“Well I’m changing all my strings, I’m gonna write another travelin’ song. About all the billion highways and the cities at the break of dawn. I guess the best that I can do now is pretend that I’ve done nothing wrong. And dream about a train that’s gonna take me back where I belong.” – Bright Eyes

For the last three months I have measured fuel dips, dodged venomous snakes and spoken with an Aussie slur; but, due to the remoteness of my employment in Nundroo, South Australia, these experiences never made an appearance online.

Oh, the stories I could have told!

About the 20 whales I witnessed joyously from the Head of the Bight; the distinctive, salty taste of a fresh oyster sliding down my throat; or, the 400-member motorcycle gang that crashed our tiny petrol station.

For one thing I make no apologies: without the internet, I actually wrote more. My words never appeared on a blog post, but rather – finally – filled up the remaining pages in a notebook titled “My Novel.”

Ceduna Oyster Festival.

James teases a Carpet Python.

Mother Southern Right and calf.

So this post is both a reintroduction, and a confession: I’ve been away too long.

It’s a promise: I will no longer let technology keep me from tale-spinning and travel stories.

And, it’s a challenge: I’m finishing the book. With 90 days of disciplined work behind me, I’m using November – National Novel Writing Month – as the last motivation. I’m rounding up clauses and settling down characters. While three months without modern communication felt like a year, six years of tentative memoir writing becomes an eternity.

No more excuses…