During Covid, my daughter – then single – was in lonely lockdown at her home in Melbourne, whilst I was tucked away in country NSW. We’d chat a lot and for Tessa, who was just starting on her own writer’s journey, this seemed an ideal time to spend the long evenings getting some words on paper. I suggested we write a story together – perhaps take it in turns to add a scene and see what we came up with.

Enthused by my plan, I suggested ‘A murder mystery set between a small village in NSW and a bustling Melbourne metropolis, during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, told from the viewpoints of an elderly man and a sassy 30-something. With seemingly nothing to link the pair, the events which bind them gradually become chillingly clear.’

I started Chapter One:

In a small town there are no secrets. A dead rabbit. A dead wombat. Rumours start and collect credence. Fields are being poisoned. This is deliberate.

I then wrote the first 200 words of our soon-to-be bestselling cosy mystery, and emailed it to Tessa, sure that she’d be equally excited and her creative juices would start madly flowing.

‘What did you think?’ I asked on the phone that night.

‘Nah. It didn’t grab me.’

‘Oh.’ I was a bit flabbergasted, but wasn’t going to be thwarted or see her enthusiasm for our project dampened. ‘What sort of thing does interest you?’

‘Mmmmm…’ I could almost hear her cogs ticking. ‘I think it would be pretty cool to write a story about a girl who survives a tandem skydive that kills her instructor. I’d read that.’

Now it was my turn to be deflated – a bit like the parachute in her high concept idea – because I’d never skydived, nor ever had any interest in skydiving. ‘Ok-aaaay.’

‘Mum, I’m really busy, I don’t think I’ll have time. Why don’t you do something without me.’

Really busy? In lockdown? I could sense a brush-off. We hung up.

But the miracle girl who fell to earth and lived to tell the tale wouldn’t let go. She kept nagging at me until finally I gave into the urge, and scratched the itch. It was time for another phone conversation with my daughter.

‘Would you mind if I wrote that story?’

She seemed bemused to be asked. ‘Of course not … Go for it!’

So High Land was born, inspired by, and written for, my daughter, with enormous gratitude for giving me the idea.