My story

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I love Stories

Even as a young girl, I’d perch on the kitchen bench, hugging my knees as dad told shark tales from his early fishing days. Great whites and tiger sharks circled in my mind, launching from the depths to spit half-chomped fish from gaping jaws. ‘Stop!’ I’d shriek, my toes curled into the wood. Then, breathless, “Keep going.”

Mum could always tell a gripping yarn.

On long car journeys, with no devices to keep us entertained, and the Beach Boys tape too hot to play on continual repeat, mum would launch into one of her infamous PB and Skelly stories. Miles of countryside whisked by unnoticed as I was swept off on daring adventures with the unlikely duo - a bumbling polar bear (PB) and a bone-jangling skeleton (Skelly). Time and again they’d thwart the evil plans of the Wicked Witch of Wooloomooloo and save the day.

Books captured my imagination early on.

At bedtime, Mum read to me. We’d sail the seas with Captain Pugwash, wreak doggy havoc with Super What-A-Mess, search for beasties with Professor Wormbog, or join one Mr Men or other on his journey to becoming a better man. There’d be secret gardens to uncover, age-old mysteries to solve, and Revolting Rhymes to giggle at from beneath the doona.

My parents fuelled my fire for other stories, but also urged me to relish my own.

My childhood felt like a million different adventures. Not just because it was dotted with sprawling paddocks, fat farm horses, beach camping holidays, and a cast of crazy cats and dogs. But because, even the small things and the harder things were part of me, living my story, carving out my own little trail in the world. I travelled to and from school in the city – two trains, a bus, and a long walk with my heavy backpack, filled with school books. Even that was an adventure in my mind. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I’d hitch a final ride from my horse, who’d wait for me at the bottom paddock in the hope of a left-over muesli bar at the end of the day.

I was an average student, more interested in chatting than studying.

I lived for weekends and holidays with friends, for big sleepovers in the shed, and horsey days roaming the neighbourhood. I mostly flew under the radar with schoolwork, until my Year 9 English teacher praised me for a piece of creative writing about a boy on market day in the Middle East. I’d been keeping diaries already by then, scrawling down my own little life stories and imaginings. I already loved to write, but her encouragement helped me realise I might be able work with words. I studied Public Relations and Marketing at university and got jobs in corporate writing. But I always dreamed of writing a fiction novel.

Over the years, I've had some great adventures!

I've been lucky enough to travel to some incredible parts of the world. Wild places always draw me most – teaming forests and soaring mountains, red deserts and quiet waters. I’m definitely happiest in nature. Luckily, where I live in Australia, there’s lots of it, right at my back door!

When my two sons came along, I did what my own parents had done. I read to them. I told them stories.

Their favourites were made-up adventures of a boy living in the Amazon Rainforest. I drew from my own experience exploring the Peruvian Amazon in a dugout canoe, and added a good dose of action and drama, and they were hooked! But even though they loved stories, they never wanted to sit still long enough to read one themselves. They were too busy outside - exploring, digging, running, building cubbies, fishing. It was not uncommon for me to spend ages searching for my eldest son, only to find him up a tree, and I had many near misses with home-made spears, and other hand-made hunting artefacts left lying around the house.

In my sons’ early primary school years, the need to hone their reading skills became clear.

My older son also struggled with dysgraphia. I trolled the library shelves for books that would entice them. They had no interest in the wonderful world of wizardry or in secret spy mysteries. Instead, they wanted realistic outdoor action! Once I’d exhausted the likes of Bear Grylls and Steve Backshall, and some other harder-to-find authors in the genre, I found it more and more difficult to source books that would appeal. “So…” my husband finally said, “why don’t you write one?”

And so began another adventure...

You’d think after so much writing and reading, it wouldn’t be too hard to pen a children’s novel.

I even had my topic – the Amazon adventures my boys already so loved! But I was in for a shock. It took me 19 versions, including five major re-writes, to finally complete my novel! I spent years learning about story structure and narrative writing, pouring through copious guidebooks; listening to online courses and podcasts; writing and deleting and writing again. I worked with three professional editors; consumed everything I could find about the Amazon Rainforest; and sought advice from two expert anthropologists who had lived with Indigenous Amazonian people. I consulted twenty awesome kids for their input; and was under constant critique from the two young outdoor enthusiasts living under my own roof!

Writing a novel has been a huge undertaking!

But here I am, at the end of a journey, with a lot of learning under my belt, and hopefully, a story you might enjoy. Perhaps you love nature like me? Maybe you’re a tree-climbing, dirt-loving, fish fanatic like my boys? You may like wild predators, or unusual insects or dark jungles? Or perhaps you’re an explorer at heart, intrigued by travel and the unique people and places of the world? Wherever this book finds you, I hope you are creating your own adventures and relishing your own stories, and I hope you might escape for a while in the pages of one of mine.

Happy reading!