​25th of July – who can believe it? Time flies when you’re having fun and learning how to keep another human being alive.
It’s been nearly seven weeks since Holly was born, but it somehow feels longer than that. I suppose that’s because having a child is such a major change. There have been numerous challenges in the past few weeks. However, I have managed to meet each one, even though sometimes I felt like I was crumbling. Holly is getting better and better at settling herself in the bassinet overnight, which makes for more sleeping. To be honest, I’m now able to sleep deeper than I have for nearly a year. The moment I fell pregnant, I struggled more with my nasal issues due to extra hormones and so on. And that meant disrupted sleep. Plus, there’s this little thing called “pregnancy insomnia”, which is about as delightful as it sounds. Towards the end of my pregnancy with Holly, my rhinitis was so bad that I would wake up every hour or forty-five minutes, struggling to breathe. So it’s a pleasure to be able to sleep deeply again, although it makes waking up to Holly’s cries even harder, because it’s like coming out of a stupor. Duh… hi… huh, hello Holly… etc.
Holly is beginning to stay up more during the day now, and that’s uniquely challenging because I have little idea how long babies this age are meant to stay up for and what we should do with her, as she’s not particularly mobile. Lots of mat time I guess. I spend time talking to her and singing to her. I’m not sure what she thinks of “agitata da due venti”, but it’s fascinating enough for her to watch me in intrigue.
When Holly was only about three weeks old, I received an editing job from my publisher for the sixth volume in The Fledgling Account. That is, it’s the sixth volume but the seventh book, because volume five got split into two. Just to keep you on your toes. You think you can count but volume six is book seven. That’s Maths in a fantasy fiction world. Needless to say, I was rather stressed at the prospect of doing revisions on something 151,000 words long (why did I write something that long? what was I thinking?). I was granted an extension but wound up doing it in the usual time anyway for two reasons – one, it’s so complicated I needed to keep my head in the game; and two, what else am I going to do for eight hours every day when I’m sitting around breast feeding? Editing one handed actually worked a whole lot better than I thought. Poor Holly might have heard me reading some of it aloud at some points to rework it. Perhaps that didn’t make for good sleeping!
So in summary, it won’t be long before my next book is released! It picks up where Consort left off. Rafen has just broken the curse that was spreading beneath his skin, slowly destroying his body. He has freed many of King Talmon’s slaves from his coal mine and stolen the Tarhian king’s best ship, in which he is voyaging to Siana to reunite with his wife and claim the throne. And then as usual, all hell breaks loose – back in Siana, Richard Patrick is planning to execute Francisco, Rafen’s twin brother. And the Lashki Mirah gets to Siana before Rafen, where he begins to poison the country, using Richard Patrick as his puppet king.
This particular book was extremely difficult to edit because there are two full battle scenes with armies clashing and aerial combat involving dragons, etc. These were incredibly complex to write, and I had already edited them several times before ever putting the book before a publisher. However, they still needed work. To be honest, the only thing that stops me working on a book is finally releasing it.
When I finished editing the book, I was very much relieved for sure. And Holly was that much older and bigger already. It’s hard to believe that she’s nearly seven weeks. An advantage of having revisions to do on a manuscript directly after her birth is that I can put her in the dedication. It’s weird – I never imagined dedicating any of The Fledgling Account books to my own child. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a kid. I just never thought I’d be blessed with one.
So that shows that life sometimes takes you places you didn’t expect in even your best dreams.

