Strange to say, my enduring love of comics, in particular 'The Phantom', 'Superman', and 'Mad Magazine', set me gnashing pens at an early age. One of my first creations was a riotous comic series called 'King Cocky', chock-filled with irreverent speech and thought bubbles, and an avian 'king' whose physical appearance varied greatly from frame to frame.

My passion for short stories can be traced to a memorable night when my father came home late from the pub, determined to lead a revolution for reasons that escaped a ten-year-old. 'The First Shot' took up half a dozen pages in the back of my social studies exercise book, and was binned soon after when my older brother said, 'When Dad sees this, the first shot's for you!'

Inspiration for 'My Time of Eagles' – my debut novel published by Boolarong Press – came years later when fellow landholders in remote western QLD openly bragged about their tally of slaughtered Wedge-tailed Eagles and the wanton destruction of Indigenous sacred sites. To fill the pages, I drew on the experiences of a lifetime out bush, a passing parade of colourful characters, and the timeless beauty of the Aussie outback.

'Last Train to Menindee' grew from a dozen journal entries written in 2021 when I travelled from Longreach in western QLD to iconic, outback Menindee Lakes in NSW seeking answers to my schizophrenic younger brother's death. When I looked back on them sometime later, I saw the bones of a story at once tragic, heartwarming, stranger than fiction, and begging to be told. There was no one else to tell it. At the time, I carried residual guilt common to the loved ones of similarly afflicted family members; could I/we have done more? This sentiment in itself was a powerful incentive. Once begun, the words that poured onto the page gave meaning to a life lived by a man obsessed with Indigenous wisdoms and cultural care of country, an artist who lived his life on the fringes of society. My words, in many ways, were an unburdening.

Yes, three – the first being a novella-length trilogy called 'Of Hobbled Horses and Cicatrices'. Part one is completed and is undergoing editing. A fiction-based-on-fact trilogy – set in the mid-seventies – OHHC is 'written' by a school dropout who makes up words, writes A4-length sentences, disregards grammar, and colours the page with humour and a disturbing depth of insight into the inequalities of an Indigenous-dominated cattle industry in the remote Kimberley.

Number two is the framework for a spec-fiction climate-change novel. The last in the pipeline is also 'faction', a novella-length completed work called 'Gypsy Wheat' which, after editorial advice, needs to address privacy concerns before continuing its journey to publication.

There is a saying in the bush: 'Jack of all trades, master of none'. This resonates with me, given the many and varied roles I've 'mastered' (or tried to) over a lifetime on the land. They will never be framed and hung on the office wall. Nevertheless, when it comes to colouring my writing at the end of a rewarding and often chaotic working life, they are indeed the initials that follow my name.

Writing is a business of 'doing'. While you are 'doing', you are teaching yourself – along with whatever outside advice you choose – what works and what doesn't as you develop a style. The amount of advice in the tech era can be overwhelming. I believe the wisest of all is to 'write what you know' before you spread your wings.

Whistle-blowers and activists with the courage of their convictions are my all-time heroes. Muhammad Ali comes to mind, also Jane Fonda, Greta Thornberg, David Attenborough, Bob Brown, Charlie Perkins, Eddie Mabo, and last but not least, the man who led the Wave Hill Walkout, Vincent Lingiari.

I'm a current affairs addict and ancient history tragic. As a child, I had dreams of becoming an archaeologist. Instead, I satisfied this yearning by excavating many holes in the earth in my later years as a fencing contractor. Nowadays, I leave planet earth by picking an acoustic guitar – not very well – and dabbling in board-game design.

My bedtime reading is broad, anywhere from Aussie classics such as 'Nemarluk, King of the Wild' and 'My Brother Jack' to 'The Green Mile' and 'Prayer for Owen Meanie'. Often, I get locked into genres. Once, I read 'explorers' for a whole year: ice, desert, ocean, and space until Christian Jacq's 'Ramses' series broke the spell.

Website: https://stevehawe.com/

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Email: cstreakov@gmail.com