at Armidale Teachers’ College in 1961-62, regaled us with stories of the Delphic Oracle, and of Plato and Socrates; we studied parts of The Republic by Plato in detail, including The Allegory of the Cave, and I came to idealise these great thinkers of ancient times. A few years later, I revelled in the chance to visit these magical places that my teacher had opened up for me. This was in 1968, when I travelled from France to Greece with two girlfriends from Melbourne, whom I had met while working at the Australian Embassy in Paris.

1968-photo-delphi-by-the-author

Mount Parnassus

These Four Photos

I know that you can find more perfect photographs than these scenes of Delphi, taken with my camera in 1968.  But these slides, with their scratches, are precious mementoes for me. I took these photos while clambering around on the mountainous Greek terrain in the summer of 1968. I was soundly punished by the gods, perhaps by the guardian of the sanctuary, Apollo, with a bad case of sun-stroke for my ecstasy. Or was it by the jealous goddess Athena? A small price to pay for such an experience that I have carried with me through the years. These photos were reproduced from slides that I had stored away for thirty-nine years.

author-photo-1968-Delphi

The Theatre with the Temple to Apollo in the background

author-photo-delphi-1968

The Theatre

A Modern Greek Playwright

While in the Pelopennese in the sixties, I saw a play in the famous open-air theatre at Epidaurus.

More recently I saw a play, “The Pride”, which was a comment on society’s changing attitudes to our lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) communities. The playwright, Alexi Kaye Campbell, was born in Athens to a Greek father and an English mother.

Campbell calls on the beauty and mystery of Mount Parnassus to portray one of the main character’s epiphany, prophesying a better future for LGBT people. I must add, too, that my cousin’s daughter, Geraldine Hakewill, played the only female role alongside the two male actors. To add further to the synchronicity, at least for me, I watched the play at the Eternity Playhouse, a modern theatre in a restored heritage listed 129 year-old building in Sydney.

Around the same time, I saw an episode of the British television documentary Great Continental Railway Journeys, presented by Michael Portillo, who visits Delphi, and reveals some of the theories to do with the identity of the oracle.

We learnt that the name “Pythia” is derived from Pytho, the original mythical name of Delphi. Pythia was also the House of Snakes. The modern theory is that the Pythia (oracle) spoke gibberish while in a frenzied state induced by vapours rising from a chasm in the rocks at the site. Priests interpreted the woman’s ravings as the enigmatic prophecies preserved in Greek literature.

delphi-sanctuary-athena

The Temple to Athena

Delphi 1968

Was it my imagination playing tricks on me, or was there indeed a breathtaking godliness about this place? The mountains towering about like guardians of a sacred place—orange, pink and stony, powerful and gleaming in the sun. The walks up to each of the ancient monuments inspiring sacred awe: starting below with the Gymnasium, The Marmaria Temple to Athena, protectress of the Apollo Temple further up, the one lovely in its rosy granite lightness, the other perfect in its simple lines. We searched for a site marking the oracle, a shrine or stone or something, but, despite its physical absence, you could believe that you heard its voice, saw its slippery serpent-like tail gleaming among the rocks and ferns and springs. The theatre steps spanned mightily around, and on high, the stadium!

That evening, suntanned, spirit-fresh and tired, we drove to the camp below and drank cognac, and talked of ancient gods, of beauty, and of life.

Delphi and its Sacred Ways was last modified: June 13th, 2022 by Anne Skyvington
August 28, 2016 1 comment
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me and the deux chevaux car
MemoirTravel

My 1968 Travel Journal: a metaphor

My European travels in a downbeaten French deux chevaux car, shuffling and chugging through 15 countries, is a metaphor for my earliest attempts at self development. During the months’ long trip, I kept a daily journal, developing writing skills that proved a helpful therapeutic resource later on. After I returned to Australia, I engaged a therapist and began utilising active imagination strategies à la Carl Jung, as well as creative writing and dream analysis, in order to access the deepest recesses of my mind. This represented another sort of journeying, the converse of the outer journeys I’d already undertaken.
I found it difficult, almost impossible, to write creatively while working full-time. My first writings were, therefore, straight journal postings. While travelling around Europe in the sixties, my journal entries ended up being novel length, but would have required skillful editing to be publishable. I lacked the time and know-how to be able to do this back then.

From Paris to Russia and Back
I was living in Amiens, in the north of France at the time. I’d spent the previous twelve months in Paris, working as a clerk at the Australian Embassy, the Air Attaché section, handling secret files labelled “Mirage Jets”. It was boring work, but I’d earned enough money to move on to a more interesting job as a teacher’s assistant in a provincial  lycée for primary school teachers. I was also enrolled in the university there: first year of an Arts degree. During my time at the Embassy, I’d made some good friends, in particular, two girls from Melbourne. Liz was studying Linguistics at the Sorbonne, while Kay was writing a thesis on Jean-Paul Sartre. I was an ex-primary school teacher from Sydney with no degree under my belt. At the end of the twelve month Embassy position, instead of saving my money, I’d acted impulsively, as usual, and lashed out on a second-hand car.grave-of-sartre-and-de-beauvoir

It was the start of the summer vacation. I’d just lived through the student and workers’ strike in France, which turned into a near-revolution, with the threat of General de Gaulle’s troops hanging over our heads.