​It’s been a little while since I last wrote, and life has changed drastically for Michael and me since then. Last time, I was contemplating how soon our little addition would be here. Now Holly Margaret Deborah Bracefield is already eleven days old, and I am in the throes of new motherhood, changing more nappies than I ever have in my life and becoming acquainted with the strange vagaries of breastfeeding. Like many things in life, motherhood is a weirder experience than you might initially believe. I can’t deny I’ve had many fears about motherhood. One of my greatest fears has been that I might lose myself. To good Christian girls from the sorts of circles I grew up in, perhaps this isn’t all that relatable… or maybe it is, and you’re all keeping rather quiet about it! But I’m just coming clean – like any secular working woman out there who has enjoyed travelling and exploring and other general freedoms of the early twenties (including having a glass or two when I want), I do worry about losing “myself”. It’s a selfish concern at a time like this, but there it is. I’ve had a very successful career as a music teacher for the best part of nine years, had six fantasy fiction books published internationally, and enjoyed singing in front of audiences sometimes in the thousands. And at the moment, my achievements for the day sometimes only consist of getting through one more breast feed and emptying the nappy bin outside. Of course, I must remember that I am in fact keeping another human being alive, which is a mammoth task. And along with keeping my dog and two pot plants alive, sometimes this seems an insurmountable responsibility!
I take things a day at a time. I have exceptionally good days with little Holly, where I manage to have a sing, do some exercise, do a little writing, take her out for a walk, and play some piano. And then I have abysmal days – or at least, in my selfish mind, I think of them as abysmal; they are actually crucial days for her, because those are the days when she does nothing but breastfeed because she’s having a growth spurt. Some days I feel that I’ve managed to keep everyone, including myself, very happy, and we’ve all done things we wanted to, even the dog. Other days, I must sacrifice my own happiness for the survival of my child – and my pet. I hope to return to work in term four of this year. But at the moment, I can’t even contemplate it, because I’m still adjusting to motherhood and everything is so fresh and new. And life with a newborn, while it is often house-bound, is nonstop – even at night.
Holly actually came two weeks early. I finished working at thirty-seven weeks pregnant, with the last lesson of term being a recording for a digital singing exam. My student did well on this exam, as I discovered after Holly’s birth, and so I feel that I finished everything on a good note, no pun intended. The following week I went into early labour. I started to get Braxton Hicks contractions, sometimes as many as three every ten minutes. Labour failed to establish for several days, however. I took long walks to encourage things along, and sometimes had such a strong contraction that my leg would seize up mid-stride. My husband and I called it the “rubber leg”. I would tell him to wait for me when we were together by calling out behind him: “Rubber leg, rubber leg!” I encouraged labour along because I didn’t want to be in limbo forever. Besides which, I had the most awful pregnancy rhinitis, meaning I was waking every hour in the night even though I didn’t have a screaming child calling for me. I simply couldn’t breathe properly overnight, due to all the hormones and all the extra blood flow. So I was ready to birth, so to speak.
My midwife (and the back up midwife that I also knew) were both off at the time that I lost my waters over the weekend. This meant that the early part of labour was a “series of unfortunate events”, where doctor and midwife after doctor and midwife wrongly told me I had some sort of infection (whether in my blood or in my amniotic fluid), and they passed me around like a hot potato, without the benefit of knowing me or my medical history (or caring, it sometimes felt). I went from Chinchilla Hospital to Dalby Hospital, where I hoped to birth. But they sent me off in an ambulance to Toowoomba Hospital, despite my protests, and my water birth was cancelled because of an infection that we later discovered did not exist. By the time I got to Toowoomba, I was despairing of having a natural vaginal birth, because my labour kept stalling. I simply wasn’t at peace enough and wasn’t being given enough space to let my body do what it needed to do. This meant I was very pushy at Toowoomba Hospital, and they definitely saw my cross side. I told them exactly how I wanted to labour, told them that I wasn’t going to lie down for them or do anything like that, and was rather going to move around the room and use various positions to get labour moving again, and they could examine me how they wished if they could work around me. Thankfully, they supported me in that and commended my desire to have a vaginal birth (which I expressed in no uncertain terms). Michael backed me up every step of the way. They put me on oxytocin to get labour established – and wow, did it establish labour. I came to regard it as a form of torture by the end of the night. The first two thirds of labour I felt was very manageable. I was on the drip for nearly twelve hours, and the first eight, maybe even nine hours, were fine. I breathed through the contractions and used music, heat packs, and pictures of my favourite things to help get me through. I ate between contractions and kept my fluids intake up. Michael was with me every step of the way. But once I really started dilating, I saw the ugly face of labour. I turned down all pain-killer right till the end, thinking I could cope. But in the last hour and a half, I begged for morphine, because I was in absolute agony and could barely move. At this point, they examined me and told me they couldn’t give me morphine because I was fully dilated. This should have been a cause for rejoicing, but I was devastated for my own sake that I had left things too late for pain killer. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to hold my own child, so even when they kept telling me that I was about to have a “beautiful baby”, it fell on deaf ears. I stupidly didn’t expect crowning to hurt as much as it did, so I have to admit I didn’t push as hard as I should have initially, because I thought I must be tearing. In the end, the room was invaded by all these extra midwives, and they got me up on the bed for the very last stint and told me I had to push now otherwise they would do an episiotomy. This was because Holly’s heartbeat had started to drop in those last few minutes, and it was probably because I was so distressed. I finally pushed like an animal, and as I suspected, I did tear. But at that point, it really only took three or four good pushes to get her out. It was the weirdest feeling, and I was so numb with the pain afterwards that it took me fifteen minutes at least to register that I had my daughter in my arms. They told me Holly was very advanced because she cried the moment her head popped out and began to pee the moment her body was free.
So according to my official records, I’m due next Monday. But I already have the baby, and she’s eleven days old. I’m able to type all this now because she’s sleeping today – I have a good feeling about today, but tomorrow might be different. Interestingly, when I met Holly and saw how alert and healthy she was, I knew I’d made the right decision about painkiller. It was the right decision for her. But it wasn’t the right decision for me at the time. And I suppose this is the nature of parenthood. You make decisions for the good of your child, even if it puts you through agony sometimes. So I’m glad I chose the labour I did, in the end.
Anyhow, I now have an interesting few weeks ahead of me (or should I say eighteen years… lol). Michael and I are about to discover a new rhythm of life that puts Holly’s good first. I do love my girl, and I can’t wait to see her grow, even if it means very painful days of ceaseless breastfeeding. In the meantime, I will find a way of continuing writing and making music somehow – but some days in this crucial newborn stage, they’ll be on the back burner. I’m blessed though that I can write via dictation while I’m breastfeeding – and that Holly loves music, so I can sing and play for her, and it soothes her. Perhaps one day she’ll be doing artsy things of her own.
In the meantime, here are some pictures that show the craziness of our last couple of weeks. Enjoy! 

