#Australian author

[the-bad-guys-2-reportage]

2 years ago today, The Bad Guys released in theaters! Based on the australian book series by Aaron Blabey.

A sequel is currently in the making, coming to theaters August 1st, 2025.

[canberramaidan]

Covers designed by Christine Armstong. HarperCollins AU.

[journeytobeauty-lizzie]

The grip, the fall, the finding is live now on amazon/Kindle!

I've poured my heart into these words. The journey I've taken from where I was when I penned the first poem to where I am now has been such a climb - and I can now enjoy the view from this elevation 🏔

I really hope you find something in these pages that speaks to you 💖

[brasideios]

What else should our lives be but a continual series of beginnings, of painful settings out into the unknown, pushing off from the edges of consciousness into the mystery of what we have not yet become, except in dreams that blow in from out there bearing the fragrance of islands we have not yet sighted in our waking hours; as in voyaging sometimes the first blossoming branches of our next landfall come bumping against the keel, even in the dark, whole days before the real land rises to meet us.

- David Malouf, An Imaginary Life.

[caffeinated-bibliophile]

My first read for Booklr Reads Australian was The Curiosities by Zana Fraillon, illustrated by Phil Lesnie.

This was a short, sweet, and beautifully illustrated picture book about neurodiversity.

[jpdoingwords]

Becoming Something Else

Becoming Something Else, a collection of short stories, is coming along quickly now.

A little explanation of the book (moving towards a blurb - always hard):

What ties these stories together is that they’re all about the process of transformation from child to adult – the becoming of the title. They detail the process of how a person might be shaped by the events of their lives, and how they may choose to shape themselves. This is inevitably tied to the experience of growing up female, as I did, and cannot avoid engaging with questions around gender – expectations, pressures from within and without, and the most forceful forging that occurs when one loves or experiences loss. They engage with issues such as addiction and domestic violence, but always from the perspective of how a person can process these events, or fail to, or refuse to. And I most of all wish that they work together to suggest that there’s always hope.

I'll be sharing the complete stories here as they're polished up prior to publishing them elsewhere (fingers crossed) by the end of the year.

Visiting Grandma Young || The Hand You Hold || Flatmates || Alive but Dead || Things Broken and Breaking || Riding the Bus || Joel || Eric and Lola || The Secret Life || Tamsin’s Ghost || What I Am || Cowper Close || Two Ends of a Telescope || Epiphany.

[desdasiwrites]

– James Islington, The Shadow of What Was Lost

[coastalwriter]

Hey, hi, hello.

My name is Erica. I am a self published indie author from Tasmania, Australia. I used to brand myself as Misted Words because of my multiple chronic illnesses, but after some major upheavals in my life, I decided to "rebrand". These days I go under the Coastal Writer moniker. My Facebook and Instagram are both coastal.writer

I had a tumblr before (as well as other blogs and websites), but I did a bit of a purge of stuff and things when I was trying to sort myself out. I decided to forego the blog and concentrate on the "popular and relevant" social media, namely Instagram, and to a lesser extent, Facebook. Yeah, turns out I don't do so well at building those platforms, because short-form media has never been my speciality.

C'mon... I am a novelist!

So after some further soul-searching - I'm back! Still writing through the brain fog, still learning how I move forward as the person I am now that my life has been changed so much.

I don't promise any earth-shattering insights, nor brilliant teaching moments on the craft of writing. But I hope to bring anyone who connects with this space some honesty, some glimpses of my personal writing process, and plenty of humour to season the mix.

Until next time, take care!

~ Erica xo

[abrighterspark]

💜✨ CROSSROADS IS OUT JULY 8 ✨💜

"not all love is meant to last / but the remnants fill our hearts / with memory, and with learning... a patchwork thing of art"

Crossroads is my second poetry collection and one I'm very glad to be able to put out for the world. Originating in Melbourne, it tells the story of how two lives can intertwine, divide and survive the places where they intersect.

"sometimes sewn with nostalgia / sometimes resilience, or revenge"

Laced with curiosity, magic and discovery, Crossroads is a tale of two lovers and the city that holds their story. I can't wait to share this book with you!!

(And I still can't describe how utterly terrifying and yet thrilling this whole launch process is 😂)

[grapecola]

Read my review of Australian lawyer and author, Chris Nyst’s, new crime fiction novel, Millen . . .

[the-bad-guys-2-reportage]

Author Aaron Blabey reveals his favorite scene from "Cat on the Run" book #1 (The Bad Guys spin-off).

