My career as a freelance writer has been a bit of a wild ride. I’ve written in boardrooms for big corporations — annual reports, speeches, published stuff. I’ve also worked in high-security environments, writing about submarines, frigates, and weapons systems. Then there were the technical manuals and reference books. Add to that a stint in magazine editing, ghost-writing PhD presentations, and even a couple of unpublished novels.
 
But my bread and butter came from technical writing — mostly reverse-engineering software and creating manuals to explain how it all worked.
 
People often ask, “With your learning difficulties, how on earth did you become a writer?”
 
Funny thing is, those very difficulties taught me how.
 
I once worked at the ANU as a matriculation officer — until I got fired. The typists were sick of fixing my spelling and grammar. And fair enough too. Back then, I got more rejections than acceptances. But I learned to adapt. I learned to cheat — creatively.
 
All through school, I found ways around the system. Talking homework on the bus. Scanning textbook indexes for clues. Twisting questions so I could answer the version I preferred. Forging Mum’s signature. Even inventing the occasional dog to eat my homework. I became pretty good at it.
 
The real skill wasn’t just in the tricks, but in the timing. I learned to read teachers — their moods,and their weaknesses. I’d ask dumb questions at just the right moment, when frustration would make them explain things in simple terms. Sure, it came with a bit of humiliation. But I treated humiliation as part of the learning process.
 
Nitpickers were my secret weapon. The bigger the perfectionist, the better. I’d let them “correct” my work and learn from scornful delights. You develop a thick skin doing that. Sometimes, I swear, my supervisors knew exactly what I was up to and let me get away with it.
 
Then came computers. A godsend. My first love was WordPerfect — a real word processor, not the fancy, bloated kind we have now. It was like coding, and coding made sense to me. Logical. Structured. It even had a primitive spellchecker that taught me where my writing went off the rails.
 
But the real breakthrough came from a book on speed reading. Oddly enough, it taught me how to write. I learned about line length, font size, spacing — all the invisible rhythms that make words flow. Those details shape the reader’s experience, set the pace, and carry emotion. It’s the music behind the words, the soundtrack that gives the story life. That book showed me how to write for the reader, not myself. It changed everything.
 
From there, it just… grew.


Merv Beamish
​November 2025

I have written about some of motorsport activities in the past, but Bev’s prompt reminded me of a situation that did throw a ‘curved ball’.

To set the scene, the event was held at Sydney Motorsport Park in October 1999. The event was the Alfa Romeo Club’s six-hour relay race. This event is not actually a race, but a reliability test, run over a period of six hours. There are teams of between two and six cars, with from one to three drivers. On the first day, all cars must complete testing and then complete a number of laps to establish a nominated lap time for the following day.

Points are awarded for the greatest number of laps completed closest to the nominated lap time.  Points are deducted for times over and under the nominated time.

The qualifying runs and times had been set for the day, when the Team Captain called all of our team drivers to a meeting. This is where the ‘curved ball’ appeared. He advised the team that I would be starting the race the next day. This meant a one hour stint on the circuit, completing laps as close to my nominated time as possible. The unfortunate aspect was, that it is usually in the first few laps that the incidents occur.

An experienced driver suggested that if we were to draw on the inside of the grid, then just stick to the lefthand side and go.
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One car from each team starts the ‘race’ and at predetermined times during the race, the ‘sash’ is transferred to the next car. The Velcro slip is transferred from the front mudguard of one car to the next as shown here. The ‘sash’ is the red item in the man’s hand.

The 1999 6 Hour Relay at Eastern Creek comprised 42 Teams, 166 Cars and 214 Drivers. Believed to be possibly a world record. Guinness took photos of the grid set up on the Saturday. It was the largest participant motor sport event in Australia that year.

The next morning, we did in fact draw the inside of the grid. I was rather nervous about the start, however when the start lights went out, most of the drivers veered to the right, giving me a clear passage all the way down to the first turn, and being on the inside I had ‘right of way’ at the first turn.

I managed to complete almost thirty laps without incident, when the alternator warning light came on, so I signalled that I was coming into the pits. The sash was then transferred to the next car, with the Escort being taken out the back of the garage to cool down before being refuelled for the next driver.

