I’m trying to be a writer. No! I am a writer. I’m trying to be a published writer.

My study which overlooks trees in Sydney’s northern suburbs, is littered with unpublished manuscripts and half-written stories. My street library at the bottom of a steep driveway is bursting with books and jigsaw puzzles, because I have too many.

I’m a South-African born Aussie, mother of two grown-up children, who lives with a man and two cats.

I have many excuses for my unfinished work. A day job. No deadlines. Self doubt. But my debut novel (a YA predictive future/Sci Fi) is close to completion, with a sequel drafted. I dabble in many genres, but environmental issues and themes of the beauty and brevity of life on Earth (and Australia in particular) are ones that recur in my writing.