October 14th 2007

Dear readers of the world

A funny story to start with…

In August I was at various schools in the South Australian countryside for the Premier’s Reading Challenge, a brilliant scheme run by Mike Rann, the premier (leader) of our state. One night I was interviewed on local television. The next morning, at the end of a session with children, I asked if they had any questions. ‘Questions’ is not a concept understood by little kids so they often tell me something important rather than asking me for information. A little boy put up his hand so I asked him what he wanted to know.

‘I saw you on the television last night,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘and did I look pretty?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you looked like you look now.’

The teachers clearly wanted the floor to open and swallow up the entire school but I thought it was hysterical. In a letter from another student, after I came home, a child wrote: ‘You might be old like my grandma but you’re much funnier.’ And another letter said: ‘See you next time, although there probably won’t be a next time so have a good life.’ Children are wonderfully kind and very refreshing.

And now for the abject apologies…

I can’t go on with the Hot News. It’s not because life isn’t fabulous and interesting, fast and amazing: it is. It’s not because I don’t have time to keep this section updated: I do have the time. It’s not because I’m bored: I’m not.

I’m tired, that’s all. In mid-September I was once again in hospital with acute asthma, my second such hospitalisation in 18 months. I was exhausted as well as having been felled by a dreadful virus which attacked a vast number of Australians this (southern) winter. I worked while I was ill. I travelled while I was ill. I was immensely cheerful and energetic in all my presentations, while I was ill. I don’t let people down so I cancelled only two events and the stress of cancelling added to my sickness. I ended up being terribly ill and unable to draw breath and was sent rather suddenly to hospital. I wasn’t allowed out for an eternity of six days, after which I had a further five days of bed-rest at home.

I’m 62 next year, and am still a very frisky 61 this year, but having the lungs of an ancient old crone means I can no longer frisk about as I used to at 31, with verve and vitality, even though I remain madly passionate about my work. So, this silliness has to stop.

I’m not only bowing out of the Hot News space, I’m cutting out most overseas travel also. My pathetic lungs can’t stand the long-haul flights any more, even though I fly with all my drugs, a portable nebuliser and a brilliant asthma plan from my doctors (Iggy and Igor, can you believe it?!) Having said that, I confess I AM going to Canada and the USA this week; and to the USA in March, and again in July 2008, but after that North America will be a once-a-year event. I know I will feel badly about not travelling: guilt will hit since America and Canada have been unfailingly kind to me for over twenty years. (Thank you SO much!)

And I know I’ll feel terrible about not doing the Hot News. I may weaken from time to time, but I hope to hold my nerve. So it’s sad to be saying goodbye while I’m still well and truly here.

When you’re so ill that you can’t read or watch tv or listen to the radio you have plenty of time to think and I thought a lot in hospital. I felt an incredible rush of love for my friends whom I value beyond description. And when I thought of my family I felt like sobbing for hours over how much I love them and how much they mean to me. (Chloe has just phoned and we were in the middle of a divine, animated chat when her other phone rang and she said: ‘Must go. Political call!!!’ Today is an exciting day in Australia: a federal election has been called at last, so Chloe will be hanging up on me more than once or twice over the next six weeks, I imagine. She is a STATE member of parliament, not a federal member, so the election isn’t All About Her this time.)

Anyway back to ME! Lying in my slippery hospital bed, thinking and thinking, I realised that writing is not, and never has been a passion for me in the way that education has, even though I do get tremendously excited at the results of HAVING written. I wouldn’t mind at all if I never wrote another book. As an educator, on the other hand, I realised I’d be utterly miserable if I could never give another speech about the importance of reading to babies and young children. I also felt comfortable about my life as I looked back on it, the things I’ve said, the changes I’ve encouraged, the books I’ve written, and the way I’ve kept a tidy house and cooked good meals most nights a week. (Sickening, really. But remember I thought I might die!) I then recalled, after feeling so darn pleased with myself, the graffiti at Flinders University that is forever in the forefront of my brain: ‘Mem Fox is not God.’ It always settles me down quickly.

OK, to the current news: my latest book, the winsome, calming WHERE THE GIANT SLEEPS is out and in the stores and ready to put children to sleep. I hasten to add it’s a lullaby! I hope WHERE IS THE GREEN SHEEP? is polite enough to move aside and make some room for this new book. GREEN SHEEP has already become a classic in Australia and is reprinted every couple of months. Parents stop me in the street, in cafes, and in the supermarket and rave about it, and each has their own story to tell about which page or picture their child likes best and why. I never get glassy-eyed over their stories. I feed greedily off their enthusiasms, even if I’ve heard similar stories hundred of times before. One of my friend’s grandsons, aged two, buries his head in the face of the NEAR SHEEP, then dashes to the end of the room when the FAR SHEEP appears (’Far, Nana, far!’) every time she reads the book.

I discovered soon after I came out of hospital (it effected an almost instant cure!) that POSSUM MAGIC, which is 24 years old this year, is still selling around 1,000 copies a week. Yes, that is ONE THOUSAND a WEEK. Of course many of those copies are through book clubs which pay next to nothing but even so, it’s a lovely encouragement for an aging writer. Most picture books in their entire lifetime sell between 2,000 and 15,000 copies. There will be more POSSUM MAGIC celebrations next year, with yet more special editions for the 25th anniversary. I hope to be around for the 50th anniversary. I’ll be 87 and I can see them wheeling me out for a photo and trying to explain at full volume that I once a wrote a particular book…

Malcolm is, as usual and as ever, my rock and anchor, and also now my courier: this time he is travelling with me because I’m nervous of travelling alone after my asthma event. I lost confidence in all sorts of ways while I was ill and it’s only now starting to return. I don’t think I’ll ever travel alone again in case Something Happens…

We are thrilled to be away for the first three weeks of the six-week federal election campaign. Being here for the entire campaign would have been drastic for my lungs as I would have been hyperventilating the ENTIRE time. I live and breath politics. I LOVE politics: it’s so dramatic! So much rides on this exciting election for Australia’s future, especially for education, the environment and the fair rights of every worker, let alone a million other incredibly important aspects of citizens’ lives like WATER, essential for life and lacking good care under the do-nothing current government. Australia is suffering a terrifying drought and we can see only disaster ahead without a change of leadership. We are Labor Party voters in our family and are filled with hope for a Labor victory for the first time in eleven years. (Americans: unlike your system, in which you vote in a government on the second Tuesday of November every four years, our leader, the prime minister, can call an election whenever he likes, within three years of the last election: amazing but true!)

So that’s it, my dears. It’s been great knowing you. Thanks for hanging in there with me all these years. It’s time to say good night and good luck. And I hope you have good life while I get on with mine, more restfully.