Whilst I was very nervous starting the race, after around five laps you seem to get into a rhythm, and then only have to watch for slower cars, or incidents on the circuit in front of you.
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I must have settled down very well, as a few days after the event I received a phone call telling me that I had won the driver’s performance award for the number of laps completed closest to my nominated time. This was from a field of 214 drivers.  ​

Barry O'Connor
October 2025

​Most of us, at some time in our lives, have been served a “curved ball”. Something happens unexpectedly that upsets our daily routine and can change our lives. My “curved ball “ came in the form of a severe back problem, which made me appreciate what I had, and gave me time to think about coping with the future in a different way.

The first sign of a problem was when I first stepped out of bed in the morning and momentarily a severe pain would travel down my leg. Over the weeks the pain worsened, lasted longer and settled in my lower back. Alarm bells sounded loud and clear when I blacked out from the pain one night, landing on the hard board floor of the hallway

X-rays and scans showed very little amiss—some deterioration in my spine consistant with my age, but no bulging discs or anything serious.  It's possibly sciatica I was told, so I saw a physiotherapist and faithfully did exercises for some weeks with no results. The pain had increased to something like an electric shock whenever I moved my leg, and the pain remained for a long time after. I’d had back problems before but a few days rest usually solved the problem. I spent long hours on the bed, gazing out the window at the Liquid Amber changing from green to gold to dark red, and the leaves drifting down to the lawn and driveway.  
                                                                                          
At that stage I was quite accepting of the problem, thinking one day I’d wake up and things would be improving. Grocery shopping was becoming more difficult.  I’d get Ray to take me later at night. I would hobble around using a walking stick and we’d fill our trolley. Cooking was another trial. I would sit at the bench on my walking frame and prepare, then wheel across to the stove to sit and cook. One day I was angry.  I phoned the doctor and said I wanted to see an  orthopaedic surgeon. His response was “You don’t really want an operation at your age”.   I wanted to be pain-free though!   
                              
Help came from out of the blue!  Ray had an appointment with his rheumatologist, who asked why he was alone that day.  When told of my problems he sent up a referral for an MRI , and said he would see if he could help. By this stage I was in a lot of pain. A walk into the hospital really drained me, and I was happy to collapse into a wheelchair.  I was very nervous about having a MRI. It was a daunting experience for someone who is claustrophobic.  Being short, the huge machine seemed to swallow me, my nose almost touching its ceiling. The noise was incredible, as if  I was in a box and the lid was being nailed down. I fought panic for 20 minutes!
                                                       
In a few days I knew the worst - only an operation would fix the problem.  The vertebrae in my lower spine had collapsed on a nerve, hence the leg pain. I was sent to an orthopaedic surgeon at Epworth hospital for the complicated operation of chipping away bone to release the nerve, and having metal inserted between the vertebrae and either side of the spine. Because a bone graft had been used I wasn’t to twist, turn or lift anything for 3-4 months, and was to wear a brace whenever I was out of bed. 
                                                   
I woke from the operation in a warm, fuzzy morphine haze, pain free. I don’t recall very much about the next few days except nurses frequently rolling me over!  The only rehabilitation was to walk and, after my brace was fitted, I walked as far as I could each day. By the end of the week I could do four rounds of the floor every day, the requirement to allow me to go home.. 
                                                                                                                                   
Recovery was frustrating at times, but it taught me patience, and the necessity to ask for help.  After all, three months out of my life wasn’t that long! The housework and garden could wait, and a little dust wouldn't hurt anyone. 

If this problem had happened 50 years ago, what would the  outcome have been?

Perhaps it takes a “curved ball" to wake us up to how lucky we really are.


Margaret Nelson
August 2021

Catch!  Here comes a curve ball.   Oh No!  I don't want that curve ball...

Give me another one.  A nice one day one.   Too late as it splats right into your hand and your heart.  Oh dear (F...) what do I do with this. And the answer is “You Live with it. And work towards solving or diminishing it!”  
 
I received a massive curve ball loads of years ago.   I had been very fatigued and I was doing battle with my old Dr who patted me on the head and said “You are going through a Divorce.  We will get some counselling soon”.   As I walked out of his surgery I thought “Hang on I am sick.    Not just divorced”.    But then Dr knows best.
 
