I come from a family of writers, mostly journalists. My parents met and fell in love as young reporters on The Courier-Mail in the 1950s. When I was growing up, if you told a story, it had to have a strong lead and put the most important things first. If you didn’t tell it right, you didn’t get to finish it.
Read MoreEnid Blyton is dead not only in a literary professor’s head. She’s more like a Monty Python Norwegian blue parrot kind of dead, deceased, late, no more. She died in 1968, and I suspect hasn’t written anything since. How then can she be releasing books as recently as 2009?
Read MoreAlthough I know it does me no good, I sat for four days last month and watched the leader of the Church in Australia, Cardinal Pell, explain what he did and mostly didn't do to respond to children abused on his watch.
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