When people think of magic they often think of fairy tales and conjuring tricks, or peering into candle flames and cauldrons. But I believe magic is all around us, we only have to open up to it. It doesn’t have to be something overwhelming, it could be just a serendipitous moment in time and space.

Maybe I was in tune with the Universe

I had my own magical moment recently when I had lunch with my friend, Melinda, to celebrate the launch of my new novel, The Mystery Woman. The afternoon was warm and heady with the intoxicating spring scents of jasmine and magnolia. Although I had quite a few tasks waiting for me at home when we parted company I took the ‘scenic route’. The Upper North Shore is the ‘Garden District’ of Sydney, and the day was too glorious not to be tempted by my leafy surroundings and the lush gardens exploding into bloom. Maybe I was in tune with the Universe because I took a wrong turn and found myself in a street where a historic house and garden were open for display. I parked my car, bought a ticket and wandered through the gate of Eryldene.

Immediately I laid eyes on the Colonial Georgian style house, the dove cote and the enchanting garden beds layered with native violets, pink azaleas and camellias, I was filled with a sense of the person who had created it. Everything was so genteel, so beautiful, so refined. I find modern gardens too stark, lacking in trees and with too much lawn, pavers and hot sunshine. But this garden blended shade and light in perfect proportions.

To me, where my character lives says as much about them as their words and actions.

It wasn’t a huge garden, but little pathways here and there made me feel as if I was on an unexpected adventure. Although the layout was very English in style, the eucalypt trees that towered around its borders set it firmly in Australia and there was even a nod to Asia in the Chinese style tea house. An enquiry to one of the guides revealed the owner to have been Professor Eben Gowrie Waterhouse, who had been Master of Modern Languages at Sydney Grammar School from 1913 to 1925 and was fluent in German, French and Italian. He undertook research into the origins of the camellia, one of my favourite flowers, and wrote books on his research. I smiled when I looked at the garden study, and imagined him there poring over his papers and writing neat notes in the margins. Professor Waterhouse loved to share his garden. He invited artists, writers, architects and designers into the paradise he had created and encouraged lively discussions. In his eighties, he began the study of Japanese.

Have a look at your own living space. What does it say about you?

Quite often I’m asked about my detailed descriptions of my characters’ living spaces. To me, where my character lives says as much about them as their words and actions. In Southern Ruby each character was brought to life by the area in New Orleans where they lived: Ruby in the sensuous and wild French Quarter; Clifford in the refined Garden District mansion; and Leroy in his Lower Ninth Ward shotgun cottage. When Ruby moves from the French Quarter to the Garden District her character changes too. Her granddaughter, Amanda, is at odds with the place where she lives at the beginning of the book, although Nan’s house is where she has been loved and nurtured. She must leave it and find her place in the world. In The Mystery Woman, Rebecca is as much out of sync with the ‘Wedding Cake’ cottage she rents as she is in the town of Shipwreck Bay itself.                                

Have a look at your own living space. What does it say about you? Perhaps you don’t have a lot of control over where you live right now. Maybe you’re in a university dormitory or living with your parents; you share a house with a partner who dominates the décor; the budget is too tight at the moment to have things as you would like them. But even so, there will be clues about you everywhere. A vase of vibrant (or wilting) flowers; a sentimental cushion or teacup; an unfinished painting or knitting project waiting for completion; a pile of books eliciting a pang of longing (or guilt) each time you look at it.

If you were writing yourself as a character, how would you describe your surroundings and what would they say about you?

And if you were writing a fictional character, what surroundings would you place them in?

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