Deborah Shepard Books
  • Home
  • Books
    • The Writing Life >
      • Reviews & Interviews
    • Giving Yourself to Life
    • Her Life's Work
    • Translucence
    • Between The Lives
    • Reframing Women
    • Tributes
    • Personal Writings >
      • Conference Paper
      • Lockdown Journal
      • Travel Journal
      • Elegy for a friend
      • Christchurch - Post Quakes
      • On a residency
      • Deborah’s Love Letter to the Women’s Bookshop
      • Deborah's Q & A With Unity Books
  • Writing Memoir
    • Defining Memoir
    • The Participatory Model
    • Tips on Writing and Posting a Story
    • The Value of a Writing Class
    • From writing course to book publication
    • Your Writing Space
    • Writing on a Theme >
      • Window
      • Surviving a Crisis
    • Reviews of Memoir
  • Writers' stories
    • Writer's Stories
    • Covid-19 Stories
    • Writing Guidelines
    • From Being Mentored to Book Publication
  • Events
  • About
    • Testimonials
    • Media
  • What People Say
  • Contact

Writers' Stories

A collection of life stories by writers who have attended Deborah's classes

A Stray Little Tale by Justine Sachs

25/8/2011

 
Justine Sachs is a Year 12 student at ACG Senior College. She recently participated in a memoir writing workshop with Dr Deborah Shepard, where she wrote this small anecdote from her early childhood in South Africa before she immigrated to New Zealand in 2005.

I’m in the back of a brilliant green Audi without my seatbelt on. My mother is driving, her mass of curled hair peaking above the car seat. My five year-old sister is asleep on the seat beside me. My mother and I are quiet, each of us immersed in our own thoughts. Today is the day. I’m excited, nervous and sad. The Johannesburg highway whirls by and I stare out the window, watching intently. Sometimes I would imagine it was the trees and plants that were moving on a conveyor belt, not the car.

Today is an important day. Our family is getting a dog from a Boerboel breeding house in Pretoria. It should be a joyous occasion but it is not. Our dogs, Beethoven and Blue, have been poisoned by our gardener. Perhaps I should be feeling happier because this means we are moving on but I’m not sure I am ready.

I’m having flashbacks of that dreadful day. Lifeless bodies lying strewn across the stairs, blood trickiling out their mouths, things no eight year old should have to see. I’ve been keeping the uneaten cans of food secreted away in a drawer in my room. I couldn’t bear to see them thrown out, discarded like nothing.

“Are we nearly there yet?” I ask.

“Five more minutes, to the turnoff.” My mother begins humming an Eric Clapton song. My sister’s eyes flutter open. There goes my peace. I plug in my brand new CD Walkman, as a pre-emptive strike.

We arrive at the dog breeder’s house. My sister is excitedly jumping up and down in her seat. An ancient woman, about forty years old answers the door. My sister and I hide behind my mother, clutching at her skirt suddenly overcome with shyness as they exchanges pleasantries. The woman’s name is Ilene. She motions us warmly inside.

Two hours later we’re back in the car. Sitting between us on the back seat is a mass of brown fur, with two dark eyes staring intently out the window as the Johannesburg highway swirls by. Her name is Amy.

One Summer’s Evening by Beverley Morris

25/8/2011

 
Wellington born Beverley Morris spent her childhood in Western Samoa. She has an MA in Education and was a primary school teacher, and a lecturer in Child Development and Family Relations at Continuing Education, Victoria University of Wellington for 22 years. A regular contributor to the Children's Page of the Evening Post, she has published two books on child development. Married with four children, now in retirement she is enjoying writing memoirs.

The sky glowed orange behind the dark silhouette of Kapiti Island. In the foreground the sea appeared unruffled while out on the southern horizon the South Island was a mere smudge.

We were strolling back along Paekakariki beach, having turned at the creek which trickled out of Queen Elizabeth Park. We watched two late swimmers stroking towards the shore, their arms lifting gold sparkles as they neared the water’s edge. Their  dog was leaping ecstatically at seagulls that were wheeling round a dead fish. The tide was high in places, lapping against the eroded grass strip so we were forced to jump on to the coastal road. This did not stop us, however, from admiring the lingering sunset and the path of orange light zigzagging across the water of Cook Strait.

