My take-it-easy strategy meant that I didn’t register for the workshop on Friday, and I was glad of that decision! Instead, I went into Newtown (an inner Sydney suburb) and met up with my good friend, librarian Vassiliki, for morning tea, in one of Newtown’s many cafés. Then a stroll down King Street, and short visits to an amazing button shop, a bead shop, and A Coffee and a Yarn. I managed to resist the temptation of pretty things, however, and didn’t buy anything.

Friday afternoon was the booksigning, organised by the Australian romance Readers Association in conjunction with RWA. It was great fun! We authors were seated alphabetically – so I was between my good friend, Valerie Parv, and fellow Outback Romances author Fiona Palmer.

After the booksigning came the cocktail party. There’s always a fancy dress theme, although no requirement to dress up. I had originally planned not to wear a costume, but then had an idea that fell in to the Fantasy theme, and was easy to execute. I fast-forwarded to 2012, and wrote up a series of frontpage newspaper articles, announcing major literary prize wins for various romance authors. I stuck them onto two sheets of cardboard, which I wore as a sandwich board. It was a fun bit of fantasy, and gave a few people a good laugh.

Highlights of the rest of the conference included, of course, the awards dinner on Saturday night. It’s always a lovely night, friendly and buzzing with positivity, and this year was no exception. I didn’t win the R*BY award in my category, but huge congrats to my good friend Tracey O’Hara, who did! The winners in the short romance categories were the lovely Sharon Archer, and wonderful Madam Res of RWA, Amy Andrews. The long romance category went to historical author Sophia James, who I haven’t met, but I’m sure she’s fantastic, too!

The workshops on Sunday included a very interesting, if somewhat unsettling one, by a Forensic Pathologist. A lot of very valuable information, sensitively delivered, about investigating the cause of death. After lunch, I attended quite a different workshop, delivered by a martial arts expert who trains the military, police, journalists going abroad, and airline staff, in fighting techniques. Not only did he know his stuff, he was a great performer, too, with expert comic timing. I guess it was less serious because we’re fiction writers, and not frequently confronting potentially dangerous situations in real life ourselves. But I learned heaps, both of relevance to writing fight scenes, and to real life. Hopefully I’ll never have to use any in real life, but at least I have more knowledge than I did!

Another part of my take-it-easy strategy was to stay on in Sydney on Sunday night, instead of racing home Sunday afternoon. I am SO glad I did. It was so much more relaxed, and I enjoyed the winding-down with friends, having a cocktail in the bar with a few others, then going out to dinner with a small crowd.

On Monday, I drove home with the wonderful Kelly Hunter, and we had a great trip. She drove, and I took notes while we brainstormed ideas for her next book series. It was a heap of fun, bouncing ideas and possibilities around, and now I can’t wait for her to write the series!

Since getting home, life has continued on, quietly busy. I’m still waiting on word about my next surgery, but it may be some weeks yet before I know the date. In the meantime, I finished putting together a photo album for Gordon’s mother’s 80th birthday, and posted it off – only a day or two late! (She didn’t seem to mind!)

Yesterday was another pleasant trip ‘down the hill’ to Bellingen, two hours drive away, for a meeting of the north coast 4 Points Author Network group of RWA. It’s a a great group of women, and a lovely drive amongst the peaks and ridges of the Great Dividing Range to the Dorrigo Plateau, and then down the escarpment to Bellingen, nestled into the river valley at the foot of the hills.

I’ll leave you with a couple of views from the road to Dorrigo:

The major news is that, after months of struggling with it, my publisher, agent and I have decided that the book I was drafting and redrafting and redrafting – the third Dungirri book – just isn’t going to work at this point. Yes, that was a hard decision to make, and I know some readers are going to be disappointed (part of me is, too), but I know that it’s the right decision for now. It took me some days to come to terms with it; it’s very hard to let go of a book and characters that I’ve been working on for a long time! However, my plans now are to power on with a brand new book – new characters, new setting, new story – but at some stage, once that’s finished, I probably will write the third Dungirri book – although how, when and where it will be published I don’t yet know.

