11 tips for a faster podcast workflow

faster podcast workflow

Often I see first-time podcasters leap quickly out the gate. They are passionate, purpose-filled and ready to bring their message into the world. The content they are creating is GOLD and SO needed.

And then, as time ticks on, they become tired of the process and eventually they pod-fade (aka stop podcasting all together).


There seems to be a time barrier. Where the amount of time it takes to release an episode, is getting in the way of actually doing it. I have heard from other podcasters that it just takes too long.

I’d podcast more but I don’t have the time. The amount of output was just not worth it.

And yes, while it is true – podcasting does take time, you do have to be committed and consistent to see growth, impact and engagement. Podcasting is not some silver bullet that is all of a sudden going to bring you thousands of followers. You’ve got to work at it.

In saying that, there are things you can do to make your podcast workflow more efficient. Thereby saving you time and freeing you up to do what you do best – create amazing content.

I shared these tips with my Ignite: Podcasting for Changemakers students last week. Many found them helpful, so I decided to share them here with you, too.



Tales of Transition Part 5: An adventure in a van named Walter


Quitting my 10-year corporate career, buying a campervan and travelling all the way around Australia solo was definitely not the most financially sensible idea.

Travelling overseas would have been a LOT cheaper.

But it felt so right.

And isn’t it interesting, how when we step into the flow of the rightness of a feeling, everything flows for us – I call this stepping into the slipstream of your soul.

That’s what happened for me with the van.

All the little perceived obstacles were cleared easily, with trust and aligned action.


My Dad found my van for me – an old 1988 Nissan Urvan called Walter – and spent hours and hours of his own time working on it, cleaning it up, putting on solar panels and new batteries so I could be off-grid, a new fridge and special plugs so I could charge all my gadgets and blog from the road.


My friends offered to store my gear under their house and to look after my beloved kitten, Mimi.


Oh! That sweet sweet day I walked away from the fluorescent lights and white walls of my office, knowing I would not be returning.

I was completely on path.


Some people (mainly guys) thought I was crazy and had lots of opinions about what I was doing – particularly the “what if you break down?” question.

Rather than invest my energy in what might go wrong, I decided to focus on what might go right.


In March 2015, I took Walter for a “test” adventure with my sister Koren.


We travelled for four weeks around Tasmania. And this is where, we hatched the idea for a little podcast called She Makes Magic.

On a rainy day, at a campsite on the West Coast of Tassie, we sat in the back of Walter and recorded our first two episodes – me interviewing Koren and Koren interviewing me. Both of us were nervous, our voices shook, we had no idea how to technically setup a podcast but we assumed a good place to start would be to record the interviews.


She Makes Magic would become my saving grace as I travelled around Australia. Speaking with other women who had left behind lives that didn’t feel right to follow their brave hearts gave me the courage to do the same myself.

It would also have me fall deeply in love with podcasting and later form a piece of my greater passion and work in the world (more to come on this in future tales).


Fast forward to May 2015 – I’m ready to go in my van, across the Nullarbor, up the West Coast, across the top of Australia and back down the east coast. With the money I have saved, I figure I can travel for at least nine months.

My sister and I have launched our podcast and are overwhelmed by the response. Who knew there were thousands of other women out there who felt just like me? Desperate for clarity, stuck in the dark unknown, pissed off by the ‘fake-ness’ of the online world and hungry for real stories.

A community was forming, women came together to say “me too” and I no longer felt so alone.


On the very first day of my solo leg of my trip, I hopped into my van to travel across the Nullarbor Plain from South Australia to Western Australia, and the fear suddenly hit me. I realised I was going to be travelling long distances, on my own, in a very old van, on stretches of road with no phone service.

I was terrified.

This fear would stay with me, all 30,000kms of my trip. A weight that would sometimes be so heavy, I couldn’t get out of bed and drive. Other days, I could make peace with it and travel anyway.

I learnt that grounding myself, having some form of stability in an otherwise changing and shifting environment was important for me.

So I spent a lot of time by the ocean, swimming every day which I found soothed me and brought me back into my body. I didn’t move around much – camping at locations for weeks on end, and lying in the back of my van with a book or a meditation. I had to accept this was the way I would travel for me to feel safe and block out what anyone else was doing or saying.