So I went to a tennis mate of mine who was a Dr and he looked at me and said:  “You are really crook!”   We will get to the bottom of this thing.   I was hot footed to a group called the Shepherd Foundation who did a complete diagnosis.   No physical testing just half an hour of questioning and then the diagnosis.   This I received via my mate the Dr. who rang me and said “Don't move you could die!”   (I was lying on the floor in front of the heater as I was so very cold). You have low thyroid and you are close to dead. I have booked you into a Specialist this afternoon.  
 
That afternoon I was informed that I would take two years to recover and I had to have a year off work.    I had a young son and I was a single Mum.   I had just bought a house and had to work.
 
I took  my sick leave which was eighteen weeks.   At the beginning I could not see and I had to sleep most of the day.   Slowly my eyesight came back to normal and I began to get out of bed more.  I began to go to tennis and shopping; just normal living things.   But what no one knew was I came home exhausted and went straight to bed.   Outwardly normal but covering up a severe illness. 
 
Slowly I improved and my sick leave ran out.   I went back to work with six days of leave and a wonderful boss.   I was a Visiting Teacher of the Deaf and he told me to come off the road if I was tired.   He also gave me permission to just sit in the Office if I needed to.   Then he changed my Schools so most of my Schools could be reached easily from Freeways.  Thus reducing the stress of driving through traffic.   That was September I went back and I survived.   The long Holidays arrived and I had six more weeks of holidays to recuperate.   So physically the curve ball had lost.
 
But this next bit was the big one.   I was a dancer and a tennis player.  I had never been “not able” to operate at a high physical level previous to this curve ball which was permanent physical illness.   A debilitating illness which meant I had to monitor my own energy output.   Make sure I did not get overtired.  
 
Cutting down on outside work activities was vital.  So tennis became once a week.   And I avoided late nights as they were exhausting.   This went on for two years but it changed me.   I had been a head down flat out type of person who could do anything.   And all of a sudden I had an autoimmune problem which demanded me modify and watch everything I did.   Playing tennis all day and then partying all night was now impossible. 
 
This Curve Ball changed me greatly.   “Have to” became impossible.  “Need to” became the optimum phrase.   And “How best to organise the need to whereby the system did not get overtired”.   And so I changed into a person who considered everything in my day and selected the “need to do items” and ignored the spontaneous “lets do that person”.   Always monitoring my energy levels.   
 
I have received lots of Curve Balls since this first one.  I treat them all the same.   Slowly let the healing come; manage the meds and don't be in a rush to do impossible tasks.   Avoid stress at all costs.   
 
I saw a wonderful truck yesterday which was being used to travel all over Australia in.  One of those medium sized trucks with a canopy and a bullbar.   Made for the trip up North; all the way to Darwin.  I nearly patted it as it is my dream holiday to do that trip.  Camping with my dogs.   I walked away from that truck and its owner knowing that the spontaneous lady is not gone.   I walked into my home and began to plan that dream trip where I discover the inner Australia and the traditional lands of Australia.   So the Curve Balls did not quite squash all desires.  Another dream which can be fulfilled.  There have been a lot of them too as well as the Curve Balls. 
 
Helen Duggin
24 May 2021

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I’m fortunate that life hasn’t thrown many curved balls at me. The one I will write about was a whammy.
 
My husband always dreamed of owning a hotel. Getting close to retirement age, we decided it was now or never to make his dream materialise. The saying ‘be careful what you wish for, it just might happen’ was very true. We bought a quaint old hotel on three acres with a fast flowing stream running along one side. The setting was lovely.
 
Our initial problem was acquiring staff. Because the hotel was in a tourist area, jobs were plentiful. When we employed suitable people, a rival establishment would make them an offer too good to refuse. There were numerous issues with some staff, from drugs to theft, so good employees were in great demand. Replacing workers was an ongoing chore.
 
My husband soon discovered he hadn’t the personality to humour dull, boring, and demanding drinkers who thought that because it was a public establishment, management should cater for their individual wants. Examples - the jute box music is too loud, the heating is too hot or the air conditioning too cold. Why don’t you sell such and such beer? Why do you serve him, he has blue hair?  The complaints were never ending, mostly by the public bar patrons. After two years it was affecting my husband’s health.
 