Now I’ve got past the disappointment stage, I can confess I’m feeling excited again – I’m no longer struggling to push a story uphill, and I can enjoy the thrill of starting a new idea. While I haven’t actually written a heap of the new book yet, I have the beginning, and the hero and heroine have been taking shape in my mind. I like them They’re not perfect; they each have some flaws or edges that should make them interesting. I think I’ve also worked out the initial crime and the person behind it, and yes, that will keep my protagonists on their toes! No news on publication date, yet, but probably mid-late next year. (I know, it’s a long wait. I’m sorry about that. But since I have major surgery ahead, and we can’t guarantee how much concentration I’ll be able to focus on writing in the next few months, we can’t commit to earlier than that.)

The weekend before last, G and I went for a long drive, partly to visit an area which I wondered about for the setting of the new book. Plus, we like driving through wilderness areas. By the end of the day, I’d decided that the setting wasn’t quite right for this book – I envisage it further west – but we had a lovely day out, anyway.

We drove north and a little west, up to the tiny community of Torrington, where we drove down the main road:

and conversed with some of the residents:

(The road through Torrington is also a common, where the cattle calmly graze.)

We then wound our way through the eastern edge of the Torrington Conservation Area (not quite a National Park, but similar):

which is granite country, rugged and rocky:

Then on through the rolling hills of the tablelands, up to within coo-ee of the Queensland border:

We then travelled west along the Bruxner Highway for a half-hour so, before turning south and coming home via Ashford and Inverell – but the wind was chilly, so I didn’t hop out and take any more photos!

Although the Torrington area is a wonderful place, this new book is telling me that it wants to be set further west. So, I’ll probably have to plan another trip or two soon; perhaps a couple of nights away, to revisit some places I’ve been to numerous times before, but this time with a writer’s eye.

in the meantime, I’ve got two new characters to get to know even better… and I’m thoroughly enjoying that!

Most of the native wildlife is nocturnal, though, so we often wonder about what we don’t see, or see only rarely – like koalas, dingoes and feather gliders…

Our dogs spend each night in the dog ‘run’ – a large fenced area, about 25 metres by 25 metres (yes, bigger than the average house block!) There are plenty of trees in the run, and it’s surrounded by trees. The dogs often bark at night creatures, and every now and then a possum spends the night up one of ‘their’ trees, having wandered into the run during the evening when the dogs aren’t there. (A few weeks back, we rescued a baby possum, huddled on top of a fence post; we took it to a tree outside the run, which it scampered up quickly!)

On Tuesday morning, when Gordon went to take the dogs for their morning walk, they were interested in the occupant of a tree on the edge of the run. This is one of Gordon’s photos:

No, it’s not a possum (Australian possums are cuter than North American ones). We’ve never seen one of these before, and had to check on the internet… it’s a spotted quoll, a carnivorous marsupial, native to Australia and a threatened species. It scampered off to somewhere safer while Gordon and the dogs were out for their morning run – we don’t know if it lives locally, or if its territory is further away – apparently they can roam about 6 kilometres in a night.

Maybe we should go out spotlighting at night some time, and see what else is living in the bush with us!

ANZAC Day was observed in both Australia and New Zealand from 1916 – the year following the landing – and now commemorates those lost in all the wars and military actions in the decades since then.

In honour of the day, I bring you some poems by CJ Dennis, from The Moods of Ginger Mick, a verse novel first published in 1916. Dennis’ highly successful The Sentimental Bloke, published the year before, had introduced Ginger Mick, a rough, larrikin rabbit-seller from the back streets of Melbourne and good mate of The Sentimental Bloke, who narrates both books. The Moods of Ginger Mick was written in the early years of the War, and tells, through the Bloke’s eyes, of Mick’s somewhat reluctant volunteering as a soldier, and his experiences at Gallipoli. I’ve always loved it, and some of the poems still move me to tears every time I read them. Yes, there’s a strong current of patriotism and nationalistic pride throughout, but looking beyond that, there’s also an emotional honesty: Mick may become a hero, but he’s no shining, cultured knight, and The Bloke tells with heart-wrenching rawness of the costs of war on those left behind. One of the things I’ve always loved about CJ Dennis poems is that he is, at heart, a romantic – realistic and definitely male, but the rough, tough Bloke and Mick have feelings and struggle with them, and don’t shy away (much!) from admitting that to themselves.

For those interested, you can read all all of Mick’s story in the fourteen poems of The Moods of Ginger Mick here. They’re very much written in Australian vernacular, but you can check the Glossary for unfamiliar terms.

Below the fold, I’ve included excerpts from two poems.

