I look like a writer.

Hell, I even look like a successful writer. Okay, so I've had a handful of publications in small press stuff and anthologies that appear spine-out in four bookshops across the country. But that's okay because this arrived in the mail.

<--
The first prize for the Australian Horror Writers Association's 2006 Flash Fiction Competition!

It's quite an honour, the AHWA are a great bunch of guys who do an awful lot for dark fic in Oz. Needless to say, it went straight to the pool room. Or would have, if our tiny house was big enough for something posh like a pool room. Actually, it went on the wall of our kitchen/dining area/computer desk area/main thoroughfare, where we stick little Ben's works of fine art. It's between a doctor's stethoscope (milk bottle lids, straws and a bit of egg carton) and a cellophane/paper plate jellyfish.

So I look like a real writer now, right? Is that what one looks like?

So you can behold Cat Sparks' seven Ditmars, or ogle Richard Harland's Golden Aurealis, but if you really want to feast your eyes, look at my wall.
It has a cellophane jellyfish. Bloody good one, too.