It has been an unpardonable length of time since I last wrote. What can I say except that pregnancy is hitting me hard? I had not anticipated feeling quite this tired. But I suppose one is supporting another human being inside oneself. In my fourth book, one of the main characters is pregnant throughout most of the saga, and all I can say is that it's a good thing I made her a somewhat supernatural being called a Secra, because if I hadn't I would find her feats during pregnancy unbelievable. Mine are limited to (1) getting up in the morning, (2) making the bed, (3) doing some form of exercise with remarkably less energy than I am used to, (4) teaching some students, (5) feeding and cuddling my dog, (6) having coffee, food, and naps, and having more coffee, food, and naps. And of course (7) writing. Writing I find substantially easier than music practise, because singing requires a great deal of physical energy, which I don't always have.
However, my research on hypnobirthing has taught me that the diaphragmatic breathing used with singing is actually supposed to be helpful for getting your child out eventually. So I continue to do some form of music practise too, in the hope that it will help me get this child out.
I am nearly 36 weeks as I write this. Hopefully not long to go.
In the meantime, I am 60,000 words into a new project, all about a girl in her late teens in South Australia, coming to terms with what she believes after coming from a strong conservative background. The only trouble is, I don't know swags about what South Australia is like, but it felt right as a setting for the story. If any of my readers have photos or stories about South Australia and its climate, counties, regional towns, and culture, feel free to share them. Always happy to learn more.
Of course, I intend to travel there one day, but my current situation doesn't permit great deals of movement, and all the state borders are currently closed, I believe - or most of them are. I know Queensland is stubbornly keeping her borders closed, because apparently New South Wales has cooties. Of course, I shouldn't laugh about it, but it is rather amusing how terrified everyone is of germs in the present time, when we have lived with germs and pathogens for thousands of years, and our immune systems are actually boosted by coming into contact with them in a reasonable manner.
I predicted personally that our Coronavirus cases in Australia would peak between 10,000 and 15,000 before the outbreak slowed down. It is interesting that our outbreak appears to have slowed down at 7000. But I believe that as we loosen restrictions, the inevitable second wave will occur. There is nothing we can do to stop second and third waves, because even a vaccination will not have a one hundred percent success rate. We shouldn't necessarily be terrified of second and third waves either, because they are necessary for our people to gain some sort of exposure and immune response to this new disease. The only way we will overcome the virus is by learning to fight it. It cannot be avoided. I do feel that much of the western world is behaving like a medieval town in a siege at the moment - nations shutting themselves inside and hoping the enemy will magically go away by the time they emerge. But food and work shortages, mental health and economic distress will eventually drive us out again, where we will find the enemy waiting outside our walls as before. A head-on fight is inevitable at some stage... good treatments and gradually strengthened immune systems are likely the answer.
But perhaps I just say that because I own a sword and I'm that kind of girl. I'm aware of course that I am immuno-compromised, being pregnant. And I don't know what would happen if I caught Coronavirus. But I also refuse to live in fear. Life must be lived, and it must be lived courageously. 
Thankfully, restrictions are easing somewhat around Australia, and we are beginning to move about more normally again within our states. There seem to be two categories of people responding to the easing of restrictions - those for whom it can't come soon enough, who are outside basking in the sunshine with friends and having take-out coffee; and those who are still downright petrified, moving about in surgical masks and gloves and calling obsessively for everyone to stop being so selfish and "stay home and save lives!". But before one develops deep convictions about how one should respond to easing restrictions, I would like to remind everyone that even the experts know very little about this virus and what sort of course it will take over the next five years. Many people like to say "I'm listening to the science! I'm taking my advice from the medical experts!" But at the moment, there are no true experts when it comes to Coronavirus (barring perhaps the mysterious researchers in the P4 Wuhan Lab) - there are simply those who are making educated guesses and those who are making slightly more educated guesses. But a guess remains a guess, and hard and fast policies and ways of life should not be based on hypotheses. And lastly, I always find it amusing when people cry "science!" as if it is an objective standard and the final word. Science is only as objective as those who practise it. And even in the scientific community, there are differing opinions and those with agendas. So "science" is seldom an objective standard. It is something that someone practises - a bit like singing technique or origami. Neither of these things are objective standards in themselves - their merit is dependent on who is practising them. So a healthy personal investigation of all things seems to be the prudent way forward.
Here ends my pontificating for today. I shall have to have a nap if I continue too long.

In the meantime, my seventh book in the Fledgling Account series is currently being revised and edited for publication. And for the first time in eight and a half years, I am winding down my music studio for a bit of a break while I go on maternity leave soon. It feels bizarre to be on the cusp of finishing work for over a term, but there it is. My child needs me too, and I will need to learn how to keep another human being alive.
My poor dog was violently ill a week or so ago, and I was able to nurse her back to health gradually. Hopefully I am as successful at facing trials with my child. Who knows.
I am in denial about my size being encumbering, so I have still been kayaking when I can with my husband. We were even able to see sea eagles on Chinchilla Weir again. I will include some pictures from the past couple of months with this post for your amusement.
And if you want to read something less political by me, don't forget: Rafen is cheap as chips and an eye wallopingly crazy read for those who are game.