We decided to lease the business. The Hotel Broker brought two women to inspect the business and they agreed to lease it under a company name. The contract was proceeding in a normal way until one of the women sent a fax to us with the company’s heading and the names of the directors. The principal of the company was a man barred from the premises because he was a violent troublemaker. He had a court case pending for assaulting the previous owner of our hotel. There was no way we would lease our business to such a person. He would have ruined the business. We withdrew from the contact. We were disappointed but those things happen.
 
After that debacle we thought it best to sell the business freehold instead of leasehold. Again the Broker found buyers and a three-month contract was signed. Settlement was towards the end of November. We were looking forward to being out of the business for Christmas. The purchasers lived interstate. On the day of settlement they came to the area where our hotel was situated.  By late afternoon I hadn’t heard from their solicitor about arrangements for hand-over. I phoned him but he refused to discuss the matter with me. This made me annoyed. I then phoned our solicitor and asked him to find out which day the people wanted to take over the hotel. We had to arrange for an official stocktake and then we would no longer have access to the business.
 
Our solicitor phoned me back telling me the buyers had decided to go for a few weeks holiday before the final settlement. I was furious. Because I had studied Real Estate Contract Law, I knew that by not settling on the due date they had reneged on the contract. I told our solicitor to tell the buyer’s solicitor the sale was terminated. I knew our solicitor’s family owned hotels so I asked him for the name of a different Hotel Broker. He told me of someone in Melbourne. I phoned the Melbourne broker immediately and listed our hotel with him. He said he would come up the next day to see it and get us to sign the listing forms.
 
During all this kerfuffle my husband was in bed. He said he wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t pay much heed to what he was saying. I was too caught up in the drama of the non-settlement of our business and deciding what to do next.
 
On the day after the non-settlement and withdrawal from the hotel sale, my husband asked me to take him to the doctor. He was immediately admitted to hospital. He was a very sick man. I felt guilty for ignoring him on that curve ball day.
 
Within a few days the new Hotel Broker had found buyers for our hotel. They settled in January during the terrible 2003 bush fires. The business had never been so busy. Accommodation was full to capacity with firefighting personnel. Meals had to be provided, bed linen changed and rooms cleaned, but the settlement and handover went smoothly.
 
Elizabeth Kearns
May 2021
 
 
 
 
 

This was not an easy topic – I was not sure whether I had ever experienced being thrown a “Curved Ball”.  I started going back over my life from most recent to the long distant past.  I have written about the more recent events that could be categorised as being thrown a “Curved Ball”.  Things like being given a redundancy or moving around the country (or at least the south east corner of Australia).  Then it came to me – an event back in 1975.

I had a new baby and a toddler.  We had recently moved back to Melbourne when I was offered a part time teaching job at my old school.  After some enquiries it eventuated that I would need to undertake part time studies for a Diploma in Education in parallel with the work.  Apparently, this would not have been necessary under the previous headmaster due so some education qualifications he had.  I have no idea what these were – it was a long time ago and I was not involved in the process of approval apart from being required to do the study.  This was the first curved ball, but really did not cause much concern.  I was able to easily enrol in the necessary course at my old University as a post graduate student.

All was in place for me to start studies and start teaching – years 7 and 9 Mathematics.  That was when the big curved ball hit.  My husband came home from work at the end of January, just before the school year started, to inform me he was heading overseas for work within ten days!
Here I was with a two-year-old toddler, a four-month-old baby, about to start part time work and part time studies, and my husband would be away for at least six weeks.  I had some babysitting already organised, but now I had to also organise for babysitting for my evening study classes.  And we lived 25 kilometres away from the school and university. 

​It seemed like a daunting task.  But I come from a family of strong women.  I started organising the strategy.  Fortunately, my parents lived within walking distance of the school and less than ten minutes from the university.  They had two spare bedrooms.  And they could care for the children while I attended my classes at the university.

Now I think this has shown me that there is always a way forward.  The most important result though was that my father got to spend lots of time with the children.  My sister lived in Sydney and he rarely saw her three children.  At that time neither of my brothers were married.  It had given him the opportunity to get to know them as babies.  I believe they gave him a lot of joy over the remaining years of his life.
 

Joy Shirley
​May 2021