Issue Six • Issue Six Book Reviews • Reviews
December 15, 2018
Reviewed by Angela Wauchop “It felt like slipping through a hidden side-door, stepping slightly outside the flow of things and into a...
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Fiction • Issue Six • Issue Six Fiction
By Elisabeth Hanscombe The Citizen’s Welfare Service was nestled among a row of terraces on Drummond Street in Carlton. My fourth year...
By Denise Ogilvie Every time the train pulls away from Spotswood station, passing graffiti covered walls, gentrified houses and...
Fiction • Issue Six
by Nik Shone I should have brought a coat. The moment I leave the house my umbrella flies away. Reminds me of Mary Poppins just...
Issue Six • Past Contributors
Kevin Higgins’s poems have been quoted in The Daily Telegraph, The Times (UK),The Independent, The Daily Mirror, and read aloud by the...
Issue Seven Contributor • Past Contributors
June 21, 2018
Obsessed by Anne Boleyn and Tudor History since childhood, Wendy J. Dunn is the author of two Anne Boleyn novels: Dear Heart, How Like You...
Uncategorised
Carolyn is the Faculty’s Program Director of undergraduate and postgraduate Writing courses. This encompasses the Creative Writing and...
June 20, 2018
Marnie Reid is Backstory’s hard working Senior Editor. Ever since childhood she has loved books and reading, so after spending a few...
Past Contributors
June 11, 2018
(Richard James Allen profile photo credit: Kyle Powderly.) Richard James Allen is an Australian born poet whose writing has appeared widely...
June 8, 2018
By Michelle Cahill City of seven islands, guarded by eight-armed Mumbadevi, of the Dravidians, Marathis and Gujaratis, your name alludes to...
Essays • Issue Five • Issue Five Essays
By Angela Wauchop What do you take for granted? Imagine being terrified in your own home, your street, your neighbourhood. Imagine...
By Eileen Chong I Born a girl. By my father’s word, plate of ash untouched— Needle and silk: opaline peacocks, burning...
Issue Five • Issue Five Poetry • Poetry
By Chelsea Dingman I open the windows to the house—humid air like a deer’s breaths in the spring rain. Streetlights flit...
By Lizz Murphy From Aleppo – Rivers of blood women and children… viewed December 2016. From People smuggling – Turkey, Greece...
By Lizz Murphy I CAN TELL YOU WHAT IT’S LIKE I can tell you what it’s like ears and eyes out on stalks neck cricking...
By Moya Pacey His right hand grips the pen dips in and out of the ink-pot – marks the sheet of white paper bold with black...
By Ali Whitelock in the cafe with coffee cups for lampshades and the sign that says please do not pee in the sink we take an outside...
By Ramon Loyola Twenty years in the forest in the faces and breaths, not in the last century or in the now of times, my...
By Anita Patel How many borders will you cross to reach this land? How many doors will you close – forever? How many...
By Jenny Blackford Our handyman, friend of an old friend, was life support for many years to our decaying inner-city house. One day,...
By Jenny Blackford The flowers in the garden of the inner-city Muslim school are kangaroo paws just like mine at home- ...
By Sandra Renew she still remembers the brass teapot trampled under soldiers’ boots but then retrieved dusted off and...
By Nessa O’Mahony His regular spot; curled foetus-tight, back to the wall at the end of the canal, near the bridge at Baggot...
By Ellen Shelley On an ordinary day the water stills the air waves fall silent birds on parachute wings spiral to gorund...
by Richard James Allen Only weeks, months, at the most a year or so, before Gough Whitlam’s ‘It’s Time’ changed everything, for a...
By Geoff Budden The tides and capes of Bonavista now safely astern, Newfoundland below the western horizon they sailed into the new...
Michelle Cahill is a Sydney poet. Her recent collection The Herring Lass was published by Arc in the UK. She has lived in England,...
By Bill Cotter It is a travesty of dawn, this dank And oily semi light, oozing through The alleys, the shattered windows and...
By Jeremy C. North This evening, intrepid plans are forged. A familiar tune of starry-eyed wanderlust that emanates from share flat...
By Duncan Richardson they knew it was him though the fish had scribed their own verses on his skin they knew it was him from...
