I started living like a character from one of my books

I was living in the Southern Highlands of NSW when I wrote my first novel, Echo Lake, inspired by the misty forests, cosy pubs and antique shops I had grown to love. But circumstances forced me to leave for a few years, and I always longed to return.

Recently, I got my wish. The stars unexpectedly realigned and I was able to move back to the Highlands in time for publication of Echo Lake’s sequel, Whisky Valley.

On the drive down from Sydney, my car piled high with clothes, knick-knacks and books, I felt like my main character, Rose McHugh, who had found a little wooden cottage surrounded by bushland and birdsong, finally realising her dream.

While her cottage was in Berrima, I found one in nearby Burrawang. Like Rose’s house, mine is surrounded by native and exotic trees, the latter turning orange, red and yellow in the glorious peak of autumn. And, like Rose, I now wake up to the sound of black cockatoos and whipbirds, often muffled by the fog that settles over the low hills and valleys.

But am I living in the world of my books or are my books merely an extension of me?

One of the great pleasures of reading is travelling to captivating destinations. Whether the Japan of James Clavell’s Shogun, the rural American south of Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain, or the islands of Ann Cleeves’ Shetlands mysteries, my favourite books are ones set in places with their own unique magic. When I first came to the Highlands, I felt the kind of unique magic I craved as a reader and decided it would be even more fun to explore as a writer. Which is when I started becoming Rose.

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When creating her, I approached Rose the same way I approached the setting for the novels. I wanted her to be compelling, inviting – someone readers might like to spend time with. She needed to be warm, but with a dark side, down-to-earth but eccentric, vulnerable without being pathetic. I also endowed Rose with some of my own quirks of character: a passion for bushwalking, an obsession with the films of Alfred Hitchcock and an addiction to cinnamon buns. I thought I was on pretty firm ground.

As I wrote, Rose’s actions were usually predictable, which is unsurprising considering I invented her, but sometimes she would go off-piste. My fingers would tap away on the keyboard and I’d stare in shock as Rose did something I hadn’t planned. At first, I was unsure about letting her deviate from my outline, but I learnt to follow my instinct. Or rather, to follow Rose.