Blog Every Day April

So it turns out that April is Blog Every Day April. It’s a fun lil band­wagon that I have decided to jump onto. New York YA writer Mau­reen John­son is head­ing up the BEDA (I love a good acronym) action and blog­gers around the world are tak­ing up the chal­lenge, because, really, who can resist a silly online gimmick?

Per­son­ally, I hope BED will bring some kind of reg­u­lar­ity and struc­ture to my life. I just  hope I can see the month out. Unlike the fail­ures that were Do Push Ups Every Morn­ing March and Stop Eat­ing Apples That Don’t Belong To Me Feb­ru­ary.



While the world sali­vates over the new pics of the Where the Wild Things Are movie I thought I would share an illus­tra­tion of one of the char­ac­ters from my upcom­ing book The Great­est Blog­ger in the World.


Let me intro­duce you to Bar­code. This lit­tle guy (as drawn by the clever Gre­gory Bald­win) plays the impor­tant role of ‘fam­ily duck’ in the book. He also makes an illus­tra­tive apper­ance at the start of each of the book’s chap­ters too.  Good job Bar­code. And nice beak-clenching-newspaper skills too.


I was raised in an outer sub­urb of Mel­bourne called Wat­so­nia. The only real thing of note in Wat­so­nia is the Simp­son Army Bar­racks which began life as the Wat­so­nia Mil­i­tary Camp in WWII. Appar­ently there’s lots of com­mu­ni­ca­tions equip­ment at the Army Bar­racks which means that if Aus­tralia is ever invaded Wat­so­nia would be one of the first places likely to be bombed. At least that’s what I think I heard some kid at school say once.

Apart from the Army Bar­racks and the Wat­so­nia Library — be kind to your local librar­ian — there’s not much else hap­pen­ing in Wat­so­nia. Although the sight of Jenny Mack­lin MP cam­paign­ing out­side the Wat­so­nia Bake­house dur­ing elec­tion times is worth vis­it­ing town for. If Wat­so­nia was my bio­log­i­cal father then I could be said to have Daddy Issues.

They say that Aus­tralians have a love-hate rela­tion­ship with the ‘burbs and  I have a love-hate-lust-domestic vio­lence rela­tion­ship with Wat­so­nia. And when I vis­ited the place this week­end past I was con­fronted by the sight of an aban­doned TV sit­ting on top of a boul­der, around the cor­ner from the Wat­so­nia BP.

A TV on a rock in Watsonia

It was sooo Wat­so­nia. I loved and hated and lusted for and wanted to beat that TV on the rock. But I should stop rag­ging on my home­town now. Thankyou blog for the ther­apy times. See you next session.

Author Pics: A Discussion

The good ol’ author pic is the ire of almost all authors. Often found on the back sleeve of a book, it’s easy to see why the com­mon author treats their back-of-the-book pic with gen­eral dis­dain. There’s a rea­son movie direc­tors don’t flash their por­taits onto the big screen at the end of their movies. I mean, would the final scene of Thelma & Louise have the same impact if it was fol­lowed by this?


But to undi­gress (not an offi­cial word) my label mate at Hardie Grant Egmont, author Chris Mor­phew, recently blogged about his own author pics and pro­ceeded to label one of my author pics as a ‘Clas­sic Mope’.


I think he’s prob­a­bly right. Some other favourite clas­sic author poses include:


The Guru Pose.


The ‘I’m so doey-eyed how could you not believe me?’ Pose.


And the ‘I signed a movie con­tract and hired a styl­ist” Pose.

If a clas­sic author pose can­not be struck the next best way to show your­self as an author is to turn the author photo black and white.


Noth­ing says ‘author’ more than grayscal­ing the author pic.


And here’s my label-mate Chris Mor­phew author-ised.


Although I guess there are some peo­ple who are just never going to look like authors.

Sad Clowns make me live

I don’t know why I like the Sad Clowns so. Ever since House­mate #1 acquired the paint­ing of the clowns sit­ting on clouds of bald ogre-type man-heads I have liked them.


Clowns are the poor occasion’s Santa. They come out for birth­days and coun­try fairs — things which become less awe­some as we grow old. So it seems appro­pri­ate that these clowns should appear so despon­dent. Which is just why I like them. They are my friends. No mat­ter how mis­er­able I feel they always look worse and I love them for it. And I thought the Sad Clowns should cheer other peo­ple up too. So I cre­ated the below moti­va­tional poster.


Good on you Sad Clown and lit­tle midget-Sad Clown. You make me live!

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