As we drew near to the Surf Club we noticed a large gathering of people on the beach. Some had left their parked cars. Everyone was looking out to sea. What were they looking at? Two kayakers drew close to the shore but there was nothing unusual in their paddling. A loud murmur spun round the crowd “There they are!” “Can you see them?” “Where are they?” Some were pointing to the southern end of Kapiti where three islets merged into the darkness of the island. Then Peter spotted the whales.

A pod of humpback whales was travelling from the warm South Pacific Ocean, where they had given birth, to the colder Antarctic. They were making leisurely progress down the inland side of the island. Old hands knew that it was an annual event but this season they were more numerous and the flaming sunset made their passage more dramatic.

“Can you see the babies?” asked Stephanie, Jacqui Baxter’s granddaughter. But the pod was too far away to distinguish their little, dark shapes. Once the leading whales had spouted, they drifted again into shadows. The crowd on the beach sighed and dispersed, shepherding the younger children round the departing cars.

The sky was now drained of colour and misty black clouds fringed Kapiti Island. 

A Particular Chair by Betty Chamberlain

16/8/2011

 
Betty Chamberlain spent her child hood on a farm out of Waimate in South Canterbury. She now lives, retired on a beautiful farm in Ellesmere, Canterbury, plays the piano, has tinkered with a bit of composition, trained a church choir, published two educational books for five year olds and brought up four children, with her husband Peter.

I was seven and my sister Joan fourteen when my Mother said, ”I’ve bought two new chairs, in autumn colours for the living room and I’m also going to replace our worn carpet with a leafy design.” The autumn theme was the latest ‘hot fashion.’ My excitement was intense and I began daydreaming about the new look and eagerly anticipating the arrival of the new chairs.

The day came when we arrived home from school and with wide eyes viewed the room, dressed in its brand new finery. The two chairs sat invitingly beside the fire place. They had wooden armrests, one with elegant curves and the other flat and slatted and they were upholstered in a hard wearing abstract patterned moquette in browns, oranges, olive green and yellow that blended beautifully with the leafy carpet. Immediately, for every reason, and now when I think of it, for no reason at all, both my sister Joan and I favoured the chair with the curved arms.

It is evening. Picture us both, out in the kitchen washing a formidable mountain of dishes created by our family of six children and two parents. It was our job to wash, dry and put away before retiring to the living room where the big open fire crackled invitingly and the radio serials were about to begin. In those days we followed an Australian story, "Dad and Dave from Snake Gully" and later in the evening a very scary thriller called “Phantom Drummer,” so terrifying that afterwards I would dive straight into bed, with all my clothes on, to escape the horrors lurking beneath.

My sister and I had created a set of dish washing rules and the critical one went like this: if the drier was too slow then the washer could leave the final bench wipe to the drier and get to the living room first. Now remember my sister was seven years older and infinitely faster, so after being left with the bench wiping too many times I came up with the idea of quietly washing all the dishes and then calling, “Ready!” Waiting, comfortably on the favoured chair, Joan would be out in a flash and my pre-washed dishes would tumble recklessly out of the sink onto the drying rack, confusing Joan, but assuring me of success. First to the living room, I was the smug custodian of the round-armed chair for the entire evening.

The victory was sweet while it lasted but Joan was older than me and it wasn’t long before another rule emerged, “No pre-washed dishes allowed.”  And thus my cunning little ruse came to an end. 

Carpe Diem by Meret Berger

8/8/2011

 
Meret Berger is the nom de plume of a German native speaker now living with her New Zealand husband and children in the French-speaking part of Switzerland since 2004. She describes herself as a family event organiser.

It was a fabulous winter’s day for a family adventure. We packed a picnic basket and drove up to the Lac de Joux, the largest lake in the nearby Jura mountains.

Our children whooped with excitement as the lake came into view, its frozen expanse thronged with people skating, walking, revelling in the sun. The two of them hurried to put on their skates and zoomed off almost out of sight while we set off tentatively after them, arm in arm. Every man and his dog seemed to have ventured on to the ice - disabled persons in wheel-chairs, children on bobsleds, couples Nordic walking, model plane pilots simulating Arctic take-offs... only the ice catamarans for hire found no takers on this windless day.