Wow, what a year so far. If I was an American pastor right now, I'd be like: "Can I get an amen? Amen!"
Anyway, my first positive thing is that I at last have the paperback of my latest book to get published. Consort to the Shadows, Part Two - in the flesh! Feast your eyes. Ruth Germon and Tristan Fisher did an amazing job on all those covers. I love looking at my books and feeling that sense of joy that I did it, I got them published and made it through all the hard rejections. God is still good, even when times are tough.
And oh the irony. I was flicking through the book, and of course, Rafen has this terrible spreading skin disease that the Lashki has cursed him with - and it causes eventual suffocation if it's not checked. So he spends a lot of the book coughing, etc... anyway, spoiler alert, he survives and makes it through even the worst days. Not only that, but he achieves the freeing of numerous slaves and does much good along the way.
Just a little hint to those reading this blog post - this might be a good year to get some reading done. And the ebook of Rafen is still $0.99 USD as an ebook, and it doesn't mention the coronavirus once. You heard that right. You could spend some happy hours away from the media in an entirely different world and have an adventure. So for a dollar, consider enjoying an escape from this world's problems. Take a brain break, become a hero with a sword, and battle the odds. It's book one of the series, and I've never had anyone hate it properly unless they're a fantasy book burner anyway. So have a go!

Coronavirus is said to cause trouble breathing, and boy, can I feel it already. All the restrictions in place - all the social isolation - I can feel that stranglehold getting its grip firmly on Australia day by day. I did some research, and I couldn't find any information on the last time social distancing measures were used to this extent globally in response to a disease. Does that mean the disease is bad? Well, yes. But it's not as bad as other diseases that have spread across the globe before. Humanity has survived worse. So what's going on?
My honest answer is that I don't have a clue. I don't one hundred percent trust the media, and haven't for some time. Fear motivating is a common factor in times of political change. We've seen it with the War on Terror, and we've seen it with climate change. Just because someone published it in the news doesn't mean it's true. I've been in numerous news stories due to my books and not one of them was one hundred percent accurate. In fact, with most of them it would be difficult to find one 70% accurate. One of us stuffed up the information, and it wasn't me. And that's on a story that doesn't have global significance or the ability to influence mass decision making. If you had that kind of power - if I had that kind of power - what might we write?
So guys, I'm begging you in this time: do not believe every word the media says. Don't believe every dire prediction, don't take every story as gospel. They have falsely reported the "facts" on large stories before and they'll do it again. We might all be losing our jobs and our contacts in life, but there are people out there who are furthering their agendas through this. Someone will always capitalise on a disaster. I know the media, like any industry that relies heavily on the written word, has struggled to keep journalists in a job. But you can sell a lot of subscriptions through fear, for example. It's not right, but the temptation is there, and I don't think many large news corporations (and small news corporations) can resist it. Lastly, take it from a writer - I can see sensationalist story writing techniques a mile off. I studied journalism in uni too. And as a fantasy fiction author of a large series, I know when a writer is leaving space for cliffhangers and more dire predictions to keep people reading. I know how to mount the tension through words and leave people hanging. And that's precisely what the news media is doing constantly at the moment. We are not getting "just" the facts. We might not even be getting all the facts.
It looks like - thanks to our governments - that we will not have any option soon but to stay inside for the long term. And we're not getting any solid predictions on how long this might last. Because everyone is trying to preempt a disaster, we're making decisions based on fear and not one hundred percent on evidence. However, there are things we can do inside. Make music. Read books. Write books. Paint pictures. Sing. Play board games. Watch Lord of the Rings for the four hundredth time. Take up pilates or a new exercise routine. Eat lunch outside in the Queensland sunshine every day, if you're lucky enough to live here.
Of course, I have a baby due this year, mid June. I don't even know if I'll be able to birth in a hospital. I'm hoping I will but there's no guarantee of anything at the moment. Even shopping for things for my baby has become hard, because more and more shops are closing. And grocery stores frequently sell out of stuff like baby wipes, because people are out of toilet paper. Crazy times. I'll find a way to take care of my baby somehow. But this is the cost of needless panic. People lose a great deal more than their ability to breathe, due to coronavirus. People use jobs, friends, refreshing activities that are good for mental health, freedom, joy, and hope. That's the price we're paying to prevent the disease from spreading. People say: "It's just for a little while, just to flatten the curve." But we don't know how long it will be. The government isn't saying, and we have yet to see a free western country come out of complete lock down. And we don't even know if it will be effective. You can show me all the graphs in the world, but it doesn't convince me that the virus won't spread somehow. Take flies for instance. A fly lands on someone's eye, flies off, and lands on someone else. They're not going to socially distance. Our governments think they can control this, but they can't even control the movements of flies. So is it all worth the price we're paying? Take it from an immuno-compromised person - I don't think so. And if I do get sick, I'm not going to lie in a hospital bed and make a video to be shared virally on the net, blaming everyone who didn't stay home. Because that's life. Diseases spread, and we are in control of far less than we think.

