The drought ended eventually. Some things it taught me didn’t.
Four books written from a kitchen table, about the year the rain stopped and what it left behind. For anyone getting through a hard stretch without much ceremony.
Ten Dry Years
The year it didn’t rain, and what I did instead of panicking
Everyone remembers the year it didn’t rain. Fewer people wrote down what actually happened once the news cameras left and the paddocks turned the colour of toast. Ten Dry Years is that record — plain, occasionally funny, and not especially interested in being brave about it.
Written the way it happened — mostly at the kitchen table, in whatever order the memories turned up.
A festival talk that leaves the room a few words short of “fine”, and better off for it.
An hour or so, no notes, and a story that does more work than advice ever did. Festivals, libraries, community halls — wherever people want it told plain.
—Festivals—Community halls—Years on the road
From Ten Dry Years
Read chapter one, plus a letter when there’s something worth saying.
Short, plain, and mostly about weather and getting on with it. No courses, no funnel, unsubscribe in a click.