Extracts from The Call of Stoush

Wot price ole Ginger Mick? ‘E’s done a break -
Gone to the flamin’ war to stoush the foe.
Wus it fer glory, or a woman’s sake?
Ar, arst me somethin’ easy! I dunno.
‘Is Kharki clobber set ‘im off a treat,
That’s all I know; ‘is motive’s got me beat.

Ole Mick ‘e’s trainin’ up in Cairo now;
An’ all the cops in Spadger’s Lane is sad.
They miss ‘is music in the midnight row
Wot time the pushes mix it good an’ glad.
Fer ‘e wus one o’ them, you understand,
Wot “soils the soshul life uv this fair land.”

A peb wus Mick; a leery bloke wus ‘e,
Low down, an’ given to the brinnin’ cup;
The sort o’ chap that coves like you an’ me
Don’t mix wiv, ‘cos of our strick bringin’s-up.
An’ ‘e wus sich becos unseein’ Fate
Lobbed ‘im in life a ‘undred years too late.

‘E wus a man uv vierlence, wus Mick,
Coarse wiv ‘is speech an’ in ‘is manner low,
Slick wiv ‘is ‘ands, an’ ‘andy wiv a brick
When bricks wus needful to defeat a foe.
An’ now ‘e’s gone an’ mizzled to the war,
An’ some blokes ‘as the nerve to arst “Wot for?”

Wot for? gawstruth! ‘E wus no patriot
That sits an’ brays advice in days uv strife;
‘E never flapped no flags nor sich like rot;
‘E never sung “Gawsave” in all ‘is life.
‘E wus dispised be them that make sich noise:
But now – O strike! – ‘e’s “one uv our brave boys.”

…

Why did ‘e go? ‘E ‘ad a decent job,
‘Is tart an’ ‘im they could ‘a’ made it right.
Why does a wild bull fight to guard the mob?
Why does a bloomin’ bull-ant look fer fight?
Why does a rooster scrap an’ flap an’ crow?
‘E went becos ‘e dam well ‘ad to go.

…

The call wot came to cave-men in the days
When rocks wus stylish in the scrappin’ line;
The call wot knights ‘eard in the minstrel’s lays,
That sent ‘em in tin soots to Palerstine;
The call wot draws all fighters to the fray
It come to Mick, an’ Mick ‘e must obey.

The Call uv Stoush! … It’s older than the ‘ills.
Lovin’ an’ fightin’ – there’s no more to tell
Concernin’ men. an’ when that feelin’ thrills
The blood uv them ‘oo’s fathers mixed it well,
They ‘ave to ‘eed it – bein’ ‘ow they’re built -
As traders ‘ave to ‘eed the clink uv gilt.

…

War ain’t no giddy garden feete – it’s war:
A game that calls up love an’ ‘atred both.
An’ them that shudders at the sight o’ gore,
An’ shrinks to ‘ear a drunken soljer’s oath,
Must ‘ide be’ind the man wot ‘eaves the bricks,
An’ thank their Gawd for all their Ginger Micks.

Becos ‘e never ‘ad the chance to find
The glory o’ the world by land an’ sea,
Becos the beauty ‘idin’ in ‘is mind
Wus not writ plain fer blokes like you an’ me,
They calls ‘im crook; but in ‘im I ‘ave found
Wot makes a man a man the world around.

…

Lovin’ an’ fightin’ . . . when the tale is told,
That’s all there is to it; an’ in their way
Them brave an’ noble ‘ero blokes uv old
Wus Ginger Micks – the crook ‘uns uv their day.
Jist let the Call uv Stoush give ‘im ‘is chance
An’ Ginger Mick’s the ‘ero of Romance.

So Ginger Mick ‘e’s mizzled to the war;
Joy in ‘is ‘eart, an’ wild dreams in ‘is brain;
Gawd ‘elp the foe that ‘e goes gunnin’ for
If tales is true they tell in Spadger’s Lane -
Tales that ud fairly freeze the gentle ‘earts
Uv them ‘oo knits ‘is socks – the Culchered Tarts.

Extracts from “A Gallant Gentleman”:

A month ago the world grew grey fer me;
A month ago the light went out fer Rose.
To ‘er they broke it gentle as might be;
But fer ‘is pal ‘twus one uv them swift blows
That stops the ‘eart-beat; fer to me it came
Jist, “Killed in Action,” an’ beneath ‘is name.