So those are my thoughts on all of this so far. I'm doing my best to stay off fear mongering news sites, like the ABC, like the Daily Mail (which is often very unreliable in terms of facts anyway). I'm going to do my best to stay true to myself in all of this - keep my faith, keep writing exciting stories, and keep singing my songs. And God willing, in June I'll be singing to my dear little one, who'll be born in a time of confusion that they won't know or care about. And I hope my baby will just be able to sleep in my arms, knowing my love and feeling the peace that distance from the media and panic buyers can bring.

The first month of 2020 has brought some painful changes, sadly.
But I have to start at the beginning - we had New Year's Eve, of course, and I tried my hand at making oliebollen for the first time. Oliebollen are a Dutch traditional dish that is eaten around New Year's Eve. It's basically just a deep-fried Dutch doughnut, served with copious amounts of icing sugar. I decided it was time I gave it a go, considering the fact that I am full-blooded Dutch (even though I've never visited Holland). It turned out surprisingly well.

Early in January, we headed away on a cruise to North Queensland. Before this time, we had some trouble finding friends who were available to take care of our dear little dog, Peyton. However, in the end a couple of friends volunteered, and we let them take Peyton out to their farm, twenty kilometers out of town. 
We cruised with P&O, and in all honesty, neither of us are particularly keen to do it again. The actual boat had the atmosphere of a floating pub or a badly crowded food court in suburban Brisbane. Cruising is meant to be about enjoying the journey as well as the destinations, but all I can say is that the destinations were fabulous and the journey was a necessary evil. The decor of the ship was like a muddy nightmare from the eighties, and the one swimming pool they had was the size of a small living room. The maximum bathing load was fifteen and no jumping was allowed, so naturally as many as twenty children could be seen lining up along the sides and jumping in almost simultaneously, narrowly avoiding killing the thirty people already packed in there. Needless to say, being in that pool was a hazard to both my health and my baby's, so I didn't spend much time in there at all during the cruise - even though we were voyaging to North Queensland in the hottest part of summer. Additionally, I know I'm a snob, but the live entertainment was rather pitchy at times, and the ship just felt too crowded overall. Clearly I don't do well being trapped on a boat with two and a half thousand other people.
But the good thing was that our destinations were amazing. We went to the Whitsundays, Cairns, and Port Douglas. My husband Michael and I had experiences like seeing some of the Great Barrier Reef, visiting Kuranda Butterfly Sanctuary, and cruising down the Daintree River spotting crocodiles. We also had the pleasure of swimming in Mossman Gorge in the Daintree Forest, which was simply paradise. Port Douglas is infinitely better than Cairns, by the way. I have never seen anywhere so green or so beautiful.
We had three days at sea after seeing these destinations, and once we entered reception, we had a phone call from our friends to say that Peyton had gone missing during a storm and been missing for thirty-six hours already. My heart just plummeted. I couldn't understand how it could have happened. Sadly, our friends were not used to taking care of a small dog and had left her on the veranda while they had gone out for a time. The veranda was, they thought, enclosed. But any gap large enough for a cat is more than large enough for a Yorkshire Terrier. This is the reason I have always put Peyton in her crate when we are out and advised friends to do the same, so that she can feel safe and cozy, even if there are scary sounds or thunderstorms.
We were in Brisbane on receiving the news, and we disembarked and our friend Russell picked us up swiftly so that we could head home. We took all the toll roads and drove through several storms to get there. The moment we were out on our friends' farm, we started looking. But it was hopeless. There was nowhere on their farm that would have felt safe, warm, and soft enough for Peyton to hide. Everything was made of clanging metal or scraping wood. The landscape was desolate, and not far from their house, a wedge-tailed eagle was wheeling in the sky. I called her, sang to her, and eventually just cried for her. I still can't believe that she's gone. It's been over two weeks now since she vanished. She was my writing companion, my friend, and my fellow explorer. We saw New Zealand and Australia together.
Our friends were deeply sorry too, and one of them volunteered to come with me to Brisbane a few days later, when I wanted to visit some Yorkshire Terrier breeders. I couldn't bear to eventually bring Peyton's things home and not have my dog. It was too painful. I still feel her absence really keenly. But I was blessed to be able to bring home another Yorkshire Terrier called Heidi. Heidi has a similar bloodline to Peyton's and a similar temperament. She's also five years old - the age Peyton was. Sadly, Heidi had been living in her and other dogs' feces, so she was matted, grubby, and filled with fleas and other parasites. It's taken a while, but I've cleaned her up and it's her time to shine. Like Peyton, she didn't really know any commands when I got her, so I've been toilet training her and teaching her basic things like "sit" and "come".
School has begun, and it feels weird for all the regular schedules to start up without Peyton being around - she was such a huge part of my life. It really does feel like there's a hole. We never found her body, so I still pray that maybe she'll be alive somewhere, and that she'll be safe. But I don't know, and it's incredibly unlikely.
I'll always remember my first ever proper pet, Peyton. I don't know where she is. But she lives in me still, having changed me and made me a more patient and kind human being. Our new Yorkie Heidi is a lucky girl, to come after such a predecessor - because Peyton taught me how to love animals, and Heidi is benefiting from that.
A bigger journey is still to come, when our child will be born in the middle of the year. I will need to learn to love and care for a baby too, which is a huge task.
Maybe one day I'll have to write a book about it all. 

