- Carole dreamed of becoming a writer from childhood but spent decades working, raising her daughter and putting her ambition on hold
- At 81, a fierce hailstorm damaged her home and forced her into temporary accommodation – where she finally sat down and began writing her first novel
- Just 142 days later, Carole had written two-thirds of Magic at Witta Cottage, eventually becoming a self-published author at 83 and already working on her second novel
Here Carole Caley, 83, Witta, Qld, tells her own story in her own words
Sitting in the classroom, I gazed out the window and imagined the characters for my next tale.
I was eight years old and loved nothing more than dreaming up stories.
I’d just won a school competition with a story about two boots separated before eventually finding each other again.
‘I want to be a writer,’ I told my parents, Vera and Otto.
But after leaving school I went on to study secretarial skills, before landing a job with an architect in Brisbane.
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Then, while travelling, I met and married my husband in London, before moving to his home country of South Africa, where we welcomed our beautiful daughter, Rae, in April 1976.
When we divorced in 1984, my yearning to write a book still bubbled within, but working and being a single mum, I didn’t have much time to put pen to paper.
Moving back to Australia in 1997, when I was 54 and Rae was 20, we settled on the block of land I’d bought years earlier in Witta, a small rural town in Queensland’s Sunshine Coast Hinterland, and I got a job working for the government, before retiring, aged 67.
Even then my ambition of being an author had never disappeared.
In October 2024, I was strolling down by the dam on my property. It was my favourite place to let my imagination drift, thinking up characters for romantic adventures that I based short stories around.
If I don’t follow my dream now, when will I? I pondered.
At 81, I wasn’t getting any younger.
It was now or never!
As dark clouds rolled in, I headed home still allowing my mind to wander. Only now, I wanted to do something more than simply tell a good story.
I wanted to leave something behind for Rae and my two grandsons, Jack, then 13, and Tom, eight – something they could treasure long after I was gone.
That evening, thunder rumbled overhead as lightning forked across the sky.
Moments later, the heavens opened and rain lashed down. Then came the hail. Balls of ice, some the size of bricks, slammed into the roof and side of the house.
Thump! Crack! Bang!
It was a ferocious storm, but I knew these weather events never lasted forever, so I hit the sack.
The next morning, my outdoor blinds hung in ribbons, flapping in the breeze, while my roof had been peppered with holes.
It looked like a bomb had hit the place.
My entire roof needed to be replaced, so while the works were underway, my insurance company arranged temporary accommodation for me.
Packing a bag I moved into a cosy studio apartment at Tranquil Getaways On Obi Maleny – a serene hotel in the nearby town of Maleny.
Overlooking the Glasshouse Mountains, it was a lovely place to stay. But, accustomed to always being on the go, after a few days of relaxing, I found myself twiddling my thumbs.
Then it hit me.
Now’s my chance to tell that story, I thought.
Settling myself at the table by the window, I opened my laptop.
And, just like when I was eight years old and gazing out of the classroom window, I let my thoughts wander once again.
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They say to write what you know, so I set my novel in the beautiful Sunshine Coast Hinterland, drawing inspiration from my own tranquil Witta property.
The bushland and the island in my dam all found their way onto the pages.
When it came to the characters, I gave them familiar names. My daughter Rae became Razor – the childhood nickname I’d always called her – while my two grandsons inspired characters of their own.
As for the plot, I’d always loved romance, so my novel followed interior designer Carmel Williamson, whose traumatic past has left her afraid to trust.
Then when two very different men enter her life, she’s forced to decide whether she’s ready to embrace love.
Every day, I’d rise before dawn, make myself a coffee and let the words pour out of me, as each chapter took shape.
In June 2025, 142 days later, I received the news that my house was finally ready for me to move back into.
‘My novel’s two thirds of the way there,’ I told Rae, thrilled I’d put my unexpected getaway to good use.
And, of course, the owners of the property were delighted to discover they’d hosted a debut novelist.
Once back home, I wrote the final 20,000 words, completing my book, Magic at Witta Cottage.
‘You’ve done it,’ Rae said proudly.
After working with editor Lynne Lloyd of Lloyd Moss Editing and Publishing, my manuscript soon became a finished novel.
And in May 2026, I held the first bound copy in my hands.
Stroking my hand over the cover, butterflies fluttered in my tummy.
I’d finally achieved my life’s dream.
I was a published author!
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A few weeks later, we held the book launch at the property where I’d written most of my book, with Rae, my grandsons, and friends by my side.
I felt like a local celebrity as I signed copies.
Rae and my friends who’ve read the story absolutely loved it!
Becoming a self-published author at 83, I’ve proved it’s never too late to pursue something you’ve always wanted.
I plan to keep writing until I can no longer hold a pen or tap away at a keyboard, and that won’t be anytime soon.
I’m already 30,000 words into my second novel, Intrigue at Phuzamoya, another romance set in a fictional game reserve in Zululand.
If you’ve got a hidden dream, stop thinking about it and get on with it.
Believe in yourself, give it a go and see where it takes you.
Because if you never try, you’ll never know.
To buy Carole’s book, ‘Magic at Witta Cottage’ on Amazon.
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