‘Ow many times ‘ave I sat dreamin’ ‘ere
An’ seen the boys returnin’, gay an’ proud.
I’ve seen the greetin’s, ‘eard ‘is rousin’ cheer,
An’ watched ole Mick come stridin’ thro’ the crowd.
‘Ow many times ‘ave I sat in this chair
An’ seen ‘is ‘ard chiv grinnin’ over there.

…

An’ now – well, wot’s the odds? I’m only one:
One out uv many ‘oo ‘as lost a friend.
Manlike, I’ll bounce again, an’ find me fun;
But fer Poor Rose it seems the bitter end.
Fer Rose, an’ sich as Rose, when one man dies
It seems the world goes black before their eyes.

…

Trent tells ‘ow, when they found ‘im, near the end,
‘E starts a fag an’ grins orl bright an’ gay.
An’ when they arsts fer messages to send
To friends, ‘is look goes dreamin’ far away.
“Look after Rose,” ‘e sez, “when I move on.
Look after … Rose … Mafeesh!” An’ ‘e wus gone.

….

An’ so – Mafeesh! as Mick ‘ad learned to say.
‘E’s finished; an’ there’s few ‘as marked ‘im go.
Only one soljer, outed in the fray,
‘Oo took ‘is gamble, an’ ‘oo ‘a ‘is show.
There’s few to mourn ‘im: an’ the less they leave,
The less uv sorrer, fewer ‘earts to grieve.

…

A gallant gentleman … Well, let it go.
They sez they’ve put them words above ‘is ‘ead,
Out there where lonely graves stretch in a row;
But Mick ‘ell never mind it now ‘e’s dead.
An’ where ‘e’s gone, when they weigh praise an’ blame,
P’raps gentlemen an’ men is much the same.

They fights; an’ orl the land is filled wiv cheers.
They dies; an’ ‘ere an’ there a ‘eart is broke.
An’ when I weighs it orl – the shouts, the tears -
I sees it’s well Mick wus a lonely bloke.
‘E found a game ‘e knoo, an’ played it well;
An’ now ‘e’s gone. Wot more is there to tell?

A month ago, fer me the world grew grey;
A month ago the light went out fer Rose;
Becos one common soljer crossed the way,
Leavin’ a common message as ‘e goes.
But ev’ry dyin’ soljer’s ‘ope lies there:
“Look after Rose. Mafeesh!” Gawd! It’s a pray’r!

The best laid plans, as Mr Burns says, are apt to go awry. On the Monday, with my leg still painful, I figured I’d better go to the Emergency department at the hospital, a short walk away, just to have it checked and be sure that the femoral artery wasn’t leaking. After the usual hours of waiting in ED, I was admitted to hospital, but by this time the doctors and I were reasonable confident that the femoral artery was okay, and hoped this would be confirmed by a CT scan the next day. Yes, the scan confirmed that the artery was fine – but it found a blood clot in the vein right next to the spot in the artery where they’d accessed the artery, possibly a result of all the poking and prodding and pressing during the procedure. (Yes, I believe I muttered a rude word or three under my breath!)

So, I spent a week in Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, on a heparin drip and easing on to warfarin for its anti-clotting properties, having frequent blood tests to check clotting levels, but otherwise feeling quite fine. It was a bit hard and lonely being in hospital with Gordon and the rest of my family so far away, but since I wasn’t really ill, it wasn’t worth all the expense of Gordon flying back to Sydney (plus accommodation, plus kennel fees, etc…) My friends in Sydney were wonderful and came and visited several times, and my sister came up from Canberra twice, so I wasn’t short on visitors or neglected! The staff – medical and nursing – were fantastic; caring, dedicated, sympathetic and friendly. I can’t speak highly enough of them. Anyone cynical about human nature should spend some time with neuro-surgery nurses and doctors!

Last Sunday, when it looked like I’d be in hospital for quite some more days until the medication levels were right, I asked one of the doctors whether it would be possible to be transferred back to Armidale, to the hospital here. I didn’t hold out a lot of hope – but on Monday morning, the neuro team swung into action, and by lunch-time they’d found a physician to take over my care at Armidale Hospital (not real easy in a small town), booked a bed, and booked the patient air transport. At 2pm, the patient transport team (registered nurse and driver) arrived, and I was wheeled out of RPA. At Bankstown airport, we pulled up right beside the small plane, and I met the pilot, and transferred to the plane – opting to sit up rather than use the stretcher, so I could enjoy the view.

