Michelle Tuxford
Bio
Australian writer, avid reader and beginner gardener. I write novels, short stories and sometimes poetry.
Stories (8/0)
How Writing Saves My Life Every Day
This past week has been stressful. I had a flare-up of back pain that became so bad I couldn’t walk properly, which led to neck stiffness and horrible headaches. I had a bout of stomach pain. On Friday I was due for some day surgery; the same surgery I’d had in 2017, which led to an infection that seemed to have a run-on effect I’m still dealing with.
By Michelle Tuxford2 years ago in Psyche
Supermarket Tribal
9.05am My regular supermarket has changed things around again. I hate that. It seems a somewhat tone deaf thing to do in the middle of a pandemic, and as I hurry along what used to be the condiment section, clutching my basket, I see my own emotions echoed in the eyes of the masked shoppers around me; confused, angry, frustrated.
By Michelle Tuxford3 years ago in Fiction
CUBE: Part Three
I can see the Earth framed in the centre of the window. You have no idea how . . . miraculous it looks; that tiny, tiny world, hanging in the void. It doesn’t look natural. It hangs in space the same way a hammer doesn’t hang in the air. I press myself to the glass that I don’t think is glass - there’s something metallic about its texture - and long to be there, on the surface once again. My bones ache with it. It’s like being in love with someone you will never have, a drink of water always out of reach.
By Michelle Tuxford3 years ago in Fiction
CUBE: Part One
I was so sure I died. But I wake, my body curled into itself, strands of hair falling over my face. My cheek’s resting on my arm and my arm has an ache in it from lying on a hard surface. These are the things I notice before remembering I’d died.
By Michelle Tuxford3 years ago in Fiction
CUBE: Part Two
At some point I slept. I have the feeling I was asleep for a long time, as if I fell into a deep, dark unconsciousness. But it’s impossible to tell because day and night are meaningless in my little room. The light here is constant, despite the fact I can’t see any fixtures, or switches or bulbs. I think its day two. That feels right.
By Michelle Tuxford3 years ago in Fiction
Accidental Gardening for The Soul
That day in Bunnings I let my feet take me to the gardening section. Surreptitiously I watch real-life gardeners go about their business; knowledgeable creatures hefting bags of potting mix onto laden trolleys, discussing watering systems with each other and casting experienced eyes over compost bins. They use exotic terms like ‘wetting agents’ and ‘slow-release.’ Someone says the words plant food, and I picture giant, thorny roses devouring people whole, like perfumed anacondas.
By Michelle Tuxford3 years ago in Viva
