AustLit

'The end of a jetty is a nowhere place; no longer on land but not quite at sea. With a glance in the right direction, even time vanishes. Is that a ship on the horizon? White sails catching the winds. Matthew Flinders on deck, scanning distant land. There's a whiff of smoke blending with the aroma of salty air. Looking back towards the shore, shadowy figures cook fish in coals, while children search rock pools for mussels. Imagination runs wild in nowhere places.' (Publication abstract)  

'In the very early hours of an otherwise unmemorable day in autumn 2007, I decided that I would never have children.'  (Publication abstract)

'Google has this handy and terrifying feature called Timeline, which shows you everywhere you've ever been, how many times you've been there, and how long you've been there each time. It collects data from your phone, constantly if you have an Android, and if you have an iPhone, it logs your location every time you open the Google Maps app. Nothing disappears: your every movement is a collection of data points, fed into algorithms that use this information to do everything from alert you to traffic jams in your area to notify you when you're running low on nappies for your newborn.'   (Publication abstract)

'Querido Yayo, my grandfather, you started attending Communist Party rallies when you arrived in Sydney, no? Mama remembers watching you on May Day on the sidelines of the march - a little girl seeing her father hold up a flag. From what I know of your politics, you weren't precisely a communist. I think you joined because finally you could. Australia let you do that. Here, from Franco's Spain, here were the ideas speaking to you. I remember seeing a photo of you marching. In my mind there is a cigar in your mouth, but then that's how I always remember you.'  (Publication abstract)

'Jen's voice had that urgent, excited tone she gets sometimes. 'I think you should come over to Aunty Bet's place, guys. I really think you should see this.' It was summer, 2015. Our friend Jen Saunders' aunt had recently moved to an aged care place over in Carlton, entrusting her niece to sort things out at the house on Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne.' (Publication abstract) 

'Art speaks to its moment, and our own. We rummage through familiar plays and books, images and songs, apparently secure in our understanding. Then the times shift ever so slightly and new readings appear.'  (Publication abstract)

'What I remember most is how yellow his skin was. He looked bilious to me, sickly. The wrinkles on his forehead were sharper because of the yellowish hue, and the way he sat in his wheelchair, hiding his amputated leg with a jacket, he seemed like he needed to get back to bed, not go on a holiday to Bosnia and Herzegovina.'  (Publication abstract)

'The bills were mounting up when an email slid quietly into my inbox: a mutual friend had given my name to a publisher. Was I interested in ghostwriting a memoir? The book's subject was a community arts worker. The name rang a bell.' (Publication abstract)