It’s a lesson that has stayed with me through all other major transitions – I find one or two constant, unchanging things to anchor into as everything else shifts around me. And I don’t look at what anyone else is doing.


It’s important to note here:

I have always felt a personal responsibility to find my “thing” (aka gifts / purpose / magic) and do it well.

For a very long time – five years – I had been desperately looking for my purpose, my thing, my gifts. When the corporate world became uninhabitable for me, my search became ruthless.

I believed if I could just figure out my ‘purpose’ – I envisioned a light-bulb moment when suddenly all the unanswered questions about who I am and what I’m here to do became clear – then I could start building a life around this.

This kind of thinking became quite dangerous as I travelled the landscapes of Australia.


At some point, as I prepared for my campervan adventure, I made a (very head-based) decision.

By the end of my trip, I’ll know what my ‘thing’ is and will be able to action it.

What I was doing, but didn’t realise at the time, was putting a fear-based, logical timeline around the journey of my soul.

The unknown is a land of the soul. It cannot be navigated with the head. When we choose to journey with the soul, time falls away, logic takes a back seat to the heart and fear has no place.

Rather than empowering and supporting me, this decision became my kryptonite.

Here I was, in these beautiful pristine places and all I found myself doing was fretting about the future.

What would I do when I returned from my big adventure? I can’t go back to the corporate world! What if I return with no money and no plan at all?

It continually ripped me out of the present moment and created an intense anxiety.


Six months into my beautiful adventure, I was camped in a free camping spot on my way down the east coast of Australia.

I had a dream that evening.

I dreamed that my trip was over, I had no money and I had to return to my old job. I dreamed myself walking back into that work place and the pain it caused me.

I woke in a start – the sinking, dark, heavy depression I hadn’t felt in months suddenly was back, weighing me down with dread.

That very same day, I pulled out of a shopping mall, and my van began to violently shudder. I opened the seats to look at the motor and smoke was pouring out.

They thought I had blown up the motor.

I thought this was the end of my trip and my dream had become a reality.


As I waited on the results from the mechanic, I fell into a hole of doom.

I realised I had spent so much of my trip fearing the perceived potentialities of the future, it had dimmed the beauty of the present moment.

I realised I had been so up in my head, I could not hear the instructions my soul had been giving me.

What my soul wanted me to do was REST. STOP. BREATHE. TAKE A MOMENT.

This was not a time for action.

But the human part of me was too busy worrying about how she looked and what might happen to hear it.

So the universe intervened. And my van broke down.


My van eventually was fixed and I was able to continue on my adventure.

The last three months of my trip became vastly different.

I vowed to surrender to the future and be present in the moment.

I vowed to get out of my head and back into my body, a process that, in the beginning was incredibly painful. (If you feel this is you, I would recommend looking at Eckart Tolle’s work on the pain body, it helped me to see the gifts in my depression).

I did many visualisations and meditations to break down the walls around my heart so I could feel again and navigate with my heart.


After a month of feeling it all – lying in bed crippled with emotional pain, howling at the full moon, dancing naked by my camp fires, screaming into the wild winds of the ocean – a peace finally settled over me.

The depressive ache around my heart, started to fade.

I started to hear my soul again.

My trip became pleasurable once more.

My presence in each moment made the world around me more vibrant.

My presence in myself made ME more vibrant. People were attracted to me, often times walking up to me and talking to me as though we were old friends.


One morning, after a long beach walk and a swim in the ocean, the weather turned bad and I climbed into my van to read.

Prepare your resume my soul whispered. Send it out to these women.

So that’s what I did…


Part 6 coming soon.


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Tales of Transition Part 4: Free-falling like Alice down the rabbit hole


Two months volunteering and backpacking through Costa Rica and Panama, I returned a different woman.

What I’d learnt from my hostess, Anna – a beautiful voluptuous Costa Rican who was the finest vegetarian cook I have ever known – and the small community of Ostional where I volunteered, was that life, when stripped back to it’s simplicity – eating, sleeping, spirituality, family, friends and nature – fills you up to overflowing.

