It’s early morning.The magpies are warbling but it’s still dark outside. I was kept awake by ideas for stories so I had to get up to write them down. Night time seems to feed my mind with thoughts. Maybe it’s because everyone’s dreams have escaped and are flying around free. Maybe that’s what dreams are – a mishmash of images coming from the dreams of other people. I love dreaming but since I’ve been writing books I rarely dream anymore. I wonder why. Now the dark has given way to half light and I have a wet nosed dog reminding me that she’s hungry.

The sun is a washed-out orange ball as it rises above the lemon tree in the backyard. The smoke from the bushfires that are burning out of control in north-east Victoria is the reason why. The whole of Melbourne is enveloped in a strange pink light and the smell of smoke is thick in the air. I usually have a view from my upstair’s bedroom window but for the past few days there has been no distinction between sky and land. My thoughts go to the people and animals caught up in the fires.