I've unintentionally made a habit of moving countries every few years or so. And I always thought I was a homebody. I like the idea of roots, tradition, family. But I'm a writer, so I guess the bohemian life is part of my genetic makeup.
I've spent a majority of my life in Australia, on the west coast, and although I was born in Perth, the capital of Western Australia, I grew up in the country. The real country - wheat, sheep, silos, and miles and miles of open space. I acquired a taste for it, which is good, because some twenty-five odd years later, here I am again, in flat prairie lands, with wide open skies. It just happens to be on the other side of the world, that's all. Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
In between here and there, I've spent time in Bougainville, Papua New Guinea, and had my first child there. We departed in the middle of a civil war, and ducked bullets all the way to the airport. Fun.
Back in Australia, I had my second child, and ended my second marriage...
Enter the Internet. I was the first person I knew to get an Internet connection. When my friends asked me what on earth I was going to do with it, even I wasn't entirely sure. I just knew it would be of immense benefit to me, a single mum, house-bound, with two kids, to be able to spend her evenings after the kids had gone to bed using another language beside two-year-old-speak. A month or so after getting my connection I knew exactly how much fun the Internet was. I just never thought I'd end up meeting my future husband in Cyberspace.
Yep. I did. We reached the point where we were talking seriously about marriage. There was just one small problem. He was in Canada. I was in Australia. We were both poor struggling writers. In the end, by stint of selling off everything I had of material worth (including, oh, about six hundred books), we raised enough money for tickets and to survive for the duration of the six month visitors' visas, and flew to Canada. Well, I'm still here. And I'm married. Happily. Who said Internet romances don't work out?
Throughout it all, the one thing I always did intend to do -- and I'm pleased to say I'm still doing it -- is writing. I've written everything. Romances, action/adventures, short stories, autobiographical pieces, screenplays, novels (9 at last count, and lots of others warming up in the wings). I've won awards (including a national one), been published, I teach writing whenever someone will pay me to, and can't resist an opportunity to talk about the craft and tribulations of the profession. I've reached that deeply satisfying point in my life where all my friends are writers, too. It saves a lot of complications. At least I'll never have to explain to them why I won't quit this crazy notion about being a writer and get a real job.