For a writer, of course, the flight was a great opportunity for some research, and Mike, the RN, was happy to answer my questions. The patient transport service wasn’t a full air-ambulance; while there’s an RN accompanying the patient, they don’t do emergency cases – emergency air ambulance services are contracted separately to other organisations. But it was interesting, nonetheless – and a quick and easy way to get back to my home town! By 4.30pm, I was in Armidale Hospital, in a single room, blissfully quiet, enjoying the view of trees and country town landscape without any skyscrapers, and looking forward to seeing Gordon when he finished work.

I had two nights there, but yesterday was discharged, and oh, how lovely it was to drive out of town and come home! The dogs barked and licked and snuggled up and covered me in fur, and I enjoyed a mug of proper tea, made from tea leaves, and then had an afternoon nap, during which no-one woke me for observations or medications And wonderful, too, to have a proper internet connection again… while the iPhone let me check emails and do some web things while I was away, the small screen and the difficulty in typing quickly meant I only did the essentials. The dogs and I did a gentle afternoon walk as the sun was setting, and I breathed in fresh autumn air, and enjoyed the twittering of the birds and insects and the peace and beauty of the bush around me.

Now that I’m home, and my laptop and I are reunited, I need to get more serious work on book 3, First Light. Hospital is not conducive to writing, or even much thinking about writing, but I have had a few ideas which I’m looking forward to working into the manuscript. So, after I see my doctor, have today’s blood test, and do some grocery shopping, it will be back home to the laptop and, I hope, some productive writing. Oh, and gentle dog-walking in the late afternoon light!

Then a browse amongst the shops for a while, before coming back to the apartment to wait for Gordon, who arrived on a later flight. We’ll go foraging for some dinner when he gets here – Newtown has plenty of cafes to choose from!

Tomorrow I’ll be walking across the road to the hospital for a test procedure on my aneurism – I expect to stay overnight, but fingers crossed we’ll avoid complications this time! I’m hoping to be out Thursday, so will update the blog sometime after that. The only Internet connection at the moment is my iPhone, so it’s a bit awkward typing

Thanks to everyone for the many congrats and messages about my RITA final – yes, I’m still grinning!

However, we’ve had a fair amount of rain this summer. In this part of the country we don’t get cyclones, or a ‘wet’ season, but in summer we do sometimes get the tail-end/after effects of the cyclonic weather systems that occur in northern Australia. So, we get mild summer storms, and sometimes periods of rain – and this year, although there’s been no really big storms, we’ve had some good falls, and lighter falls on a regular basis. Gordon keeps track of rainfall, and we had 134mm in January (that’s 6+ inches), and yesterday was the first day in about 12 days that we didn’t have rain. I was thinking just the other day what a wonderful climate – no too hot, not too humid, gorgeous sunshine, beautiful fresh mornings, a fall of rain in the afternoon or evening – what could be better?

The result of all this rain is that the countryside is currently green. Not the thin hint of new-growth green which is what we usually call ‘green’, but long, green-grass green – lush, abundant, green. Greener than I have ever seen in my 22 years here.

Now it looks like England! Walking along the road yesterday morning, I was reminded of wandering across fields and down lanes in the UK – although there are certainly differences. Wider roads, no hedges, and no village every couple of kilometres!

Here’s a few photos from yesterday’s morning walk:

The main road into town is a stock route, part of a network of roads, tracks and reserves that are an important part in Australia’s grazing history. Stock routes originally enabled the movement of stock between properties and markets; these days, most stock are transported to market by truck, but the stock routes still play a critical role, providing alternative grazing in times of drought, and enabling graziers to keep some stock rather than having to sell it off when their own paddocks are dust. Mobs can be out in the ‘Long Paddock’ for months, accompanied by a few drovers and their dogs, horses and bikes.

For the past couple of weeks, there’s been a large mob of cattle out on the main road, gradually moving up and down the road, overnighting in the Travelling Stock Reserves that are located every five or so kilometres. For a couple of nights, they camped on the first kilometre of our minor dirt road, penned in by a very rough temporary fence, which I had to open and close to get home the other day  – I managed to avoid the barbed wire, fortunately!

Temporary fences aside, I don’t mind the cattle on the road. It slows the trip into town somewhat, as you have to slow down to a crawl in places, and the mob can spread over a couple of kilometres in a lazy day’s grazing, but it’s part of Australian bush life, and I’d rather see stock out droving rather than starving in their home paddock, or going to the abattoir for a few cents a kilo. Plus there’s something quite peaceful about cattle grazing in the long grass beside the road, just mooching along, strolling across the road when the grass seems greener or longer on the other side, finding a nice shady tree in the middle of the hot summer’s day….

