B.Ed (Adult Ed, LLN) UTS. F.Faw. ACCW (JCU)
WRITER, TUTOR, MANUSCRIPT CONSULTANT
Member ASA, NSWWC, Nimrod Publications, British Council Alumni,
With their new book ROUND TABLE
With their new book ROUND TABLE MAGIC
Writer, tutor, manuscript consultant
non-fictionpublished in Australia and internationally in print media,
radio, websites and CD, including: Short
Broadcasting Foundation CD --for broadcast on radio stations around the
Commonwealth [1998-2008]; MH Special Edition (UK) 2003; MH 14 (UK) (2003);
Illness (USA) (2003); Pulling up the Blind (2002); Trust Me, I’m a Storyteller
(1999); LiNQ (published JCU) (1999, 1996, 1992);
Commonwealth Broadcaster ; Fantasia (published Kellaluca) 1997; Pencil Orchids Anthologies (1999, 1997,
1994, 1993); Plenty Valley FM Radio (1994); Sydney Morning Herald (1992, 1990).
Articles: Caring for the Coast; Every
Other Week; Sydney Morning Herald; The Sun-Herald; The Central Coast Express
Advocate; The Central Coast Sun Weekly; The Mountain Districts Community News;
The Valley Voice; LiNC; Ozlit e-zine editorial; ISIS HSC
CD; NewsWrite; The Writers’ Voice. Essays: Indian
Volume of Women Writers,
Manuscript Consultant through recognised manuscript assessment service and trAce writing school to assist Australian and international authors.
Fellow of Fellowship of Australian Writers 
Member: Australian Society of Authors, NSW Writers' Centre, British Council Alumni, Hunter Writers' Centre, Pencil Orchids Writers' Group, Company of Writers, Nimrod Publications & Babel Books, digitaleves, Webgrrls,
After seven years with
the Australian Broadcasting Corporation in
Her work has been
Another insight into
the world of the writer that
ROUND TABLE WRITING--A workbook for writers and writers' Groups
(published Watagan Press, 1998) now in second edition
This workbook has sold
Round Table Magic, a workbook for writers’ groups and a sequel to Round Table Writing was published in December 2002 and is available from the NSW Writers’ Centre PO Box 1056 Rozelle NSW 2039. Ph: 02 9555 9757. Fax: 02 9818 1327. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org. Website: http://www.nswwriterscentre.org.au./
& CHANCES--the first twenty years of the
(published CCWHC and NSW Dept Health, 1997).
Launched on International Women’s Day 1997)
Available from the
LITERARY PRIZES & AWARDS
1. Commonwealth Broadcasting Association Short Story Prize 1998
2. Short listed Glen Eira Award 2002
3. Denis Butler Memorial Short Story Award
4. Shire of Eltham Short Story Award
5. Kellaluca Prize for fractured fairytale
6. Viewpoint Manuscript Award
7. Circular Letter (SMH)
Love my family, writing, reading, discussing books and writing, cats (especially the ginger variety), dogs (especially the Australian Cattle Dog), the Australian bush and wildlife, travelling, popular science, surfing the ‘net, keeping in contact with friends and family all over the globe.
1. include: writing a novel; writing short stories and essays; developing and teaching online writing courses and developing exciting manuscripts with international authors. Facilitating writers’ workshops.
THE TEN DOLLAR NOTE
How she hated ceilings and walls. ‘What is your name?’ they asked. She thought it might be Maisie. She liked the name Maisie. She believed it suited her. But the uniforms had put her off and she wasn’t sure. ‘Address?’ ‘Under the stars,’ she said, laughing.
It wasn’t kind of them to take the stars away. They were all she had.
Except for the ten dollar note. Where had she got it? She didn’t recall. She wasn’t being uncooperative. It wasn’t so easy to remember. The days merged one into another. The sun rose and the night fell. She could have found the money and forgotten. Sometimes there was a kind face in the crowd, someone would press money into her hand. It all went into the pocket of her dress.
A Sallie dress, this week, speckled with blue roses and with a generous pocket. The Sallies had given her a hat, too. She’d decorated it with shiny paper ribbon she’d found in the park.
When her stomach began to grumble loudly, she put her hand in her pocket. She almost mistook the ten dollar note for a piece of rubbish. She didn’t come across too many tenners, these days. This was one of the new plastic notes. It didn’t feel like real money. It had none of the greasy smoothness of the old notes. She had almost thrown it away with the pages of a book. The cover long tossed out, the pages discarded as they were read.
She had a wash in the Archibald fountain in front of the fine figure of Theseus slaying the Minotaur. She had been ten years old when the memorial was built. There had been a fuss, she remembered. Sicard had planned Hercules slaying a lion for this group. A design committee had objected to the lion because it was an emblem of the British. She had since read all the Greek myths. The committee had missed the stick altogether. A lot of bull, she thought. She supposed Diana and the Stag would be next to be banished.
She wandered off and found a cafe that had seen better days and ordered a meal. The service was terrible but the food was edible. Maisie forgot about the ten dollar note. She looked around the empty cafe then walked out.
Down the road, she remembered she hadn’t had coffee. She decided coffee was required to wash down the hearty meal. She seemed to remember that chocolate mints came with coffee. She was partial to chocolate mints. She went back to the cafe and sat down, ordered coffee.
A bright young girl brought it, much younger than the skinny scowling woman who’d served her lunch. The girl brought the coffee, there were no mints, then forgot about her.
The cafe had no atmosphere, Maisie decided. Not like the soup kitchen where you stayed a while, chatted if there was anyone worth talking to, then went off to mind your own business. She pushed aside her cup and saucer, got up and walked out the door.
Outside on the pavement, the skinny waitress was smoking a cigarette.
She saw the young girl come out, waving her arms and yelling.
The woman with the scowl started running towards her. ‘She didn’t pay for the bloody lunch she had either, grab her Kath!’ She heard the woman shout.
Maisie hitched up her dress and ran wildly through the crowd. Let them catch her. She could still give a good run for her money, even at her age.
The gap widened between Maisie and her pursuers, she might have made good her escape. Instead she careered into the uniform.
‘I have the money,’ she said, catching her breath. She smiled sweetly. The skinny woman scowled again and said it wasn’t enough and accused her of trying to do a runner twice.
‘It was the same meal,’ Maisie pointed out.
They all went to the police station. ‘What is your name?’
She thought a while.
‘Maisie,’ she said.
‘Under the stars.’
‘You’ll have to lodge two hundred dollars and front up in court to answer charges,’ somebody said.
‘I only have a tenner,’ she told them. ‘You can have it, it’s brought nothing but bad luck.’
‘Where did you get it?’
She didn’t know.
She was asked to make a statement. She took the sergeant’s fountain pen and writing pad from the counter. Slowly, carefully, in copperplate she wrote:
‘The right to be let alone is the beginning of all freedom.’
‘William O Douglas’
© Sharon Rundle
Published LiNQ, (1994); Out of the Mists (anthology) (1996); Ozlit e-zine (1998)
Last Revised: May, 2003