How was it that we made it so complicated? How was it that I had made it so complicated?

And in the complication, how was it that I’d come to feel so empty.


I knew I could not return to my old life.

I started to put a new plan in place.


I began a very slow process of – what I now call – stripping for the soul.

I started to re-evaluate my values and willingly – often times unwillingly – strip back everything that no longer fit.

I knew I could no longer work a 9-5 work week. In fact, I knew I couldn’t last in the corporate world much longer at all. That had to go. But it couldn’t go immediately because I needed money. So I struck a deal with my employers and moved to part time work. Since that day I have never worked in a full time corporate gig again.

A re-evaluation of my values told me that the status I believed I earned for driving a fancy convertible car was no longer important to me (was it ever important? I think that was someone else’s definition of success I had taken on as my own). I sold my car and started walking everywhere.

I worked damn hard to get myself out of debt. I knew, deep down, for the next leg of my journey (whatever that would be) I would need money so I started saving every penny.

Somewhere in here my sister and I started a blog – before blogs were cool and all the rage. It was our little haven of creativity to explore veganism, cooking, sewing, photography, writing and growing food.

I cut back buying new clothes, going out on weekends and stopped taking drugs.


It is at this point in the journey where my old life started to die.

Yet, rather than let the space created in the death open and allow something new to flow in in its own timing, I tried to fill the space myself.

Worried that working part time was not going to lead me anywhere, that I would be perceived as unsuccessful, I looked around at other people my age who were further along than me, had found their passion and making a difference in the world, I decided I needed a passion, too – and fast!

Not knowing what that passion was, I made one up.

Environmental Science – I loved the environment so why not study it?

I dived into a four year degree without barely a thought.

Forcing myself forward before I was ready.

Far far down, in a place I did not want to look, I knew this was not for me. But, too terrified of the nothingness, I decided this would do.


Life continued on. And the stripping continued.


My five year relationship came to a devastating end.

The friendships I had made through my endless weekends of partying, now felt surface level and fake. They were done.

My sister, who I lived with, built a blog with, had the MOST fun with and who was my one and only friend, moved overseas.

I became an empty shell with no friends, no lover, no passion, no career, no status, no idea who I was.


And while all this stripping was happening on the outside, a huge untangling and stripping was happening just as intensely on the inside.

My sexuality, my belief systems, my value systems, my spirituality, my view of the world – all of it got twisted and turned and flipped inside out and then back the other way.

It felt like my whole world was crumbling and I was free falling like Alice down the rabbit hole.

I tried to cling to the old or any kind of certainty but it seem to crumble in my hands.

I tried to force my way through. I tried to think my way through. I tried to plan my way through.

But it seemed everywhere I turned was road blocked.

There were people who thought I was having a mental breakdown.


I wasn’t. I was being broken open. I was in the midst of a major transition.

And I was completely alone.

There was no one around me who was in this same space. No one who could explain to me what was going on.

Everyone I knew seemed to be living happy, passion-fuelled successful lives.

The women I followed online through my blogging community all posted happy stories of how to “Find your purpose” and “Live your dreams” (this is a DANGEROUS thing to do – if you have an online home please don’t do this!)

I started to believe there must be something really wrong with me.

I started to tell myself stories: You’ll be stuck in this darkness forever. You are the darkness. You cannot trust your soul. You have no gifts. You have nothing to offer the world. You are worthless. You are destined to suffer. (Stories I would later have to go back and heal)


Fast forward four long, harrowing years.

I finished that University degree, if you’re wondering.

It was hell.

And yet it was the best lesson the Universe has ever gifted me. I learnt NEVER to fill the space of nothingness with stuff that does not feel right.


I was in the unknown still (now with one useless degree under my belt and $20,000 poorer because of it) – completely clueless, completely directionless, with no sign at all from the Universe of what I should be doing next.

My life was done. I was ready (or I believed I was ready) to start the next thing.

But the next thing refused to show itself.


So I waited. And waited. And waited.

I thought perhaps the universe had forgotten about me. Five years (and counting) is a long time to be in the dark.


