How it started…

I can’t have been much more than seven years old when my father asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. It was a no brainer.

“An author!” I cried.

From my Dad’s expression, he couldn’t have been more horrified if I’d announced an ambition to be a housewife or a serial killer.

“You’ll never make any money” he replied, appealing to my mercenary soul.

“Then I’ll be a journalist.”

I guess he hoped I’d grow out of it. But I followed through on my threat.

It would have been helpful if Dad had mentioned there wasn’t any money in journalism either.

My career as a journalist began at radio station 2DU in the central western NSW city of Dubbo. It wasn’t as glamourous as it looks.

Somehow, I snagged a gig as a reporter on “A Current Affair”. It was a mixed bag of career big hits and back office misogyny. To survive as a woman, you either needed to be outrageously talented or a self serving sycophant. I was neither. So I was never going to last very long.

Disclaimer: Ray Martin is one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.

But as they say, when life presents you with lemons, make lemonade.

My dear friend Jane Hansen and I hit back by anonymously writing a fictionalised account of our experiences in television news and current affairs.

All of a sudden, I was a published author. But I couldn’t tell anyone, not even Dad.

Next time, I promised myself, my name would be on the front cover.

Journalism was a bust. So I ventured into reality television.

And there I found a home.

We were telling stories. Big, over the top, fantastical stories. And we were having fun.

There was scarcely a straight white man in sight.

But if you worked on MasterChef… there were pastries.

And if you worked on Married at First Sight, there were the stories. Oh my Lord, there were stories.