The further we dared venture out on what seemed an endless ice shelf, the more the crowd dispersed and the more crystal-clear and captivating the surface became. Clumps of red algae and fish were encased in this glacial, emerald green crypt and we heard that further out a young drowned fox could be seen caught in the lake’s icy embrace.

It felt eerie to be high and dry in the middle of the lake but the presence of other exhilarated people helped reassure us. We noticed a whip cracking sound: was it caused by skate blades and hiking sticks striking the surface or was the layer of ice actually creaking and fracturing? Inspired by a recent local theatre production of Hans Christian Andersen’s Snow Queen, our son was executing adrenalin-fuelled jumps and sudden, scraping stops on his skates while our daughter performed slow, swirling pirouettes. Sometimes they skated completely out of sight but then happily reappeared, faces flushed from exertion.

Near the shore, the lake was dotted with ice sculptures and stalls, selling hot drinks, soup, runny raclette cheese on slices of bread or potatoes … It seemed natural to picnic in the middle of the lake but unusual enough for a photographer from a local newspaper to take our photo, thus preserving the moment. It’s not every year that the lake freezes over to such an extent.

It took me 45 years to experience anything like this. It was an absolutely mesmerising outing.

    Your Stories

    Please submit your story via the Contact page and it will receive a gentle edit from Deborah.
    WRITING GUIDELINES
    Tips on writing and posting a story
    writing on a theme
    COVID-19 STORIES

    Authors

    All
    Adele Ellis
    Alan Knox
    Alison Mayson
    Alison Quesnel
    Amanda Aitken
    Angela Eastwood
    Anissa Ljanta
    Anna Caselberg
    Anna Groenestein
    Anne Cavanagh
    Anne Morris
    Barbara Myers
    Bernice Raos
    Beth Jewell
    Betty Chamberlain
    Beverley Morris
    Bren Lawrey
    Bronwyn Lewis
    Carmel Byrne
    Carmel Ni Bhroin
    Carol Clayton
    Carol Jack
    Catherine Groenestein
    Catherine Moorhead
    Cathie Hutchinson
    Cathy Gray
    Cherie Buchanan
    Cheryl McCrow-Young
    Cheryl Nicol
    Cheryl Price
    Colin Radford
    Colleen Paisley
    David Arrowsmith
    David Phuah
    Dawn Webster
    Debbie Corder
    Diane Taylor
    Dianne Moffatt
    Dianne Speed
    Don Cowan
    Doris Riegel
    Elisabeth Sutorius
    Elizabeth Buchanan
    Elizabeth Goldsworthy
    Erica Munro
    Evan Mayson
    Evita Fromter
    Fern Paulussen
    Francie Craig
    Gabrielle Reekie
    Gillian Mayo
    Gill Sanson
    Glenys McGee
    Gloria Neale
    Graham McGregor
    Graham Woolford
    Gretel Jack
    Helen Gillespie
    Inge Rudolph
    Isabella Mcdermott
    Jackie Halliday
    Jackie Hawkeswood
    Jane Bissell
    Jane Ouseley
    Janet Bovett
    Janet De Witt
    Janet Pates
    Jane Wilkins
    Janine Peters
    Jeanette Baalbergen
    Jeanette De Heer
    Jean Rockel
    Jennifer McGarry
    Jenny Healey
    Jenny Riviere
    Jessie Jellick
    Jicca Smith
    Jim Barnett
    Jim Cooke
    Jim O'Donovan
    Jim Peters
    Joan Hugo Burley
    Jocelyn Goodman
    Jo Frew
    John Goodman
    Judy Hardie
    Judy Johannessen
    Judy O'Brien
    Julia Blick
    Julie Star
    Juliet Jackson
    Justine Sachs
    Kacie Stetson
    Kate Lewis
    Katherine Kelly
    Kathryn Kearns
    Katrina Cole
    Leona Fay
    Lexie Candy
    Liz Lees
    Liz March
    Liz Marks
    Liz Thomas
    Liz Wilson
    Lorene Verheijden
    Lydia Smith
    Lynley Stone
    Maire Vieth
    Mandy Robinson
    Margaret Farrell
    Margaret Merton
    Margaret Russell
    Margo Knightbridge
    Marg Slater
    Maria Kazmierow
    Maria Zivkovich
    Marie Cameron
    Marie Coyle
    Marie Lynne Mitchell
    Marijke Batenburg
    Marilyn Eales
    Maris O'Rourke
    Maryan Dawson
    Mary Barker
    Mary Betz
    Mary Bogan
    Mary Borok
    Mary Elsmore-Neilson
    Mary Nicholas
    Mary Weal
    Mattie Wall
    Maureen Sudlow
    Max Adams
    Meg Johnson
    Meret Berger
    Michelanne Forster
    Mike Kilpatrick
    Miriam Frank
    Moyra Cooke
    Myrtle Easton
    Nanci Campion
    Natalie Mullender
    Ngawini Hall
    Nicky Won
    Nicola Brewer Fanefjord
    Nitin Sahare
    Patricia Gross
    Pat Scriven
    Pauline Lumsden
    Pauline Sneddon
    Penny Slack
    Philomena Pinto
    Rachael Breckon
    Rae Abraham
    Raewynne Lory
    Rob Creagh
    Robyn Turner
    Robyn White
    Rosemary Auld
    Rosemary Barrett
    Roslind O'Neill
    Roz Nicol
    Ruth Bonita
    Ruth Busch
    Sally Monks
    Samantha Scott
    Sandra Plummer
    Sandy Plummer
    Sarah Ashmore
    Sarah Gumbley
    Sarah Hardman
    Sara Kimsey
    Sharyn Elliffe
    Shirley Glendinning
    Shona Barker
    Sofia Mella
    Steve Charters
    Sue
    Sue Alexander
    Sue Mercer
    Sue Radford
    Susan Grimsdell
    Susan Mcleod
    Susan Schuler
    Susie Johnston
    Sylvia Dean
    Sylvia Nagl
    Terry Levenberg
    Tim Chamberlain
    Tim Paul
    Trevor Bayly
    Val Cotty
    Verna Cook-Jackson
    Vonne Learmonth
    Wyn Hoadley

