Jack Heath 🖊️
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Adventures in the Kimberly 🐊

6 August 2026

Hello from the skies above Western Australia!

I'm on my way back to Canberra (via Perth and Melbourne) after the Kimberley Writers Festival. Getting there was a bit of an adventure. My flight to Darwin suddenly aborted its descent due to "military exercises," which suggests we were nearly shot down by the army. My flight to Kununurra turned around when we were almost halfway there due to a "mechanical fault"—when we landed back in Darwin there were three fire trucks on the tarmac waiting for us. It was an extremely gentle landing, as though the pilot was lowering not a plane but a grenade. (Are you allowed to type the word "grenade" on a plane, or is that like saying "bomb" out loud? I might hit enter a few times so the guy next to me doesn't see.)

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Anyway, once we got there, the festival was a hoot and a half. Maybe a hoot and two thirds—I don't even think I can reasonably call it a work trip. Yes, I gave readings and signed autographs, but just this morning I was swimming in a natural pool at the bottom of a waterfall. (Someone asked for my autograph there, too, but it turned out they'd mistaken me for Brooke Shields.) The night before that I was out in the bush, eating dessert under the stars while the multi-award-winning chef serenaded us with his guitar. I wish I hadn't made that joke about Brooke Shields above, because now you'll think I'm exaggerating the rest of it. Kununurra is beautiful—no wonder billionaires want so badly to own it. Yesterday (on a fancy river cruise) I think I even spotted Gina Rhinehart in the distance:

A picture of a freshwater crocodile

The best part by far was the company. Excited readers, quick-witted writers, some guy named Jack Heath, and a crack team of librarians who worked so hard that I didn't have to think about a single thing all weekend. I'm very glad it's over; so much luxury can't be healthy. One more day of pampering would have made me insufferable. I need to go home and clean out a litter tray.

To ease my guilt over having such a nice time while my family was at home, I did a lot of editing in my hotel room. The structural edit for 200 Minutes of Survival is nearly finished. I had to make a lot of the same changes several times over due to bugs in Microsoft Word, MobiOffice and Google Docs, but at least that gave me plenty of time to reconsider things and make sure I'd found the best solution to every problem.

In preparation for my Children's Book Week tour, I also recorded a little video about line editing. If you're a teacher, feel free to use it in your classroom! (Unless I'm coming to your school this month, in which case I'd much rather talk your students through it in person.)

Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, I got a message from Kate Solly. I'd begged her to read Choppy Water in the hope that she might like it enough to provide a quote my publisher could use in the marketing.

(A quick peek behind the curtain—those quotes you see on book covers are often provided by the author's friends. Never trust them. And don't tell anyone that I revealed this closely guarded industry secret, or Michael Robotham will put a hit out on me.)

Kate provided not one quote but two (which is typical of her). I can't decide which one I like better:

A: Crackling with humour, brimming with humanity, and with a sublimely relentless plot. I couldn’t stop reading this book - and now I can’t stop talking about it!

B: This is Jack Heath at his breakneck best. I was gripped from the very first page. A killer premise that pays off exquisitely. Cancel your weekend plans. This book won’t let you go.

I love them both, but there's only room for one (probably only half of one, actually). Do you have an opinion? Reply to this email if so—I'd love to hear it. Which bit makes you the most tempted to read the book?

Kate and I will be doing an event together in Melbourne on Wednesday August 12! Would you like to come along? (UPDATE: THIS EVENT HAS SINCE BEEN CANCELLED 😢)

I have some other events coming up: 

OK, the plane is about to start its descent, so I have to put my laptop away. I hope there's still time for the guy seated next to me to give me a foot massage, a chemical peel, a glass of Penfolds Grange and oh no the festival made me entitled!

Yours fancifully,
Jack

P.S. Relax, everybody. Yes, I wrote all that on the plane, but I didn't actually send the email until I got home, because I don't know what happens if you try to send an email in mid-air (maybe the pilot turns the plane around and summons the fire trucks).

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