My Writing

Dog Gone

I darted into the cemetery and hid behind a tombstone. I hunched myself up, balancing on the balls of my feet, and peered desperately into the night, listening for whoever was out there to make another sound. It was freezing – I had trouble keeping my jaw clamped shut so my teeth didn’t chatter.

Ish’s dog is gone. Vanished in a country town. Mum’s on holiday, Dad’s in Sydney. Ish and his bossy sister Molly are staying with Gran. There are no clues. Only something mysterious in the town’s graveyard. Then a bully from the local school starts to blackmail Ish. Can things get any worse?

Buy Dog Gone

Dog Gone is available from all good bookshops and is distributed in Australia by Dennis Jones & Associates.

You can buy a copy from me direct - just email and I'll send you a copy with invoice. Let me know who you want it dedicated to if you want a signed copy. Or else, buy online now using PayPal or credit card:

AUD$18.95, + AUD$5.00, postage and packaging

Beginnings

Dog Gone started off as a short story about a boy’s encounter with something terrifying in a graveyard. That was more than five years ago when I was guiding a group of primary school students through a holiday writing workshop. I had set them the task of writing a story and decided I should write one, too.

By the end of the workshop I knew I was writing a novel. Its original title was going to be Thunderstruck!

The setting for the novel is Mt Selview, a fictitious place up on the Murray River. However, in my mind, it is set in Corowa, where I spent many school holidays with my grandmother when I was a child and teenager. Some of Gran’s traits in Dog Gone are based on my grandmothers’. If you’ve read the book, you’ll understand when I tell you that my grandmother’s knickers really did fall off one day!

A meditative pastime

I love the Murray River. When I stayed with my grandmother, I would often go down to the river – yes, I’d cut through the cemetery – to go fishing or just to sit on a log and dangle my legs in the water. Early in my teaching career I lived in Echuca and I loved going down to the river there, too. I had a kayak and would love nothing better than to paddle it up and down the Murray. It was a very meditative pastime, listening to the gentle plash of paddles and the calls of birds in trees along the banks.

So as you can see, although Dog Gone is definitely a work of fiction, there are many aspects of the story that are based on real events and real places.

What readers are saying

'I discovered Dog Gone recently, a children's chapter book by Carole Poustie, published by Avant Press, and I'm so pleased I did. From the start, Dog Gone speaks to us in the strong, vibrant voice of its main character, Ish ...

'Dog Gone is fast-paced, with great characters. The language is evocative but simple enough for junior primary readers to understand.'

Read more in The Book Chook

'Death, disappearance, separation, ghosts, bullying - sounds a bit depressing, right? Not in the hands of Poustie. This is, in fact, one of the most positive books I've read... Poustie's poetic turns of phrase make this book charming, heartfelt and friendly. For a child, it's like visiting a best friend for a chat ... A gorgeous story, and a must-read for both boys and girls.' -- Megan Blandford, Kids Book Review

‘Written with charm and humour, this is a story full of incident and emotion about a missing dog, a ghost and a family at crossroads – but most of all about the wondrously healing power of poetry in the life of a child.’ -- Ursula Dubosarsky

‘The poems provide a good introduction to free-form poetry, giving this book application in the classroom and perhaps encouraging young readers to have a go at writing their own poetry... This novel for younger readers is more than just a lost dog story. It is a story of hope, the ability to adapt, enchanted fishing rods and, best of all, poetry.’ -- Tina Cavanough, Magpies

‘Ish’s poems are collected in one sequence at the end – ‘Ish’s Poetry Journal’ – all the ones from the text, but some others as well. All a joy to read.’ -- Dr Virginia Lowe

‘… I loved the book. Started it at lunchtime at work and just wanted to keep reading to see what happened …. Ish is a great character and the poetry such a wonderful element in the story.’ -- Kathryn Duncan

My Poetry

I’m currently working on a poetry collection. Here are two of my poems. The first one was the winning poem in the 2007 Page Seventeen competition.

The Irises

I passed the house today.
The irises were blooming –
pushed their way through
the long grass of ‘I don’t care’,
through weeds of ‘you don’t exist’.
Nodded their heads
when a whiff of wind
whispered my secret.
We were in cahoots ―
the wind and I.
‘You can’t ignore the irises’,
we said.

I walked up Byron Street,
past that block of flats
with the jacaranda.
I hoped she’d be there ―
the old Chinese lady
with the poodle. Always
weeding her garden.
Except today.
I wanted to tell
someone about the irises.

On Hemp Avenue
the house with the magnolia
that reminds me of holidays in Eden
has high fence posts along the front
and palings piled in the drive.
Tomorrow it will be
a private magnolia.

I was crossing Henry Street
to walk through the park
to sit on the seat near the duck pond.
I wanted to feel the morning sun
soak into my dark places.
Wanted to upend my urn of grief,
watch the wind scatter the ashes –
flotsam and jetsam of
another life, another time.
A stranger’s arm tugged at my own;
The ute was on my blind side.
I was still thinking
about the irises.

(from Page Seventeen Issue 6)

Rosella

It’s in small print
on the front page –
woman cyclist hit by bus
continued on page four –
tyres catch in tram tracks
dies instantly
I stop reading
look out the window
try to imagine it

The crash is so loud I jump
the rosella
writhes on my back deck
arches up its tail feathers
lowers them again in increments
then lies still–
head turned too far sideways

I cradle the bird in my hand –
its body warms my fingers
in the cold of morning
think of the woman’s body
twisted into wrong angles
a downy feather blows in the chill breeze

The bird’s claws are curled inwards
wrapped around
the memory of a branch
I look down
into the lifeless eyes
that stare at something
I can’t see

All afternoon
outside my study window
a crimson rosella
flies from tree to tree
calling

(from Poetrix issue 8 and Avant 2009)