Thank You Day 2017

This fortnight, I was fortunate to attend three special events – all of which are close to my heart.

Last week I spoke about WAYRBA (West Australian Young Readers’ Book Award) at a Library and Information Focused Training PD day for library staff on why I believe children’s choice awards are so important to encourage young people to read. In addition, for authors, a shortlisting on a children’s choice award is confirmation that their words have spoken to their target audience.

On Tuesday I attended the ‘Writing For Life 2017 Prize-giving Ceremony’ held by DonateLife WA and sponsored by DonorMate. I was one of three judges for the competition, alongside fellow SCBWI member Nadia L King and Brigid Lowry. It was a competition that I judged with both my writing hat, and as a transplant recipient.
For me, three entries stood out above the crowd. Not all of them won their categories, but all of them caused an emotional reaction – and that sometimes is more important than having a technically well written piece.
One of these, written from the perspective of a transplant recipient, contained a paragraph that perfectly summed up my own feelings. The other two were written from the perspective of a donor family member and both made me cry.

On Friday as a volunteer Role Model for Books In Homes, I spoke to the students at Majella Catholic Primary School during their Book Giving assembly about my lifelong love of books, and how I have made a career out of my love of reading, despite being told by high school guidance councillor that it simply wasn’t feasible. Thanks to the sponsor Mainfreight Australia, the students were each given three books to take home and treasure. It was an honour to be part of such a worthwhile program.

Seven years ago, the thought of having enough energy to simply attend these events, let alone speak would have been impossible. Seven years ago I was in Stage 1 Respiratory Failure and about to be listed on the transplant waitlist. Seven years ago, I could barely breathe let alone have enough spare breath to say a word or two without gasping.

At the 2016 DonateLife WA Honour Ceremony when asked what I would say to my donor family if I had the opportunity, I had this to say,
“The gift that results in a transplant is between strangers, but it is also a deeply personal gift, which makes the words thank you seem a little inadequate. It’s more than a physical gift – it also carries the opportunity to have a future, a second chance.
I will never meet or know the person who gave me this second chance, but I think about them every day.
So, to their family I would say, you made an important decision, one that made a great difference to my life and the best way I can show my gratitude is to take the best care of these wonderful lungs that you entrusted me with, to live life well and to the full.”

This past fortnight, I’ve shared my passion for both writing and reading and I hope that in some way I contributed to making a difference in someone’s life. Because making a difference fits my definition of living my life well and it’s the best way I can say Thank You.

Sunday 19th November 2017 is the national Thank You Day for Donor Families.

Has a Book Changed Your Life?

Has a book changed your life?

This is the book that changed mine. Robyn’s Book a true diary by Robyn Miller.



Robyn’s Book a true diary by Robyn Miller

My copy is battered and bruised, the pages fragile, yellow and brittle, but even after all these years Robyn’s words still speak to me.

On Cystic Fibrosis by Robyn Miller

On Cystic Fibrosis by Robyn Miller

I was in Year Eleven when Robyn’s Book found me. It was the first time I had read a book by someone with Cystic Fibrosis, but the similarities didn’t end with the familiar bond experienced by people with Cystic Fibrosis.

Robyn was a writer, something I desperately wanted to be, and like me she had the fortune of relatively good lung health until she was sixteen.

I wasn’t a reader who had to imagine how it felt to watch a friend die knowing you had the same disease killing you also. I was there, living those moments too.

To this day, each time a member of my Cystic Fibrosis family dies her words have inevitably run through my head.

Pain Song By Robyn Miller

Pain Song By Robyn Miller

Robyn died as her book was about to go print, and although I never had the chance to meet her, my grief for her death was no less real. Her words had given me both a sense of a shared journey and an unexplained sadness.

Her words stayed with me for years and gave me the inspiration to keep writing. Robyn was one of the writers I both emulated and plagiarised while I was in high school and her words helped shape me into the writer that I am today.

As my first book steamed towards print, I began to lose the war against Cystic Fibrosis. And once again, it seemed like my life imitated Robyn’s – in the afterword by Neil Glixon, he explains that in her final days Robyn asked if her book would still be published.  I thought of Robyn as I was dying, and how simular our paths had been. Words tumbled through my head, but I no longer had the strength or breath to write and the knowledge that my book would still be published was bittersweet.

As hope was rapidly fading I was offered a second chance and I lived to see my words in print. From one salty girl to another – thank you Robyn, your words gave me hope and changed my life.


Robyn’s Book was an important part of my journey to publication. You can read my story, along with inspirational stories from 23 other authors in Writing the Dream.

Writing the Dream is available to pre-order from the Serenity Press, website now.


You’ll find more of my recommendations for reading about Cystic Fibrosis on my Pintrest Board : Cystic Fibrosis in Print – Books and More

Bassendean Library Competition

The Bassendean Library held a call for submissions on “what the library means to you” as part of their 10th anniversary celebrations of operation from their “new” facilities.

I’m delighted to announce that I was one of the winners  – also worth mentioning is that fellow Bassendean Writing Group member, Punito, was also a winner.

Bassendean Library Confirmation Letter

Here’s the full text of my submission:

As a small child, the side room at Bassendean Library where the children’s collection was housed was a treasure trove of stories waiting to be read, somewhat akin to Aladdin’s cave. While my Mum fossicked in the main library, usually hunting for the latest Wilbur Smith novel, I was free to explore and make a choice about which picture book I was going to take home that week.