    Archives

    December 2022
    November 2022
    May 2022
    October 2021
    May 2021
    November 2020
    January 2020
    November 2019
    September 2019
    July 2018
    June 2018
    March 2018
    January 2018
    November 2017
    May 2017
    January 2017
    May 2016
    April 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    May 2015
    January 2015
    November 2014
    October 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    February 2011
    January 2011
    December 2010
    November 2010

    RSS Feed

Deborah thanks Rangimarie Kelly and Pikau Digtal for website design and artist Karen Jarvis for her image ‘Writers at the Devonport Library,’ (2023)
Writing Memoir
Defining Memoir
The Participatory Model
Tips on Writing and Posting a Story
​From Writing Course to Book Publication
Your Writing Space
​Writing on a Theme
Reviews of Memoir
Writers Stories
​
Events
​About
Testimonials
What People Say

Media
​Contact
Copyright © 2023 Deborah Shepard
  • Home
  • Books
    • The Writing Life >
      • Reviews & Interviews
    • Giving Yourself to Life
    • Her Life's Work
    • Translucence
    • Between The Lives
    • Reframing Women
    • Tributes
    • Personal Writings >
      • Conference Paper
      • Lockdown Journal
      • Travel Journal
      • Elegy for a friend
      • Christchurch - Post Quakes
      • On a residency
      • Deborah’s Love Letter to the Women’s Bookshop
      • Deborah's Q & A With Unity Books
  • Writing Memoir
    • Defining Memoir
    • The Participatory Model
    • Tips on Writing and Posting a Story
    • The Value of a Writing Class
    • From writing course to book publication
    • Your Writing Space
    • Writing on a Theme >
      • Window
      • Surviving a Crisis
    • Reviews of Memoir
  • Writers' stories
    • Writer's Stories
    • Covid-19 Stories
    • Writing Guidelines
    • From Being Mentored to Book Publication
  • Events
  • About
    • Testimonials
    • Media
  • What People Say
  • Contact