Then, one morning in bed, I sat up and thought to myself “I’m going to buy a campervan.”

It was a ridiculous idea and created more questions than answers. Yet, it was the first clear guidance I had received in years…


Read part 5 over this way.


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Tales of Transition Part 3: I business-consulted the fuck out of my life



I drove my blue Holden Barina into the city of Brisbane.

As the sun disappeared and the darkness dropped in, the city lights danced across the winding river.

“Wow” I breathed. “Brisbane, you are beautiful.”


I’d arrived with nothing. No plan. No job. No place to live.

I was certain it would all work out.

House sitting a friend of a friend’s house for a week, I set about trying to get my life in order.

First was a job. Which I got on the second day, as a bookkeeper for a fancy fruit shop in the fancy part of town. “Start tomorrow” he said. And I did.

Next was an apartment. Which I got a week later, in a dodgy suburb about 15 minutes from the city and my work. The walls were paper thin, I could hear EVERYTHING my neighbours were doing. But I could just afford the rent.

I took my stuff out of storage and set up house.

Brisbane would become my home for the next eight years.


One thing my parents instilled in me from a very early age was a good (so good it was bad) work ethic. This served me well in the corporate environment.

Bosses loved me because I worked long and hard. Clients adored me because I was young, sweet, ready to please (self-worth issues much?), relatable, and I got the job done.

I quickly made my way from receptionist to bookkeeper to business consultant to senior consultant without any formal training.


When my partner at the time hit 30, he had – what we jokingly (not jokingly) called – a quarter life crisis. He flipped the fuck out.

I think I was 25 or 26 at the time. I watched him with interest and decided then and there that would NOT happen to me (famous last words).

So I did what I always did when there was an issue that needed solving. I business consulted the fuck out of my life. I strategised, I project managed and I put into place a very solid five year plan, to ensure at the ripe age of 30 I would be top of the corporate ladder, have heaps of money and a university degree to boot.

I told myself, at 30, I’d have nothing to worry about.

I certainly would NOT be having any quarter life crisis.


The Universe laughed.

My soul was under there somewhere kicking and screaming “Don’t do this!

But I was too high on six figure incomes, a huge ego and recreational drugs to notice.


Fast forward a couple of years – and I had it all. I was 28 years old, a senior consultant, a huge pay packet, a business degree almost complete, a fancy convertible car. The universe had delivered.

My life was ticking all the boxes. I should have been happy.

But I wasn’t.

That creeping depression was there every day.

Before work on Mondays, I’d lie in bed, the sense of doom in my stomach pouring out through tears.


I had been contracted out to a mining company to do some consulting. This wasn’t new. I had worked on mining sites many times before. But this time something was different.

As I flew into that mine site , it was like I had suddenly woken from a deep sleep and was seeing the world – my world – for the first time.

They were digging up the earth, destroying the land, all for the sake of money.

I could feel the pain of the earth pulsing through me.

This was the very thing I was against.

I was not only contributing to it, but capitalising on it!


Once you’ve seen something, you cannot un-see it.

I started to ask myself some bigger questions: What is the point to this? Is this all there is to life? How am I contributing to the world in a way that is meaningful? What am I here for? What is my purpose?

Alongside a newly forming passion for veganism; alongside the creeping depression that was not-so-subtlety telling me “this lifestyle is not for you”; alongside a growing concern for our world and our environment, I could no longer stick my head in the sand and pretend everything was okay.


One morning, I was sitting at the end of my boyfriend’s bed in just my bra and undies. He had a mirror at the end of his bed. I looked up and stared at myself in the mirror.

I had no idea who I was.

Who is this person staring back at me?

I had created the perfect life. I had done all the things “they” told me to do – get the job, the relationship, climb the corporate ladder, make the money.

The problem was, in doing that, I’d veered so far off my own path, I’d completely lost sight of who I truly was.

Nothing in my life felt like me – not even me.

Something had to change. But, when you have no idea who you are, you have no idea what you truly want.


Little did I know, I was about to enter one of the darkest periods of my life.