Well, it's the last day of 2019, and all the jokes about 2020 vision have escalated to the point where one can only hope everyone's new year's resolution will be to avoid terrible puns. It's been a crazy year to look back on, and a real adventure for both Michael and I.
On January 8th, we immigrated to Australia permanently and entered the often adventurous Queensland. The heat was immense, but in three or four weeks we were pretty used to it, as you either fry or survive (we may have done a bit of both). I have to admit I had my fears about coping with the wildlife and the unique challenges of living regional, but both have proved to be very unfounded. Even termites don't scare me as much anymore, and after seeing a few snakes in the wild, I've discovered they're not all that terrifying either. In fact, they're probably very terrified of me (particularly justifiable, if they knew me). Perhaps the biggest challenge about living regional is coping with the lack of rain. People on the coast think they've had a dry year, but they really don't know the half of it. Chinchilla hasn't seen rainfall above 10mm for months on end, and the drought just seems to continue. Time after time, we all check the forecast only to see that once again, there's no rain forecasted for the next ten days. It can be hard to imagine how life continues without proper rainfall, but it does seem to. Obviously farmers are getting very desperate, and even the animals are getting desperate. But we carry on as best as we can in the hope that God will provide, and it will rain again and the drought will break just like the last one did. 
As far as making things work job wise out here, we've done very well. Michael has been teaching secondary school at our local Christian College, and I've been teaching up to forty music students a week and two classes of literacy extension (creative writing) students. We've purchased a house here and are living very happily in it. Peyton, our dog, has settled into Australia beautifully, and copes with the heat often better than we do. Additionally, I've had two new books published this year: Consort to the Shadows Part One and Part Two. This has felt like a particularly exciting achievement for me, as neither of these books have been published previously - they are entirely first editions. There are only two installments left in The Fledgling Account series now, and once they are out then I will have completed my literary magnum opus. I doubt I shall ever write a series this big again - the work involved is simply mammoth, and I've probably gone as far as I can into inventing a whole separate world with its cultures and accompanying languages.
To top things off, we visited New Zealand for ten days around the time of Christmas this year, and caught up with the family once more. Christchurch was freezing and rainy (why can't they share some rain with Chinchilla???), so staying inside was mandatory so that I didn't get sick. Then we flew to the North Island and visited the Bay of Islands and Hamilton. The Bay was beautiful as always, but very windy this year, meaning kayaking was rather fierce. The waves buffeted me around no end, but I usually got where I wanted to go and was rewarded with very pleasant views on the way there and back. In Hamilton, we saw my immediate family and shared Christmas with them. The colder weather was a true shock. Now we're back in Queensland, listening to the squawking of parrots and experiencing the quiet thrum of the earth as the heat builds and builds day after day. It's dry here, but I wouldn't go back to New Zealand to live if you paid me to, even though it's hard to explain exactly why. Everyone has their preferences, and for me Queensland is home now. My citizenship may be dual, but in my heart, Australia is my home. 
Next year is going to bring some radical changes for us as a family, as we are expecting a rather different sort of sequel in June, of course praying that everything goes well. I'm not the clucky baby type to be honest, but I've always wanted to have a child - so Aussie baby here we come. Can't wait to show you the wonders of Queensland as well.

It's been some time since I had multiple books release in one year, but it looks like 2019 could be a lucky one! My publisher has notified me that this Monday Australian time (Sunday American time) Consort to the Shadows Part Two will be releasing, meaning we will sneak in one more book release this year - the first (Consort to the Shadows Part One) having taken place on February 16th. This will be my sixth book to be published, and my eighth publication in general (I have been published in two anthologies previously). All pretty exciting stuff really!

Consort Part Two is a sequel in my series The Fledgling Account. After this book is published, there will only be two more left in the series. The finale is coming.

Here's a short list of everything you need to know about this series:

- It's epic fantasy fiction (similar genre to Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones)
- It's targeted at young adults (similar expected audience as Harry Potter or Red Queen)
- It has a boy main character who ages in real time
- Enemies include ghouls, pirates, and nasty dragon riders
- For a young adult series, it is reasonably serious in that a fair few characters die and the story-line is not idealistic. A better word would be "gritty".

Here's a quick description of the series as a whole from the "Store" section of this website, where you can find purchase info and cover art:

The Fledgling Account
Outrageously busy fantasy fiction that wallops you in the eye. Suitable for young adults... or anyone else ready for an adventure.

Nazt has come. It speaks into the hearts and minds of men. It seeks to control them - and drive them to their own destruction. In King Talmon's coal mine, there is a slave. He and his name will change the world. 