[canberramaidan]

Book One in the Brindabella Secrets series from HarperCollins Australia.

The Landowner’s Secret (Brindabella Secrets #1)

New South Wales, 1885

When Alice Ryan wakes to find thugs surrounding her cottage, on the hunt for her no-good brother, she escapes into the surrounding bush.

It is wealthy landowner Robert Farrer who finds her the next morning, dishevelled, injured, and utterly unwilling to share what she knows. With criminals on the loose and rumours that reckless bushrangers have returned to the area, Robert is determined to keep Alice out of danger, and insists on taking her into his home-despite the scandal it may cause. Convincing her to stay on with him for her own safety, however, is going to take some work.

What Robert doesn’t expect is his growing attraction to the forthright, unruly woman staying in his home. Before either of them can settle into their odd new situation, their home and wellbeing come under threat and they will need to trust each other to survive. But they are both keeping secrets, secrets that have the potential to ruin their burgeoning love, their livelihood … and their lives.

CHAPTER 1

Alice Ryan woke at the first shout, and sat bolt upright at the second.

With her mind still muddled by sleep, her body shook with fright before she even realised what was happening. She felt the unease, the disturbance in the night. This far out the bush was usually still, the quietness punctuated only by the odd scuffle of a possum or rustle of wind in the trees. But right now there was an energy that didn’t belong.

Curling her fingers into the counterpane, she waited in dreadful anticipation.

There. A voice—faint, but distinct—reached her ears, becoming louder as she sat frozen in place.

Someone was out there, in the dark.

‘Ian?’ she whispered, uncertain. Who else could it be but her brother, and yet … Some instinct stopped her from calling out and confirming she was home. And just as it took complete hold, a second voice joined the first.

Slipping free of the blanket and pressing her bare feet to the floor, she clutched the bed’s footboard and waited. And waited.

The light of a flame—so dim at first she thought she’d imagined it—flashed not too far beyond the cottage’s small window. It wasn’t much, but it was so foreign in the darkness of the scrub.

She strained to make out any sounds that weren’t meant to be there, but heard next to nothing over the pounding in her ears. Moments later the light flashed by again. It was closer this time.

Alice startled; clapped a hand to her mouth.

This was all wrong. Nobody had a reason to be there, on a road that led to nothing but her home. This far out she was all alone, except for—

Endmoor.

If she could slip out unnoticed, she could reach the big homestead beyond the trees on foot—thieves or troublemakers would be mad to try anything with Robert Farrer. The landowner was too wealthy, with too many men on his property, and no doubt he had better weapons than she did if it came to that.

Alice made her decision in an instant.

Moving fast, she struggled into her frock and grabbed her shawl from the end of the bed before slipping a hand beneath the mattress for the small packet she kept hidden there. She stuffed it down the front of her bodice, shaking with fright and determination.

Trying her best to be quiet, she scrambled across to press her back against the cool wall near the door.

One of the men spoke again but she still couldn’t make out the words. There were at least two of them and they weren’t just talking, but laughing. Whacks echoed through the night air, as though they were hitting at the scrub with sticks, and then she heard more laughter in amongst the other sounds of the night.

Whatever they were about, it was a game to them. Likely a drunken game …

Alice curled her toes against the freezing floor and hugged herself tightly, willing them to just go, just leave her be and make their fun elsewhere. The voices came more loudly from the front of the house. Her only way of escape was through there.

Cursing her rotten luck, her absent brother, and all the trouble life brought down on her, she took a big breath for courage and lurched past the window as fast as she could, scrambling in the darkness for the small knife she’d left on the table.

‘Ian, you bastard!’ The call came from so close by her heart nearly stopped.

Desperation took over then, and she chose speed over silence. Fumbling in the shadows with frozen fingers, shoving her way through the bits and pieces she’d left on the table that evening, she patted about desperately until they hit a strip of cold metal. The knife.

‘Help me, help me,’ she whispered to a God who’d never listened before, and gripped the handle firmly, her other hand shaking, while she once again backed up against the wall.

Bracing herself for anything, she pulled back the curtain only enough to get a glimpse of the clearing around the porch. In a sliver of moonlight she could just make out the figures of grown men dotted around the clearing. Further down the trail, near the road, she saw more forms and shadows. Horses, she realised with even more dread in her belly. She sure as hell couldn’t outrun those.

Shaking more, she cast her mind out beyond them all, mapping herself a route of escape. If they were here for Ian, they were out of luck. As usual he was nowhere to be found.

