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Emilie Collyer, who had an awesome piece in the latest Torpedo, has a creative, thoughtful and immediate kind of blog, between the cracks

- Literary Minded

Entries in The Lifted Brow (2)


Poetry and Commentary

I've had a nice start to the year with two pieces published.

My poem: Suburban murmurs / A quiet word with the ever awesome Cordite Poetry Review

And a satirical piece called: Your edgy zeitgeist award winning black comedy: Our readers' report at the equally awesome The Lifted Brow.

Thank the good lord for these incredible Australian publishers keen to push boundaries and provide readers with the most exciting new works around! 

I am so thrilled to have my work supported by both of these journals.


An Uncertain Prognosis

I wrote this essay about my cancer diagnosis and the US election. It was a hard piece to write but a good piece to write. I was really, really thrilled that the awesome folk at The Lifted Brow published it online.

Here are the first two paragraphs ...

I follow the run up to the US election largely via social media, the three debates and the Saturday Night Live parodies of the debates. Like most people I know, I almost enjoy the horrific buffoonery of Trump and celebrate each time he makes another monumentally offensive gaffe. The bus recording. Threatening to imprison Secretary Clinton. I watch an interview Clinton does with Mary J Blige where Clinton talks a lot about children and families, opportunity and community. I know which world I’d rather live in. Surely this is a lay down misère.

My GP agrees the lump in my breast is worth getting checked. I first felt something strange about twelve months ago, had it checked out and all was clear. To me this feels like the same lump transformed, a restless satellite that has moved or grown. But perhaps it’s a new one. Anyway now I can see it on the surface. An elegant, tiny slope underneath puckered skin. I wait until after my period. Twice. In case it’s just hormones making the lump dance. But it’s pretty clear this lump is not one of those many tender, sliding cysts that hovers within the domes of my breasts.

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