Meredith Grant

Meredith Grant
Meredith Grant is an emerging Regional Victorian writer. She has been shortlisted for the Trudy Graham-Julie Lewis Lit. Awards for Prose, runner-up for the FAW Qld. Soapbox Article competition and most recently been awarded runner-up in the Writers Victoria Regional Members Writing Competition. She has also contributed to on-line Journals and had articles and personal memoirs published on-line. She studied Professional Writing and Editing at Ballarat University and has a strong focus on writing non-fiction. Her goal is to become a freelance writer where her contributions will cover her experience and knowledge on topics that sit close to her heart, including Australia's homeless epidemic, teenage depression and Australian adoption matters. She is currently working on her full length memoir she hopes to have published, until then her short memoir works are being submitted to various opportunities and competitions which she hopes will help raise her writing profile.

Writing Stuff


I'll be posting some writing of mine here which I welcome constructive feedback

Recently I had the opportunity to submit a piece of prose on 'Local Colour.' Here's a snippet of my story loosely based around a real family back in the gold rush of Australia and of course fictionalised. It's a story of a young man Joseph growing up around the gold fields, his father a mining surveyor, his family met with demise through illness and misadventure, I hope you enjoy this small look into their lives.

Walter slammed the wire door behind us as we took off towards the river bank and I don’t mind saying how I could sense trouble looming since that dark shadow paid me dreams a visit that morning, just like the ones Muma spoke about before something bad was about to happen.

As we climbed along the bank I noticed how the river had already begun to rise from the winters drenching sending pieces of driftwood and branches floating on by.  Paddy grabbed at a big old branch overhanging from one of the many She Oaks that lined the banks, and as he launched himself onto that branch we heard a crack like a rabbits back being broken as the branch snapped sending both it and Paddy into the current of water below.

Walt and I we ran along that bank like two crazed desperadoes calling out to Paddy to hold on, all the while Paddy’s face had turned to stone, his eyes fixed with fear as he was carried away in twists and turns until we could no longer see or hear him.

I daren’t tell Walt about that dark shadow’s visit I’d had earlier for he’d surely find the biggest stick to whack me one with, for now it felt like hours since Paddy disappeared downstream, and by the time we reached the base of the gorge, the large volcanic rock walls surrounding us silenced everything but the drumming of water that spilt across the steep ledges.

As I hit the ground with every stride all the beautiful sounds that filled this countryside were drowned out by a loud thud happening in me ears and if the pressure got any more then it’d be certain me head might explode.  I was running for me life or at least for Paddy’s for who knows what had become of him by now.  And as for Walter, well I left him way back at that gorge complaining of a stitch in his side.

It was all mud through town, sticking to the soles of me boots like glue, dragging me down hard as I tried to make it to the foothills of Red Bluff where our house laid.  It wouldn’t be long before nightfall and most of the miners out here were already home amongst the clusters of canvas and torn bark huts they called home, some with fireplaces spewing thick plumes of choking smoke into the air that was certain to cripple me already wheezing lungs. 

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