She let the curtain slip back through her fingers and then bent to grasp the laces of the boots left beside the door. There was no time to tug them on, nor to find her stockings.

She nearly shrieked with surprise when something whacked directly against the outside of the house, but held fast and slapped a hand over her mouth again as she waited for what’d come next.

‘Are you comin’ out, or are we comin’ to get you?’ one of them called. It was not a familiar voice.

‘We don’t have all night!’ yelled another.

There was more laughing. More jokes.

Alice rose carefully, quickly tugging the shawl more tightly around herself without letting her grip on the knife loosen. She edged the door open the tiniest amount, trying to peer beyond the intruders to find the fastest direction into the trees. The boots banged lightly against the old wood, and she pressed her lips tightly together in frustration.

‘Maybe there’s no one ’ere. I swear, James, if we’re out ’ere freezin’ our bloody arses off for no reason …’

‘Someone’s ’ere. There’s smoke comin’ from the chimney and I saw movement at the window just now.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Alice whispered, becoming number and shakier than before. ‘Bloody, bloody hell.’

There was silence then except for the shuffling of shoes in the dirt. And then a third man spoke.

‘Maybe it’s the sister.’

‘There’s a sister?’

An awful pause followed. And then, ‘Is she pretty?’

Alice wished the bottom of the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Fear icier than the chill in the air ran over her from head-top to heels. She knew more about physical fighting than any proper lady ever would, but she was still a scrap of a thing and not likely to get far before they …

‘There’s only one way to find out.’ The first man said. ‘James? Kick in the door.’

‘Not bloody likely,’ she whispered. She’d go to the devil before she let that happen or let a single one of them put his grubby paws on her.

And with those thoughts giving her fresh determination, she flung the door open and ran.

There was a shout of surprise, and then a bark of amusement at the sight of her, but all she focused on was the security of the trees ahead. She bolted like a barefooted colt for an opening between two old eucalypts.

Gasping in pain at the scrapes of sticks on the ground and—worse—the dull thuds of bone connecting with rocks buried in the dirt, in her urgency she almost smacked face-first into the nearest tree. A low branch scraped along her cheek as she slipped into the cover of the bush, and she sucked in a short breath at the sting.

She ducked behind a big gum tree and stared hard into the night, willing her eyes to adjust to the frightening, sudden darkness while more calls came from close by.

She needed those boots on before she ruined her feet too much to run. Stuffing the knife quickly into a pocket, she dropped down and slipped her bare feet into the worn leather; there was no time to bother with the laces. It was going to rub terribly, but she’d had blisters before and there were worse things in the world.

Rising with a hand against the trunk to steady herself, she knotted the shawl at her breast as tightly as she could, gathering her courage to leave the cover of the plants, and ran on.

The men tracking her had no such qualms about keeping quiet; she bit her lip hard when they spoke again.

‘Ian, we saw you, you fool. Are ya goin’ to hide in the bush all night?’

‘Are you daft? That’s not Ryan, not unless he’s wearing a frock.’

That set them all off laughing. The whole night was just so much fun for the lot of them. And then they took up the chase with a thunder of footsteps as they dived after her full into the scrub.

Alice gasped for breath, the autumn chill in the air burning her throat, and only fear of stumbling into a dark ditch and breaking an ankle made her moderate her steps. This part of the land dipped and rose at the oddest times, which was why her father had never bothered with the clearing of it.

A rustle and a thud came from not far away, followed by a string of swearing. One of them had gone and smacked into a branch.

Using the cover of their shouts to pick up a little more speed, she darted to the left, taking herself closer to those horses the intruders had arrived on, hoping against hope they’d not expect that. She’d no real idea what her plan was, but surely making it to the road was better than being tracked through the trees for the rest of the night.

If those louts knew Ian, and if her brother owed them something, then none of this was good news. It wasn’t as though the either of them had anything much to hand over.

Her pursuers veered off to her right and Alice realised she’d chosen the best path. With a pace increased to match her growing confidence, she picked her way along on the tips of her toes in an attempt to disguise her steps, and kept one hand outstretched to feel her way and not meet the same fate as the fellow with the branch, the handle of the knife in the other.

Don’t go and stab yourself, Alice Ryan.

The boots rubbed at the backs of her heels, and she hissed and then hissed some more at the sting of it.

She was going to kill Ian the next time she saw him. And if she got back home in the morning and discovered those men had destroyed her neat house and eaten all of her food, she was going to board up the door and never let her useless brother back in.