One enemy. One Phoenix. One divinely appointed representative. 

Rafen holds the fate of all in his bruised and bleeding hands. Now has come the age of swords, of feathers, and of kings. The last war is here. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The story behind the series is just as interesting as the series itself in some ways. I started writing Rafen, the first book, when I was merely ten years old, and I signed my first writing contract at age eighteen, and signed an international multi-book publishing contract when I was twenty, which landed me several prominent interviews and some attention in New Zealand newspapers. It's been a very long journey, and I'm now twenty-six. But to have books traditionally published at any age is an achievement, and I'm proud to have made it this far before I've turned thirty. I've always wanted to write the sort of thing I enjoy reading. These books have been a labour of love for me, and I've really poured heart and soul into them.

If this series sounds like something you're interested in, feel free to start right at the beginning, with Rafen, the slave boy who went from 237 to Fledgling of the Phoenix. It's a mere $0.99 USD ($1.40 AUD) to get you started, so not too much of a gamble for a once in a lifetime adventure.

If you've been following Rafen as he grows up, stay posted for Monday's release. Consort Part Two will reveal both a whole new side of him and of his apparently invincible nemesis the Lashki Mirah. 

It seems I have neglected entirely to write about November, which is probably no wonder as it was a frantically busy month of school term. We are nearly at the end of term now, and it's certainly a great relief. In less than two weeks, we shall be on holidays.
During November, the Christian College put on their musical, Mary Poppins Junior, which was overall a success and much appreciated by the community. And on the last Saturday in November, I was able to run my student recital for the first time in Australia. The event went really well, and all the parents of the performers went away beaming and talking about how fantastic a night it was - which was brilliant considering it was a 38 degree day, and the church hall we had crowded into seemed to get hotter with each additional breath we took. We did have air conditioning on, but it lost some effectiveness once a hundred people were all inside.
In the meantime, it just gets drier and drier here. We do get a splash of rain from time to time, but it's a millimeter here, or three there. Nothing much to write home about unfortunately. The weather has begun to sizzle again, and this coming week will be a series of 39s and one scorching 41. It's perfect weather for water recreation, but the sad thing is that the Weir isn't looking too good. I nearly cried the last time I saw it - the pontoon was grounded and the boat ramp led straight onto a mud flat with the occasional puddle. Kayaking is not going to work out there, and the sea eagles my husband and I observed nesting further down the Condamine have probably forsaken the area and looked for greener pastures.
It's extraordinary to think we are only four and a half hours from the coast, and it looks like a whole other world. The level of dust is remarkable. Every time there is some decent wind, the sky turns muddy with all the farmers' topsoil. I'm told it's unusually dry this year - and I'm sure at some point it will rain again, as it normally does. But the question is, will we get enough rain to replenish our water systems? There are many areas around us that have run out of water or are getting close to that situation. We are on water restrictions here, and I'm careful to rinse my dishes with the same bit of water from the very first dirty bowl every night. Our air conditioning is an evaporative system, which also uses water. Michael reckons it's okay to use it regularly, but the moment it gets under 35 I try to make do with fans. So my poor man sits there and sweats.
What we really need are some decent storms. Storm season is here, and we have had a couple so far. But we haven't had any that have been truly large or stayed a long time. On Sunday, numerous storm cells packed the skies, and I think Chinchilla felt very excited - until they all blew towards Dalby and left us with a mere sprinkle. 
When I lived in New Zealand, I used to think cyclones were a bad thing. Now I know that they are excellent for regions like this. Don't let anyone fool you - a cyclone can be a lifeline in a drought. Come January, I'm hoping we get some good ones powering through upper Queensland and sending the rain further south. It will make many farmers hopeful out here.
So I continue to pray for rain.
In the meantime, with Christmas just around the corner, it's good to focus on cheerful things too. I put up my Christmas tree in November, which I know sounds ridiculous, but it makes one very happy. Besides which, its greener than many plants and grasses about us (yes, I know it's fake)! 
Lastly, but certainly not least, it seems I'm to have two books release this year. On February 16th, my fifth book Consort to the Shadows Part One released. And Part Two is on its way, following Christmas!
Stay tuned and keep an eye out for some holiday reading!
And pray for rain for the Western Downs...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rafen, book one of The Fledgling Account is still $0.99 and could be the adventure you have these summer holidays...

