I WAS IN Brisbane to launch my first novel. I had wandered about all afternoon, neglecting my preparation for the night’s event at Avid Reader bookshop. I was walking up Grey Street in the shade, hiding from the notes in my journal, when I stopped outside the museum. There: a T-Rex, mottled green, ten metres tall, looming over the glass barrier and the sago palms. A little boy climbed up her legs, pounding her plastic thighs with his tiny hands. I took a photo of the dinosaur because it made me smile. 

I ignored the messages on my phone, those acerbic responses from my friends to a new review of my novel. Someone at Meanjin had panned the book and its ‘literary’ author. I worried everyone at Avid Reader would have seen the review before hearing me speak. I feared that I had finally been found out. The critique had saturated my thoughts, making my novel feel tired and limp; on the day of my launch, all I wanted was to forget about myself and my ‘flimsy’ book.