Looking back, I can see that it was at this very moment, I began to drop into the unknown. That space in between stories as Charles Eisenstein calls it. Where the old life is done but the new life is yet to make itself known. It’s a space where I would remain for a long, dark, frustrating seven years.


Lobbed into my inbox one afternoon came an email from my university. They were looking for volunteers to work with endangered seas turtles in Costa Rica.

This is for you” my soul whispered.

Finally, I started to listen…


Read part 4 here.


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Tales of Transition Part 2: A west coast adventure, drugs and depression


He peered over the bar at me with his long lashes and droopy eyes. Assuming he was stoned, I made the shape of a pipe with my fingers and mouthed Mary Jane over the loud music.

We both laughed.

His name was Evan and he was travelling with his mate Ben all the way around Australia. They were carpet layers – a very lucrative occupation as I would later discover – and they’d stopped in Darwin to work and cash up.

The sports bar I worked at in the evenings had become their local.

The three of us quickly became friends. Then, Ev and I became more than friends.

I had been in Darwin for only a few short months. My life was work and party, in no particular order. I was trying to dull the relentless depression that had followed me from Alice Springs to Darwin.

It wouldn’t go away.

When the guys asked me if I’d like to leave and travel with them down the West Coast of Australia, I said “Yes!”


It certainly did not make sense.

I’d just moved into a flat with a friend – how would I tell her and break the lease? I had no money – bartending did not pay well. I had really only just got settled and now I would leave – what would my Mum and Dad think of this now? I had two cats that would need a home – could I really part with these babies?

It seemed like an illogical, irresponsible, almost impossible plan.

Yet, as I would come to learn, every time I committed to me and my path – regardless of how ridiculous it sounded – the universe always conspired to help.

Doorways opened. Road blocks were smashed.

New tenants took over my broken lease almost immediately.

My parents – bless them – as always, supported the idea.

I managed to wrangle a fortnightly government allowance by telling some sort of sob story – I can’t even remember now. But they believed it.

My ex happily took our cats – he had always wanted them.


And, once again, I found myself travelling with two guys.

Kissed brown from the Australian sun. A wide grin of freedom plastered across my face. Sleeping every night in a giant tent close to the earth. Exploring the magical landscapes of Australia.

I felt alive again.

We worked our way down the west coast and along the south coast of Australia. The guys sometimes taking odd carpet laying jobs. Me, trusting on my fortnightly government payment and picking oranges and grapes to pay for fuel.


When we arrived in Albury Wodonga, the home town of Ev and Ben, things changed.

The depression I’d ran from in Darwin returned with a vengeance. Stronger and nastier than ever before.

Every morning I would wake with its strong fist clenched tightly around my heart. I would do anything not to have to feel it. Not to have to be with it.

I smoked weed every day to try to escape it – I’m sure this made it worse.

I expected Ev to make me happy . He didn’t and couldn’t. Our relationship eventually ended.

The cold winter of Victoria certainly did not help – I’ve always chased the sun.

I told myself it was the shit job and hours I was working. I talked my way into my first receptionist position at an Accounting firm – no more night or weekend work – but the creeping depression remained.

I partied away entire weekends in a blur of drugs, dance floors, strange men, crazy circumstances and toxic relationships.

Then I’d spend Sundays in bed wishing I was dead.

Even now, looking back on that time leaves me with a dark sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.


What I didn’t realise then, but what I know now is this depression was calling me inwards.

This way of being was done, old. I’d outgrown it. It was time to create something new.

But to do this, I would have to pause in the darkness. I would have to find the courage to do an internal clean up and get quiet enough to hear the next steps. Then consciously lay a new platform on which to build this next phase of my life upon.

Nothing I did in the external world was going to work until the internal exploration began.

But, back then, I didn’t have the knowledge, awareness or tools to navigate a dark unknown.

I just thought I was broken, sick, destined to suffer – a story I would start and continue to tell myself again and again for years to come, creating a spiritual wound I would later have to go back and repair.

So I ran.

Three years after I arrived in Albury Wodonga, I took out a loan, quit my job, loaded my stuff onto a removalist truck and headed for Brisbane.

Perhaps the sunshine would help.


Read Part 3 here.


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