Although small, I was once much tinier indeed. 

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I could read by the age of four - thanks to my dad.

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I remember sitting at the kitchen table, watching him print out simple sentences in a pink exercise book. These sentences soon became stories that we wrote together. 

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From learning to read and write with my dad, to the Sesame Street books my mum would buy using Safeway coupons, to the trips we would take to the library, my world was filled with books.   

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Each week we would load a cardboard box into our green Ford Falcon and fill it with stories from our local library.

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These days, the car is grey, not green and my feet reach the pedals a little better (just).

 

But I still spend loads of time at the local library.  Mostly I stand behind my daughter while she diligently swaps one Alice Miranda book for the next, or I side eye the story time and hum along to 'Hi, hello and how are you.'

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Or sometimes I'll just sit in some sunlit corner with my laptop writing my books.

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Oh! Hey!

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You're here for the books! 

Not my memories of the green Ford Falcon (although come on, look at those photos, not everyone can pull off black sandals and socks).

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Well off you go then, click around and see what I've been up to.

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