I was born right over on the other side of the world in England, where the sky was often grey and was so low that you could almost reach out and touch it. My sister was born a couple of years after me and we enjoyed a few warm summer days under the lilac tree, on the lawn of our parents’ house in Southeast London. (It was great: a park nearby had ducks and squirrels and, next door, David’s friend Jim did magic tricks…but that’s another story.) We stayed in England until my dad found a job in Australia, when we came here for a year to test it out — and it was wonderful! We travelled all around the country in a campervan. My sister doesn’t remember much of it, she was too young, but I remember lots of good adventures in rivers and craggy bushland (with goannas and bushrangers and other stuff stories are made of!).

We lived in Sydney, next to Zelma who had grown-up daughters and a cranky black cat called Mrs Lou. (Zelma made the perfect Vegemite toastie. Maybe I’ll have to write it into a book one day, like my favourite dessert in Mariella and the Stars.) Zelma taught me how to draw stick-animals and she loved it when I told her made-up stories, so did my sister who would ask me for more, and more, and more…and that’s where it all began. I’ve been making up stories ever since.

We loved it in Australia, but we had to go home. Then, a year later, my dad got a letter to say he had a permanent job, so the house was packed up and we all shipped out — for good, this time. The shipping container was stuffed with books: we all love stories, not just me.

It was strange at first — all that sky, and so much space! — but I got used to it…Saturdays at tap-dancing and then drama classes, Sundays spent exploring at Balmoral Beach and West Head.

I went to school (a few different ones, actually) — still making up stories and performing them in plays — and then university, where I learned how to write better and better ones. I also fell in love with puppets. (Can you tell?)

And I went travelling — all the way back to Europe…but it didn’t feel like home anymore. I missed the bush, and the huge blue sky, and the sandy beaches. So I came home again.

And then I had to get a job. I had a few different ones before I found the perfect two where I can do what I love every day: editing (working freelance as Texture) and writing books (as just me). And I even get to do it from home now, where I can eat as many Vegemite toasties as I wish (but they’re still not a patch on Zelma’s). Oh, yes — and from Bali, when I’m Editing in Paradise.