Since I last wrote, the best part of another term elapsed and a new one has begun. During the holidays, Michael and I took some trips together, which were most enjoyable. We took off at the beginning of the holidays for Noosa. Unfortunately, it was a bit colder than it is now, so swimming could be a little frigid. We had days mainly between 24 and 26 degrees. On our first day, we took a walk around Mount Tibrogargan (never ask me to pronounce that), which is one of the peaks in the Glasshouse Mountains. The Glasshouse Mountains aren't really mountains - more rocky pinnacles - but they're certainly bizarre shapes and make for awesome landscape.
From there, we drove to the Airbnb and enjoyed a dip in the pool there. We did a spot of shopping and had a quiet night in, because I'd caught cold that day and was a bit blocked up. The next day we went to Noosa main beach, which was very busy. Because Noosa main beach is on a peninsula, the parking to people ratio is a bit problematic. After living somewhere where there's no traffic and always free parking, we found it somewhat frustrating, but managed to find a spot in the end. It's a beautiful beach there, but I have to say that I feel the Gold Coast has better facilities for large groups of people. It's also (dare I say it) perhaps a little less snobby than Noosa. I know a lot of people who say the Gold Coast is cliche and tacky, but I reckon there are some pretty good reasons for it being a world class stretch of coastline. 
We took a walk in Noosa National Park and wound up on the very beach some of our kind friends had urged us to avoid (apparently Alexandra Beach is a nudist beach - but because we went in the evening it was entirely vacant - just a big old sea eagle looking down on the emptiness). Ironically, with no people on it, it's actually quite a lovely beach. On the way back, these massive hornet things crossed paths with us, and I had a mini freak out. I'm surprisingly fine when encountering snakes, bats, frogs, and large spiders (frogs are actually really cool) but large things that fly and aren't birds or bats just shouldn't exist in my opinion. Bleugh. Then we had this incredible meal of polpettone and pizza at an Italian restaurant. 
While we were on the Sunny Coast, we also went to Sea Life Aquarium at Maroochydore. But the highlight for me was probably that last trip to a beach before heading inland. Coolum proved to be more relaxing to get a park at than Noosa, and it was delightful to spend time at.
Later in the holidays, we had a friend from New Zealand come to stay with us, and we drove him around and did various activities. We headed out to the Aviation Museum at Oakey (which wasn't really my thing, but the guys seemed interested in it). The trip was totally worth it, however, when I spotted a wild koala up a tree near the museum! My pictures are very poor, but perhaps you can spot it. We also visited Crow's Nest National Park, which I've heard can be a real oasis when there's water. However, there wasn't much water, and there wasn't much shade either, because most of the trees were shriveled up, which meant an hour's walk at midday was rather exhausting. We did see little turtles in the one big pool of water there was though.
The holidays fairly flew by, and now it's term again, with all the busyness that entails. But it not a long term, and Christmas is at the end of it, which is always wonderful. We are heading back to New Zealand for a visit in mid December. It will seem very cold after numerous 30+ days here (we've had several 38s already), but I'll pack jerseys.
In the meantime, you may enjoy my terrible photos. I give you permission.

Looks like it's been rather a while since I last wrote. The reasons for that are plentiful - setting up a new home, starting the term, and applying together with my husband for a partner visa for him. The amount of evidence required for this is insane, and it doesn't count really at all if you're married, because people can just get married to try to get into the country. Of course, New Zealanders can stay here indefinitely. But they don't share the same rights with Australians, and I want my husband to be able to get the most out of living here, just as I do. Hence we applied, even though it was horrendously expensive. Here's hoping that the result (after the 20+ months of waiting) is positive!
This term has been rather frantic. I spent some time editing the next volume of The Fledgling Account with my publisher, and that book is now up to the stage of formatting for print. So hopefully it won't be long until that one is released too.
I've been bursting at the seams with music students, which is a good and rewarding thing, but it can be tiring too. The local high school here put on the musical Fame, and a number of the main characters in the musical were students of mine. It was enjoyable to watch them all perform. Earlier in the term, my creative writing students from the Christian College attended the Ekka. For the uninitiated, the Ekka is a huge agricultural show and festival that showcases everything from cows to poetry from all over the state. I wasn't sure how my students would go, but two of them did score Commended certificates in their poetry category, placing just below the official awards given to other students. So that shows that we're on the right track, and for the small country town of Chinchilla, we did pretty well!
The weather is at last starting to warm up. We've had several quite cold frosts throughout winter, but now when I check the forecast, most of what I see is 26, 28, and up. We even have some 30 degree days approaching. Winter is all but over and spring is here. I don't suppose we really have much hibernation for the animals here, but I have noticed that the bird-life has become more active and varied again. The parrots are going crazy as all the blossoms come out, and it's a very raucous affair in the morning. I've also seen some magpies dive-bombing already, which is never a pleasant experience to be on the other end of I've heard. So I'll be exercising some caution with where I walk in the next few weeks. I've heard that some frogs and toads bury themselves over winter. I don't know much about that, except that we've finally had some proper rain for the first time in a bit over two months, and with the sudden rise in humidity, some frogs have started to vocalise (which is surprisingly loud - whenever I try to find them, it's like locating a ghost: they seem to be everywhere and nowhere at once). The kangaroos of course have been around the whole time and seem to be able to survive every extreme.
Not too long ago, my husband and I took a day trip to the Bunya Mountains and saw our first echidna. It didn't like me particularly much and pulled its nose in when I tried to get closer for a better look.
It's three weeks till the end of term already, and time does seem to fly. Michael and I are planning a trip back to New Zealand again at the end of the year, to visit family. It seems like it's getting rather close already. In the meantime, here's to the coming of spring and the boiling of summer. I'll keep writing on my latest new project and anticipating a new book release in the near future.

​More soon.