Ella, Mia and Jake discuss the pros and cons of going live in isolation, highlight their TV guilty pleasures, and share some pieces first performed at Stay In, Speak Out, The Penny Mint's fortnightly Instagram live stream.

In my father’s household, Peter Lalor was the name of a saint. From it all, I’d learnt a valuable lesson: if the higher-ups won’t listen, make them.

Content warning: This piece discusses violence against women and r*pe.

Jake, Mia and Ella come to you from their bedrooms with a big announcement, but first: as we continue to self-isolate, how are we structuring our days? How do we find purpose?

I’m wearing a borrowed shirt / and I’ve stained it with a dish I call / “curry adjacent”

"Solace" sounds better than "solitude", I think, and "rhythm" sounds better than "rut".

Mia, Ella and Jake are working from home this month, so this episode of The Penny Mint Podcast sounds a little bit different to what you're used to by now.

Happy International Women's Day! Mia Boonen & Ella Crowley have both written letters to feminism - expressing their love for womanhood and their problems with the patriarchy

About a year ago, I wrote an article on here announcing a boycott of all line-ups without gender diversity. There have been a lot of consequences, and I thought I’d take the time to share some of them with you

Jake, Mia and Ella have found themselves in a new kitchen, as this month they explore the identity of a writer. Or a maker. An artist? A creative?

You’re sitting atop buildings and looking out at sunsets and drinking beer and smoking. I’m on my front porch while it rains.

How do you begin to write? What got us into writing in the first place? And what even is the plural of Bigfoot anyway? Mia, Ella and Jake are in a kitchen, and they have questions in this podcast, all about beginnings.

A car radio plays nearby, feeding through evacuation information and the phone numbers of relief services. A few feet away, my boyfriend watches a press conference by Daniel Andrews, who tells us that, as of 9:30am, 28 people are missing.

Despite everything that VCE was, I look upon my final days of high school with a strong pull of nostalgia. Not for lack of cause: I memorialised every event as though it were a scene from Breakfast Club.