You don’t see this so often in eastern NSW, but in the west of the state, and on back roads, it’s reasonably common. I remember one trip to Canberra on the back roads, some years ago when the drought was terrible, and I passed through more than twenty mobs of cattle and sheep in one day, the long paddock their owners’ only hope of retaining some stock.

I confess to a little envy, though, for life on the road – although the realistic side of me wouldn’t really want to do it for long! Being a writer, though, I can give my characters experiences like that – in As Darkness Falls, Bella spent a lot of time, as a youngster, with her drover father, out on the roads in the west of NSW.

Australia Day is tomorrow – so, when we’re celebrating the great things about this country, I’ll be thinking not about beaches, but about the road through the bush, or over the flat plains, and a mob of cattle, mooching along in the sunshine.

I hope everyone had a joyful Christmas season, and that 2010 will shape up to be a wonderful year for you all.

The year isn’t my only new beginning lately. I’ve been working on book 3… but I was struggling. I was behind after the medical dramas, it took some weeks to get my concentration back to normal – and then the book still wasn’t working, every word and scene a battle. On December 28 or thereabouts, as I was thinking about the book, the thought occurred to me… ‘what if I changed it?’ On December 29, at around 1pm, I opened a brand new Word document, and started all over again. Same premise, same characters, but a different beginning, leading to some key differences in the plot.

Sometimes, you have to know when to start again. Tough as it was to throw out a heap of work (okay, it’s saved on the computer, just ‘thrown out’ in my mind), the structure of the story simply wasn’t going to work as it was. It’s now much better, much stronger. The heroine – a new character to Dungirri – is active from page 1, and in danger from about page 6, which is a good way to start a story! I’ve also found a better way of dealing with some of the challenges of this book; the hero, Mark, was a secondary character in the previous two books, and is – or rather, was – a politician. Yes, I know – making a (former) politician heroic is a tough ask! I do like Mark as a character, though – I’ve always seen him as a man of integrity, dedicated to serving his community, and with many layers beneath the courteous surface. The new structure sees him introduced in the book in chapter 2, but as a hard-working grazier, out in the paddocks, rather than in any political role. We see him, too, through the heroine’s eyes, and she doesn’t know him, so she sees him as he is, the man behind the public face.

I’m so much happier with the story now, and on the right track with it. However, it’s due in at the end of February – so things are going to be quiet around here for the next two months, while I take inspiration from Nora Roberts’ hard working example and discipline myself to write, write, write!

Sometimes a writer’s just got to do what a writer’s got to do….

For a chance to win a SIGNED copy of Dark Country, in 25 words or less tell us who you consider the most romantic Aussie couple and why. It can be a book, film, real-life story, or you can make up your ultimate Aussie romance.

You need to enter over at BookThing, in the comments section of the review post, by midnight Friday Sydney time. I’m enjoying reading the entries, so do go and join in the discussion.

I’d find it hard to enter, though – there are too many Aussie romantic couples I love! From the classics – Meg and Alan from Ethel Turner’s Seven Little Australians, and other books; Norah and Wally from Mary Grant Bruce’s Billabong books; and of course there’s also CJ Dennis’ The Sentimental Bloke and his Doreen – a little different from the previous two, being written in colloquial language, for adults, by a male writer, about a rough, working-class larrikin from Melbourne’s back streets, but wonderful and touching as The Bloke falls head over heels for Doreen.

Then there’s also D’Arcy Niland’s Call Me When the Cross Turns Over – the Cross in the title referring to the Southern Cross constellation – with it’s story of Barbie Cazabon and Jack ‘Fascinatin’ Kippilaw. These are two great characters, neither of them perfect, but definitely a great match, despite the trials they endure before they finally work it all out. The book is out of print now, but if you like Australian literature from the 1950s, it’s worth checking second-hand book shops for it.

As for real-life romantic couples, since I was a small child, I was always inspired by my aunt and uncle, Eileen and Arthur:

This is a photo through glass of a scan of a photo – but aren’t those smiles just beautiful? In my memory, they were like that all the time – aware of each other, devoted to each other, and showing that love constantly in many ways. Much older than my parents, they had grandchildren around my age, and it was wonderful a few months ago when one of the grandchildren and his wife came and stayed with us – and they smiled at each other in just the same way