The next shout stopped her in her tracks and ripped her from her temper.

It had come from in front of her.

Alice dropped behind the nearest bush and clung to its rough branches as an argument unfolded up ahead. The tone of the words was harsh, carrying across to her only in indecipherable sounds at first. She snatched her hand back from a prickle when she grasped a twig too hard as she strained to hear.

A crack of a branch and the shriek of a bat decided things for her: she used the cover of the quarrel to dart ahead, again risking sound for speed.

‘You want to wait out the whole winter? You’re daft if you do.’

‘It’ll be worth it, I reckon. Yes, I say we wait for the date like we’re told to.’

‘Madness. We don’t need Ian Ryan’s help for that.’

Alice covered another ten or fifteen yards before the argument became louder, shouts echoing across the night,

reverberating around her, surrounding her and lighting up the shadows. She no longer had any idea where the men were, only that she couldn’t risk running any more.

Panting desperately, her heart beating so fast she thought she’d faint, she collapsed on the ground by a fallen tree, clasped her little knife tighter still, huddled into a ball, and waited.

[journeytobeauty-lizzie]

Travelling for my day job, hoping to find inspiration in a new environment - and if not, I'll write anyway.

[sonyabrightbooks]

Camp Canberra by Krys Saclier and Cathy Wilcox

The students of Mount Mayhem Primary are on their school trip to Canberra. Their teacher, Ms Sparks says they will visit places of National Significance and learn about Australian History and Government. Who knew Canberra could be so interesting!

Being a Canberran, I’ve never done the “school trip to Canberra” so many Australians seem to do, but I sure do know my hometown well enough to appreciate this book!

Filled with information and questions, this story about a school trip to the capital city would be a good one to buy before a student goes on their trip—or to give them after they come back. It’d also a great addition to a school library.

With artwork using photographs of the real places with the students and teachers illustrated over them, it’s educational while also featuring fictional characters on their own adventures.

There are little details about each place mentioned (e.g. certain things to experience or look for at each attraction), so children will feel connected to the story—and have things to anticipate on their visit.

There’s so much in Canberra to see and do, and this book makes a good summary of some of the major things—even if it features so many attractions it would make for an exhausting excursion!

(The only thing I don’t like is the last sentence of the blurb that buys into mean stereotypes about our beautiful capital city. Canberra has more to see and do than anywhere!)

[sonyaheaneyauthor]

The Landowner's Secret, the first book in the Brindabella Secrets series, is on sale in Australia and New Zealand through all of June 2022!

New South Wales, 1885

When Alice Ryan wakes to find thugs surrounding her cottage, on the hunt for her no-good brother, she escapes into the surrounding bush.

It is wealthy landowner Robert Farrer who finds her the next morning, dishevelled, injured, and utterly unwilling to share what she knows. With criminals on the loose and rumours that reckless bushrangers have returned to the area, Robert is determined to keep Alice out of danger, and insists on taking her into his home-despite the scandal it may cause. Convincing her to stay on with him for her own safety, however, is going to take some work.

What Robert doesn’t expect is his growing attraction to the forthright, unruly woman staying in his home. Before either of them can settle into their odd new situation, their home and wellbeing come under threat and they will need to trust each other to survive. But they are both keeping secrets, secrets that have the potential to ruin their burgeoning love, their livelihood … and their lives.

[coffeebean-88]

🎃 Horrortober Challenge + Backlogathon 2022 📚

🔮 13th October: Do you believe in Friday 13th superstitions?

I don't believe in Friday 13th superstitions, no. But for some reason the broken mirror = bad luck superstition is really strong for me 🤷🏽‍♀️. Someone has put a broken mirror in our apartment building's hard rubbish collection, and it's been sitting to the side for a month, and it's SO UNNERVING >.< (And I wasn't even the person who broke the mirror!!!)

As part of @pastelhorroracademia and @logarithmicpanda's reading challenges, I've started a book of short stories by Barbara Baynton. This collection depicts the harsh life and ever-present fear (of personal safety, of physical health, of your child's safety) of living as a (white) female in rural Australia at the turn of the century. As Helen Garner writes in the Introduction, Baynton's stories "are driven by a contained, contemptuous rage that no woman of spirit can fail to recognise, or to share." It's not surprising that, in 1902, Baynton had to go out to London to get her stories published. White Australians, it seems, didn't want to see the mirror of their own society - even if it was only fiction.