What’s Your Story?

Image via Unsplash

How many people do you think live under these rooftops? Hundreds? Possibly thousands? More than 10,000 maybe? 

I could look at this photo for ages, studying the buildings and trying to work out the city, country and continent I’m looking at. 

It got me thinking about how many people live side by side, above and below each other, and what each of those people thinks about the lives they’re living. 

How many residents of each building belive that they’re interesting? 

Which building houses those who consider themselves to be doing important work in the world? 

How many are nursing heartache? How many are struggling financially? 

Are there more introverts in particular sections of the city? 

Where is the nearest green space? 

Who harbours a secret desire to move to another city or town? Who has a plan in motion to make that change? 

So. May. Questions. 

SO. Many. Stories. 

Each life I imagine, each home, from the top floor apartments to the basements, from the outskirts of this city to the best and worst areas, each of those people has a story. Each has been through common joys and sorrows, and each has faced completely unique situations. 

Just like you. 

Just like me. 



Everyone has a story. 

Some are keen to tell their stories, some long for just one person to ask them about their day. 

Too many think they’re nobody special. 


As a blogger, you’d think that I would have the “I have interesting stories to share” thing nailed, wouldn’t you? 

Well…. I have a confession; I fallen into the habit of thinking only about my doing rather than my being/thinking/believing as far as blogging goes. 

The doing is pretty repetitive – I go to work, I watch Netflix, I avoid the vacuuming for epic stretches of time, I cook things, I sleep, I buy groceries, repeat. 

That’s not super inspiring stuff, so I made the mistake of thinking I have nothing to blog about. 


The thing is, while I’m working, cooking, watching Netflix, buying groceries and living my life, I’m thinking about big stuff. 

I wonder why women haven’t become so bloody sick of misogyny that we are rioting in the streets. 

I ponder how living in a society that centres whiteness has blinded me to my privilege. 

I grapple with caring deeply about things I know are unjust. 

Lately, I’ve added thinking about secure housing as I age, what I want my funeral to be like and wanting to spend more time creating to my ruminations.


Everyone has a story to tell, even me. 

Hopefully I can find my way back to my stories. 


What’s your story? 



Annette xx


The view from 48

Good morning friends. 

This is my (slightly idealised) view, 48 days from turning 48. I’ve taken some creative license and brought us into autumn, because let’s face it, autumn is the most magical of the seasons. 

48 days from now I will turn 48. I like the symmetry of that. 

Recently, I’ve been pondering how I got here, who I am and what’s shaped me. Ive been wondering what markers along the way have been most significant, and perhaps more importantly, whether there are worthwhile and transmittable ideas, processes or unshackling posts that I could point out to others. (Does that sound ridiculously arrogant? I hope not.) 

48 isn’t 50, it’s not a Hallmark sponsored milestone, but it is what’s cresting in front of me. 

It’s a long time, isn’t it? 48 years. 

Not compared to the planets or the stars, or even the trees in the nearby hills, but for a person, it’s a good stretch of  days and nights, of summers, autumns, winters and springs. It’s a lot of Christmases and birthdays. It’s a hell of a lot of Monday mornings! 

Will I write 48 daily posts? I’m not sure, I kind of doubt it, though I do have the time at the moment. 

What I’m hoping is that by making a concerted effort to both reflect, and to scout what’s ahead, I might stumble across some things that help me join the dots. 

I’ve got this sneaking suspicion that the truest, best changes in our lives, the really important work of the soul (ugh, sorry about that!), happens not on the mountain tops, but germinates slowly, incrementally, often without us having much awareness of what’s going on, in the every day, in the mundane. 

There’s no mapped out plan for the next 48 days, there are no draft posts waiting in the wings, but I do want to tell you some stories. 

No matter how SnapChatty the world becomes, I think we still need stories. Stories and questions. 

Let’s find out. 


Annette x 


This is me, 49 days from 48. 


The power of storytelling

Whether it’s the Oscars, Grammys, Golden Globes, the Brownlow or the Emmys, awards shows are notoriously l-o-o-o-n-g and they often have lots (and lots) of boring stuff in between the few awesome moments. This is less true when Tina and Amy are hosting.

Today, I fast-forwarded my way through a great deal of the Emmys, hoping for one memorable moment, and Frances McDormand delivered.

Thank you Frances.

I adored her in Something’s Gotta Give, and was mesmerised by her in the tv show she won an Emmy for today, Olive Kitteridge.

And I definitely loved her acceptance speech, for her outstanding performance in Olive Kitteridge.

She walked on to the stage (in a sensationally understated dress), and simply said this:

2015-09-21 16.27.53


I couldn’t agree more.

Stories well told, in my opinion, are always enough.

I just deleted a long, rambly chunk of this post.

What I want to say about what Frances said is this.

If you happen to be hanging in there with The Verbs, I’m grateful. I know I haven’t written much lately.

You and I are a team in this thing, I write the words, but you make this thing what it is. I write for you.

I think what Frances said this afternoon resonated and drew me to the keyboard, because blogging, for me, is all about telling stories.

If I could, oh how I wish I could… I’d write just one post that would once and for all show you how magnificent you are, right in this moment, and just re-post the shit out of it. Forever.

I don’t think The Verbs will ever be pinging into your inboxes on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, with a sweet newsletter for subscribers once a month. That’s just not me. To the people who it is, you are frickin’ rock stars… that shit takes a lot of work!

I have to write when I’ve got something to say. I want to write about things that matter to me, as well as about silly things that I see or feel or hear, or things I create or photograph.

I have to wait for the muse. At least, I do for now.

I am utterly committed to doing this in my own voice, to my own rhythms.



I’ve wanted to write about a few things that I’ve experienced lately, but I think they might still be percolating, so I haven’t pushed.

But even when I’m not writing, I think about you guys all the time.

I hope you’re well, and happy, and that if you’re not, that you have people around you who are standing in solidarity with you while times are a bit shit. I hope they’re only a bit shit.

If life is epically, gut wrenchingly shit, as it can sometimes be, perhaps my unexpected tears as I type this are for you.

The things that I believe truly matter in life are reflected in what Frances said today. I think we are here to tell our stories, and to take every opportunity we can to stand in solidarity with someone whose current chapter might be breaking their hearts.

We can’t possibly stand with everyone, but we can each stand with someone.

Stand by being there, stand by calling, stand by sending a card or dropping in a meal, stand in your prayers if you’re into divine communion, stand with them literally, or across the miles, but most of all, stand with open arms and hearts.



Frances is not only a great actress, I reckon she’s a pretty wise human too. Must be all that storytelling she’s done.


I’m still here. I may not be writing much, but I’m listening.

Tell me your story.


Annette x