We three friends decided, over a map and a bottle of rough red Moroccan wine, to leave on a voyage in my car, setting out from Paris and heading for Northern Italy, thence southward to the warm Mediterranean countries, then eastward as far as Turkey, and onwards to the Ukraine, behind the Iron Curtain. It was the Cold War between the US and the Soviet Union. Luckily, Liz spoke a spattering of Russian and we were French/Australians, not Americans. We would travel in a 1960 model French Citroen—a “deux chevaux” (two horse-power) car—through fifteen countries, and get caught up in Soviet troops en route to Prague to quell the uprising there. The car looked like a battered jam tin on wheels, until it moved into action, when it resembled a dazed beetle with the hiccups. It bumped and tottered along. This was the first car I had ever owned.

The First Day
Left on trip at 1.30 p.m. We travelled practically non-stop, without eating, until midnight, when we arrived at Pontarlier, near the Swiss border in France, and were directed to the Youth Hostel. The woman kindly let us in. It was wonderful to wash and collapse on to our bunks.

The Second Day
We set off fairly early, after coffee at a terrace café, and crossed the Swiss border about lunch time. It was exciting to be in our first foreign country, after France, and we noticed the signs in different languages, Italian, German and French. By then, well into mountainous countryside. We were following the route to Lausanne, and the scenery was charming, but the going became harder and harder, the car straining in first gear. Driving along Lake Leman was breathtaking. We stopped about 4p.m. in “Heidi, Girl of the Alps” countryside, flowery and hilly, to give the car a rest; and we drank freezing water from a flowing stream. I picked some flowers and put them in a book. After more climbing and dust, it was like a magic moment to hear the melodious Italian voice at the border, and to find that the mountainous road was over. We made very good time once on the autostrada and were in Milan and at my Sydney friend, Julie’s place by 11p.m. We had to ring for the concierge to let us in, but soon we were in the apartment, talking, eating Italian fruit cake and drinking champagne… That night, we three interlopers slept seven storeys above Milan on a small balcony, side by side in our sleeping bags. I dozed off with the worrying idea that I might sleep-walk, but slept like a log.

My writing development has been a weird ride, not a linear arc at all.  Someone aptly likened it to being on a carousel of the 5 stages of grief. In the sixties and seventies, I found little time to write, apart from in journals. I had no idea about genre, apart from “short story”, “novel”, and “autobiography”.  I’d read the great classics in English and French, all using the omniscient narrator,  all-knowing, standing back from the characters and from the reader.

On returning to Australia, I was still carrying emotional baggage from the past that I wanted to exorcise.  Pouring out my feelings on the page was one of the methods I used for this.  I began  by spewing out bittersweet memories of an emotionally underprivileged childhood. It didn’t matter that no-one else wanted to access my writing.  It was something I needed to do at the time. Later on, I was seduced by the aesthetics underpinning creative writing: narrative structure, features such as voice, point of view and metaphorical usage. I wanted to learn more, to become better at it. This would become an obsession for me.

In the eighties, starting a family put paid to any ambitions of mine.  My desire to be a good parent, to nurture emotional intelligence in my children, something I felt that I had missed out on and lacked, took precedence over the other “selfish” passion of writing.

I joined a Life Story Writing class in the early nineties, when my children were a little older. The first time I read aloud from my therapeutic outpourings in class, it ended in tears.  I didn’t realise it at the time, but I was too close to the writing.

My first attempt at what I thought was a novel, “Frogs and Other Creatures”,  based on childhood memories, was little different from the journal writing.  I was still just narrating events, rather than dramatising them.  And it was structured like a collection of short stories, with titles at the head of each chapter.  It didn’t matter that my classmates were enthralled by some of the stories, the manuscript didn’t fit into any genre, and I was dissatisfied with it.  Publishers and booksellers hate these hybrid genres, as they don’t know where to place them. I was beginning to want more from my writing.

Studying writing at the UTS, Sydney, in the late nineties helped me get a handle on the features of creative writing, and to gain valuable feedback from classmates and tutors. I started learning about, and practising, narrative form through writing short stories, which is a great way to gain knowledge of structure in general. We read “The Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka and Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “Chronicle of a Death Foretold”. I began to think more and more about structure.

When I retired in 2008, I had more time to practise writing. By that time, I’d learnt about the relatively modern genre of “memoir”. This is defined as “a part of a life”, as distinct from autobiography. At its best, it utilises the same features as fiction, including sequences of events, structure, characterisation and dialogue. Unlike fiction, the main requirement is to pare back the complexity of events in a life through finding an engaging and relatively narrow focus. It must also relate to universal concerns.

This chosen pathway of developing  creative writing skills  is an ongoing journey for me.

My 1968 Travel Journal: a metaphor was last modified: September 14th, 2021 by Anne Skyvington
August 27, 2016 0 comment
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sydney-opera-house
TravelWriting

Things To Do in Sydney

While Sydney is known for its spectacular beaches and warm weather, there are still plenty of places to visit and things to experience in The Harbour City during winters. What makes winter the perfect season to explore the beauty of the city is the lack of summer crowds that can make exploring Sydney a bit messy during the hotter months of the year.

So, whether you’re a local or a tourist ready to take advantage of your vacations and explore Sydney in winter, here are our top recommendations. Give them a try and make your experience of vacationing in Sydney worthwhile.

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Things To Do in Sydney was last modified: June 22nd, 2022 by Anne Skyvington
August 4, 2016 2 comments
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About The Author

About The Author

Anne Skyvington

Anne Skyvington is a writer based in Sydney who has been practising and teaching creative writing skills for many years. You can learn here about structuring a short story and how to go about creating a longer work, such as a novel or a memoir. Subscribe to this blog and receive a monthly newsletter on creative writing topics and events.

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About The Author

About The Author

Anne Skyvington is a Sydney-based writer and blogger. <a href="https://www.anneskyvington.com.au She has self-published a novel, 'Karrana' and is currently writing a creative memoir based on her life and childhood with a spiritual/mystical dimension.

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