Growing up with Cystic Fibrosis, I soon discovered that I could take a book with me while I waited at the hospital. I could read while I did my many treatments, and if I felt tired or short of breath, I could sit and read. I was different to other children, marked by a progressive illness, but books didn’t judge me. Instead, they took me on adventures and to places that my wonky lungs would never allow me to go.

Midway through primary school we moved to a semi-rural area. I no longer had access to a public library that I could walk to, and the school library was just a shelf at the back of the classroom. My Mum, who read but wasn’t a “reader”, couldn’t see the problem. You can after all, only read one book at a time, she reasoned.

I solved my problem when, every second weekend, I stayed overnight with my Gran in Bassendean. On a Saturday morning, I would trek back to Old Perth Road and head to the Bassendean Book Exchange. I was without doubt the worst customer they had. Each Saturday I managed to scrounge a small bag of Gran’s Mills and Boon books or Secret Confession magazines that I exchanged for the pick of their children’s books. There was a wonderful lady who ran the book exchange, and she never once complained that I treated her shop as a library when I sat and read all morning. Each week just before noon she would remind me that the shop was closing soon. I would carefully make my selections, always maximising the use of any credit I had. Clutching my bag of swapped treasures, it was time to hustle back to Gran’s. I always slowed down as I passed by the library, staring longingly through the door towards the books that were out of my reach. It never occurred to me that instead of reading at the book exchange, I should have been reading at the library. Living out of the district, my focus revolved around the loss of my precious pink library cards and the flow on consequence that I was no longer entitled to take library books home.

In high school, I continued to stay with my Gran, still on a fortnightly basis, but by now I’d found a solution to my library card problem. One Saturday, I dragged my Gran down to the library and got her to sign up. I immediately relieved her of her library cards. Having both out-read and outgrown the children’s section by this time, it was fortunate that her four yellow cards allowed me access to the main library. Initially I crept through the library, making my selections rapidly, trying to borrow before any of the staff realised that I wasn’t “Mavis” and sent me back to the children’s section.

One Saturday as I skulked through the stacks trying to be inconspicuous, Wendy, one of the librarians, placed a book in my hand and told me to try it. The following fortnight, she had another suggestion for me. She carefully cultivated my reading after that, pointing me towards books that challenged my thinking, that pushed me as a reader but were always age appropriate. Two authors that I distinctly remember her placing in my hands are still among my favourites today. Dean Koontz (back when he was still clinging to his middle initial) and Anne McCaffrey with her grand tales about the Dragonriders of Pern.

At the end of Year 10, I approached Wendy and asked if I could do some volunteer work at the library over the summer holidays. I was so fortunate that not just Wendy, but all of the ladies working in the library, took me under their collective wing and showed me the ropes. Eventually, my volunteer work became more permanent, and I volunteered every Saturday morning. Each week I hungrily absorbed everything they showed me. Here was a world that revolved around books and information, I absorbed everything I could, eager to learn. I couldn’t imagine a better place to work.

Throughout my life, one of the messages that was repeatedly given to me was, “you can’t” or “you shouldn’t”. Therefore, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when my Year 11 Guidance Officer told me that due to my health, I couldn’t make a career out of a love of reading. ‘Libraries are too dusty,’ he told me, ‘they’ll make you cough. Books are too heavy, you won’t be able to carry them.’ So he sent me off to do an accounting course. Account books were definitely NOT the sort of books that I was passionate about.

After high school, I studied an accounting course at TAFE while I worked part time. My heart wasn’t in it, I kept thinking back to my happy Saturday mornings, flicking through the card catalogue, checking for inter-library loans. Still it took me another seven years to shake the message that I couldn’t make a career from my love of books. By now, libraries were starting to go digital, and as I studied librarianship, I realised that the background the Bassendean Library ladies had given me had been priceless.

When I graduated, my chosen career path within the library industry was never in doubt. I intended to work within the school system. The first time I placed a book in the hands of a child and saw their eyes light up with delight, I knew my instincts had been right. My core values have always been moulded by how Wendy treated me as a teen. That the right book in the hand of a child at the right time can change their life. That you shouldn’t judge or devalue a child’s reading tastes and that they should be given the freedom to explore the world of literature.

In my mid-30s I returned to reside in Bassendean. The library building had changed, and so had some of the faces, and this time my son joined me on my Saturday jaunts to the library. Around this time, the prophetic words of my Year 11 Guidance Officer started to come true. My health was rapidly declining. Books were now too heavy for me to carry home from the library and I was forced to change my organic browsing habits into consolidated searching with the use of the online OPAC. With a Herculean solo effort, my son somehow managed to carry home all the books I’d selected, not to mention his own. Although I had never neglected the friendship I had forged with books in my childhood, while I was on extended sick leave they became my lifeline. On oxygen and virtually housebound, I wiled away the days with my faithful dog at my side and a library book in my hands.

Now, I’ve been given a second chance at life, with the gift of a new set of lungs. This gift has meant that not only have I returned to managing my school’s library, but I now have the energy to pursue my love of books in a different way. No longer on a Saturday morning and not always as a reader, now my Bassendean Library routine centres around Monday evenings in meeting room 2. As a children’s writer, I attend the Bassendean Writer’s Group, perfecting my stories. Stories that reflect a lifetime love of books and reading. Stories that will one day reside on the shelves. The circle will be complete when my stories are ready for another child to take off the shelf and begin a love affair with books. A love affair, that for me, began at Bassendean Library.