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Issue Details: First known date: 2012... no. 89 Winter 2012 of Voiceworks est. 1988 Voiceworks
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AbstractHistoryArchive Description

'For a few years I lived in a tiny beachside town six hours from Melbourne. It was the kind of place with postcard-perfect shorelines, mudbrick houses and a prep-to–year  twelve college. So, even in a combined classroom, there were only ten other kids in my class, the majority of whom weren’t mad keen on books. These being the dark days of dial-up, whatchya saw was pretty much whatchya got in terms of a peer group – and even worse, selection at the school library. After moving to suburbia, the hourlong train ride into the city felt like teleportation in super-slow motion. The pull of those corporate towers sheltering hidden cafes was physical. Like an undertow or tractor beam. By the time adolescence kicked in proper, I was caught up in a powerful question familiar to all fledgling artists: once you realise you’re a writer, what next? I’d already taught myself to like coffee and some Silvia Plath. Now I wanted more.' (Kat Muscat, Editorial introduction)


* Contents derived from the 2012 version. Please note that other versions/publications may contain different contents. See the Publication Details.
Survivalist Newsletteri"Dear Survivalists,", Jaime Garcia , single work poetry (p. 9)
The Bear, Dominic Stevenson , single work short story

'The bear arrived in early June. He trudged past my dumbstruck form, flopped onto the couch, and waited expectantly. Grace composed herself and offered him a drink. He took one of my beers in his surprisingly dextrous paws, drank it in one gulp and smashed the stubby on the ground. As I swept up the broken glass Grace asked if he was hungry. He didn't like honey or porridge much but ate all of our meat and most of the Vegemite. While Grace and I did the dishes silently he found the TV remote and watched Seinfeld re-runs...' (Publication abstract)

(p. 10-11)
Avoiding Sex with Allen Ginsbergi"At home - friends at a poker night I could never go to", Charlie Lane , single work poetry (p. 13)
Now, She Shivers, Phoebe Cannard-Higgins , single work short story

'Marjorie examines herself in the mirror. She prods at the wrinkles under her eyes and around her mouth. She draws her skin back with her hands until it's pulled tight across her face. She stares at herself. She looks weird, like a greyhound. The kids have gone for the weekend and she wonders what to do. She pushes her skin forward, her cheeks, the soft skin around her eyes. She looks weirder, like a pug...' (Publication abstract)

(p. 14)
Emerging Adulthood; or, so Your Best Friend Is Dating a Dickhead, Scott Ford , single work prose

'Call me a late bloomer. It wasn't until I reached my early twenties that I realised music videos were based on real life. Not all of them, of course. No-one can afford that much body glitter. I'm talking about the music video subgenre of the relationship melodrama. To be even more specific, I'm referring to the argument-while-driving: the kind that ends in a crash, resulting in coma and/or death, and finishing with a camera craning up to the heavens. Perhaps a dove is released, too, if you're feeling particularly nineties or happen to be at a karaoke parlor.' (Publication abstract)


(p. 15-17)
Ocean Space, Christian Jaros , single work short story

'Glimmering deep below our planet and dancing high above its pull, the lights of the ocean space surround us. This giant sphere of purple mud is the centre of a dark red ring. It runs over the sky like a comet's tail. We have never crossed it, or touched it. Our silver bodies cannot squirm past the planet's pull because the Grand Octopus shaped us like thick tentacles. Other animals can swim fiercely and create currents of their own, but us eels can only make thoughts and oceanic dreams. We float in them until a passing asteroid comes tearing under the ring, ripping with it a great new current. Waddling earnestly, we strain and pull ourselves against the Earth's tide and enter the surging rift. The force makes us fly upwards, our bodies yank against the whitewash, and we leave Earth with no goal but to explore the open waters.' (Publication abstract)

(p. 18-20)
Finding the Anecdote, single work interview (p. 23-27)
Foreign Bodies, Amber Beilharz , single work short story

'Papa says it was only the slender darkness of her collarbones that brought them to wed. Maybe it was just the dark - a looming, beautiful strangeness that swallowed all of us, down into its trembling chest. We let it feast until there were only bones left and then, nothing more...' (Publication abstract)

(p. 28-31)
Throw a Shrimp on the Barbie, Madeleine Barrow , single work prose

'Oh, Throw A shrimp on the barbie! Let the snags sizzle and the beef burn as the men of the house mingle over cheese and beer. Let the children fiddle with the Hills hoist as the wives chop chives in the kitchen. Let Germaine Greer's voice fizzle through the radio. Maybe her words will smother the coals. For the coals have glowed under the hotplate for decades.'  (Publication abstract)


(p. 32-33)
Hotel in the Low Countryi"The woman said a few leaves couldn't hurt", Louise Millar , single work poetry (p. 34)
The Simple Life, Elizabeth Woods , single work short story
I drive on the Pacific Highway and cry to Elvis songs, sobbing because I can't love you, smoking tasteless cigarettes because my nose is blocked. I drive through town and eye dusty tradies and imagine marrying one. I imagine cooking him a budget lasagne in an old Queenslander. Our dirty, nicenatured children run around barefoot. My breasts have sagged and I'm not wearing any make-up. We wait for him to get home and, when he does, I crack a blue can of beer for him and I like the sound. We sit at an old table and eat carbs after 7 pm. He says things like fair dinkum and done instead of did but I don't care. Later we get into bed, he smells sweaty and his stomach is soft and hairy. I suck his cock and fall asleep with his cum still on my chest...'

