Without realising, I started to live as a character in one of my books

I was living in the Southern Highlands of NSW when I wrote my first novel, Echo Lake, inspired by the misty forests, cosy pubs and antique shops I had grown to love. But circumstances forced me to leave for a few years, and I always longed to return.

Recently, I got my wish. The stars unexpectedly realigned and I was able to move back to the Highlands in time for publication of Echo Lake’s sequel, Whisky Valley.

On the drive down from Sydney, my car piled high with clothes, knick-knacks and books, I felt like my main character, Rose McHugh, who had found a little wooden cottage surrounded by bushland and birdsong, finally realising her dream.

Maybe that’s the point of fiction – to bring a character to life so vividly that the reader can see the world through their eyes.Credit: Getty Images

While her cottage was in Berrima, I found one in nearby Burrawang. Like Rose’s house, mine is surrounded by native and exotic trees, the latter turning orange, red and yellow in the glorious peak of autumn. And, like Rose, I now wake up to the sound of black cockatoos and whipbirds, often muffled by the fog that settles over the low hills and valleys.

But am I living in the world of my books or are my books merely an extension of me?

One of the great pleasures of reading is travelling to captivating destinations. Whether the Japan of James Clavell’s Shogun, the rural American south of Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain, or the islands of Ann Cleeves’ Shetlands mysteries, my favourite books are ones set in places with their own unique magic. When I first came to the Highlands, I felt the kind of unique magic I craved as a reader and decided it would be even more fun to explore as a writer. Which is when I started becoming Rose.

When creating her, I approached Rose the same way I approached the setting for the novels. I wanted her to be compelling, inviting – someone readers might like to spend time with. She needed to be warm, but with a dark side, down-to-earth but eccentric, vulnerable without being pathetic. I also endowed Rose with some of my own quirks of character: a passion for bushwalking, an obsession with the films of Alfred Hitchcock and an addiction to cinnamon buns. I thought I was on pretty firm ground.

As I wrote, Rose’s actions were usually predictable, which is unsurprising considering I invented her, but sometimes she would go off-piste. My fingers would tap away on the keyboard and I’d stare in shock as Rose did something I hadn’t planned. At first, I was unsure about letting her deviate from my outline, but I learnt to follow my instinct. Or rather, to follow Rose.

I understood that my books’ lead characters are an expression of my subconscious, where hidden fears and repressed desires take shape. I needed to give her free rein. In this way, Rose became more me than me.

Author Joan Sauers.

Now that I’m back in Rose’s beloved Southern Highlands, I visit her favourite bakery or bookstore and sometimes have a sense of déjà vu. Not my déjà vu, but Rose’s.

Last week, I was roaming through an antiques shop in Bowral when I came upon some framed maps of the area. I picked up one and thought to myself, “This must be where Rose found the map of Echo Lake.” Of course, that didn’t happen in real life. It happened in my book. Was this a sign of early-onset dementia, or was I just profoundly immersed in my character, the way a method actor might be when playing a role?

I think the main reason I’m increasingly becoming Rose is that she is not just the hero of one book, but of an ongoing series in which she is led by her historical practice and her naturally nosy nature to solve mysteries. So now everything I see and do, every place I go in the Highlands, is a potential clue, a thread, a plot point she might follow in a future story. My whole life has become research.

Shortly after the move to Burrawang, I took my daughter and her family to Fitzroy Falls, where they had never been and where I had set a scene in Echo Lake. As we walked along the footbridge over the creek towards the falls, my daughter said she felt as though she’d already been there; she didn’t just remember the place itself, but the feelings she had when she saw it. But, of course, those were Rose’s feelings.

Maybe that’s the point of fiction – to bring a character to life so vividly that the reader can see the world through her eyes and walk in her shoes. So they can become Rose, too.

Last week at the Burrawang pub, I was about to order a glass of red wine when suddenly I had a thirst for a cold beer. As I took my first sip, I remembered that beer is what Rose ordered on her first visit. While this might worry some people, I like becoming Rose, and I’m sure she still has a thing or two to teach me.

Whisky Valley (Allen & Unwin) by Joan Sauers is out now.

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