Writers are often told to “draw on their life experience,” which is excellent advice if you spent your formative years roaming the globe, living on a schooner or training llamas in Peru. I, on the other hand, spent 38 years in journalism. During that time I worked variously as a sports reporter, news reporter, feature… Continue reading I was a driving instructor on Mars

With reference to my post last week, I have never been asked to join a writers’ cricket team. There are two good reasons for this: Can’t bat, can’t bowl. No, three. Can’t throw. Um, four. Can’t catch. Especially rock-hard, shiny red cricket balls. Do you blame me? My fingers are bruised enough from typing. I… Continue reading I haven’t got a giant moustache but I know who has

If you ever need proof that writers will do almost anything to avoid actually writing, look no further than J.M. Barrie’s amateur cricket team, the Allahakbarries. With Australia getting the better of England in another Ashes battle, it feels like the right moment to remember that some of literature’s finest minds once tried their best… Continue reading Captain Hook takes aim over fine leg

I first got behind a typewriter in 1973, back in Grade 10, when I made a bold move that rattled the school timetable — I took typing as an elective. Most of the other boys chose manly pursuits like woodworking or metalwork, but I decided to cross the gender divide. That’s how I found myself as the… Continue reading Why I’m so Lone Rangery

You might remember my no-recipes policy from last week — no scones, no stews, no nonsense. Well, I can’t promise the same restraint from my newest recruit, Bert Whish-Willson, better known as Wish-Wash. The gnarly old man has appointed himself reviewer-in-residence for my books, and you can now find his ramblings under the My Books tab on my website,… Continue reading Meet Wish-Wash, my new (unreliable) reviewer