 (Publication abstract)

(p. 38-39)
What the Fuck, Durham?, Megan Anderson , single work prose
'The jelly woman flung her arms to the ceiling and roared. She wobbled forward, squinted two raisin eyes and inhaled furiously. Some nervous drops of sweat splattered on my toes. I thought of gingerbread witches and tried not to panic.' 

 (Publication abstract)


(p. 40-42)
An Empty Space, Elliot Seidel , single work short story

'Outer space is a lot like a studio warehouse. It's big, vacant most of the time, and generally pretty dull. My universe, however, has a film crew with cameras rolling all the time. My wardrobe is limited to three space suits in varying shades of grey. They like it if I try to make sure the logo is always visible so everyone can see who brought me here. Who spent the taxpayers' money. Who 'beat' the Russians. Who is going to be the one to stick the damn flag on the surface. And, most obscurely, who went and stuck a guy in a studio for a couple months to fake the moon landing. That last one they won't ever know...' (Publication abstract) 


(p. 43-45)
Pine Gap : Down under Wraps, Chloe Papas , single work essay
'Everyone loves a good mystery, and here in Australia we just so happen to have one sitting smack-bang in the centre of our backyard. Pine Gap is one of the largest military bases in the world and, according to the available documentation, exists as a satellite tracking station. Shared between Australia and the US, it is officially known as a 'Joint Defence Space Research Facility'. However, neither the Australian public nor the government can acquire full access to it or the information it collects. So 'joint' in this sense is uncomfortably akin to joint custody - it sounds fair until you find one party only gets access every second weekend.'

 (Publication abstract)

(p. 46-47)
For Their Sake, Cameron Baker , single work short story

'He unpacked the green cotton vest he had bought from the department store and he laid it on his bed and was happy he had chosen the right colour. He put on a chequered shirt and clipped the cuffs with green links and he put on his vest and felt good and new. He looked in the mirror at his black and grey stubble and he decided he looked good and he wouldn't shave it. He went downstairs where his wife had cooked eggs and had made coffee. He drank it and she told him about Selena and how she was growing her own tomatoes in her garden. She went out to see her friends later so he lounged around inside and listened to the radio. He got a call in the afternoon...'  (Publication abstract)


(p. 48)
Scam the Scammers, Nina Cheles , single work essay
'Travellers bound for India may be interested to know that there is a way to have your holiday bankrolled by criminals who, while trying to make a dollar out of you, will find you have made a rupee out of them. Goa, India's beachside Sin City - equipped with a mysterious oversupply of Russian prostitutes, tourists so stoned they can't remember what country they're in, lost hippies and the sleazy rich - is a hive for scammers. They're waiting for you in bars, clubs and cafes, ready to casually introduce themselves with a joke and a smile. You won't need to find them; they will find you.' (Publication abstract)
(p. 49-51)
Brotheri"I find you washed up", Matilda Grogan , single work poetry (p. 52)
Australia Day, Oliver Mol , single work short story
'I Say Let's call Australia Day 'Caveman Day' and Steve looks at me and says what, cunt. Then he tilts his head back and laughs and I guess it's a joke because he gets up and asks what I'm drinking. I tell him a Carlton and he brings back two double Jack and Cokes. He leans in and whispers you know who I fucking hate and I stay silent and he says them fucking panheads. Then the girl next to us starts laughing like she's shocked even though they've been dating for two years and he says yeah, them fucking panheads. You know why they call them panheads? I look around and wonder if anyone is going to guess and no-one does and he says 'cause it looks like someone hit them with a fucking shovel... or a pan... in the head. Several people grunt but it might be a tinnie opening, or a burp, and I'm wondering what will happen if I order a soda water with lime. There's more chatter between the boys and someone calls someone else a faggot and punches them in the penis. It's probably 40 degrees and apart from the smooth lime taste, that carbonated refreshment, the real reason I want a soda water with lime is because I'm terribly dehydrated and hydration is an essential component of the human body. I'm looking at the bar, or at least what I think is the bar, but I can't really tell because I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses and my eyes are allergic to contacts. At work last year one of the boys slapped me on the back and said hey, four eyes. What you wearing those things for? What are ya? A pussy? And I said no and then put on an accent and said I was playing a joke, wasn't I, heard there's some new kid coming who wears glasses. What an idiot, ha ha. He started grunting and told me I was a classic which is good because now I don't get picked on but I literally cannot see a thing without my glasses...'  (Publication abstract)
(p. 53-55)
The Capital of Planning, Erin Stewart , single work prose
'It was at the end of year twelve that I first announced my intention to live in Canberra for the duration of my degree. I was interested in politics and philosophy (though, like most university students, ended up changing my major altogether), and Canberra had all the relevant institutions to make moving seem like a good idea. I've never stopped having to explain this decision. Why would you move to Canberra?, people constantly asked. There were a few stock responses to my move among my friends, family and vague acquaintances. It's boring there was the first; It's cold there and I always get lost there (and not in a whimsical way) soon followed. Surely, after having lived in Canberra for four years, I would have something more interesting and less stereotypical to say about it than stock material that everyone says. But, in a way, the critics are right: Canberra is cold and difficult to navigate and departs greatly from the idea of a bustling metropolis...' (Publication abstract)
(p. 57-59)
In Animatei"A mirror celebrates", Elisabeth Morgan , single work poetry (p. 61)

Publication Details of Only Known VersionEarliest 2 Known Versions of

Last amended 6 Jun 2019 14:39:42