Wish you were here #5

[your name here], I saw the zebra again!

This time, I was digging potatoes in a small garden the villagers have cleared in the forest when I heard the noise. The other ladies were on the far side of the garden, and there in the forest not three metres away was the zebra, watching me. It took a step closer; it did too. Then it turned and looked over its shoulder, as if waiting for me. I dropped my hoe. But the ladies called to me at that moment, and the zebra was lost among the red-tipped boughs of the forest.

I suppose these little excitements are nothing compared to the goings on at home. I wonder what you're doing, and how you are. I wonder it often.

Alida x

Wish you were here #6

Wish you were here #4

Dear [your name here],

Are you well? I hope so. Today I went fishing with the old man at the river. He set me up and left me there to go hunting. They eat the orange squirrels that skitter around the forest here. I'd just caught and killed a fish when there was a noise in the leaves on the far river bank. It was a zebra with a brushy mane, but it had gentle eyes like a horse. It stood watching me, and I it, until the old man reappeared not with squirrel but with a purple bird he'd killed with his poison darts. Then the zebra was gone -- there was nothing among the trees.

I long for news of you and wish I had a return address for this place. I think the old couple know; they throw their mail on the fire, often unopened, and there is no chance for me to search the place. No one visits or leaves the village, but I long to see you again. I long for home.

As always,
Alida xo

Wish you were here #5

Wish you were here #3

Dear [your name here],

I don't know if you're getting these postcards. I know I sound paranoid, but the people in this village sort of won't let me leave. I think the old couple stole my guide book. There are no phones and any time I try to ask about a bus or moving on, people shrug or get distracted or mime elaborate excuses. The river shown overleaf runs through this town. It really is as pretty as the picture. This is the only postcard they sell in the shop, and they supposedly post the mail for everyone here. I hope this reaches you. Some days the forest seems soft and silent, but other times the trees seem to be closing in. Particularly at night.

I don't want you to worry about me, though. I'm fine, really, and I hope you are too. How's [your partner's name here] going? I trust you're both well.

I'll write when I can.
Alida x

Wish you were here #4

Wish you were here #2

Dear [your name here],

The gentleman pictured overleaf looks a lot like the man I asked for directions on a deserted road today. I'd left town early and became lost; I didn't speak his language but, with gestures and pointing and drawings in the dust, he gave me directions. At dusk I came to a small village in a forest. I don't think they get many visitors here: everyone turned to look at me in the square. An old lady took me to her house, where I'm staying the night with her and her husband. They're watching me write this card to you. I don't know what the name of the town is, because no one speaks English. I hope to be back on course tomorrow.

I hope you're well and getting some sunshine.

Missing you,
Alida

Wish you were here #3

Wish you were here

Dear [your name here],

As you can see from the front of this card, [placename] is a veritable Topsy Turvey world compared to home. Yesterday I sang with an elephant and strummed a lute; today I ate crickets with Conan Doyle and rowed a river of thickened cream to a walnut grove populated by dancing thornbills. You'd love it here. The air is clear and warm most days and there is a pool outside my room that burbles constantly, permeating my sleep and aquifying my dreams. Tomorrow I hope to climb a mountain to attend a festival of fabricated gods. I'll have to rise early, so I really must finish.

Hope you're well and happy. I'm thinking of you,
Alida

Wish you were here #2

WIP

You won't believe what I've been working on. I wrote this last week, and even now it makes me cringe. But I thought you'd be ... well, horrified, actually, and cry bitter tears of commiseration with me:

"In the new musical, RAIN, Australia’s most powerful women go on strike to protest climate change. ‘Not tonight,’ they advise. ‘We have a headache.’ But – wouldn’t you know it? – the high-profile partnerships of Julia Gillard, Tony Abbott, Kevin Rudd and Therese Rein remain unfazed by the putting-out drought, and storms start brewing… This cheeky, irreverent political satire is bound to ruffle more feathers than the ETS. Get your giggles before the next leadership spill!"

Link text? Why, I'm glad you asked. It was: Bring your brolly. Take that, usability advocates and people actually using screen readers! Good freaking luck. In case you're wondering, the ruffled feathers were entirely mine. Putting-out drought? Where do I get this stuff?

I also wrote the sentence, "From king fish wings to octopus dumplings, Tomodachi will take your tastebuds on a tantalising journey through Japanese cuisine" which, clearly, exemplifies my broader copywriting philosophy: if in doubt, employ alliteration and rhythm until your readers' eyes water.

Slightly frustrating

Slightly frustrating things about my contract workplace include:

• Nescafe Blend 43
• all the fucking people on the streets at lunch time for Christ's sakes
  
• Windows
• absolutely no web mail; Twitter and Facebook, however, deemed not to pose a problem
  
• Windows
• the world's weirdest document management system
• being able to get shirty because someone asks you to do something that is not actually writing, such as sourcing content or chasing up inputs from colleagues
  
• Windows, people, Windows
• no thesaurus

That last one's a bit weird and may take some swift remedying.