At the bottom of the world (or top, depending on which way you hold the atlas) is a small country—New Zealand, the last settled land. There, on the North Island lives R. E. Bartlett. That’s me. 

Now take a look at the North Island. See that lefthand blobby sticky-outy bit? That’s Taranaki, where a dormant volcano rises impressively above lush green dairyfarming pastures. This was not the region where I was born, but it is now where I live. 
The cows, thousands of them, took some getting used to. Smells unfamiliar and startling to the nose, the distant bawls of hungry Friesians, and the rumble of farmbikes in the early hours have now become commonplace. Yet it is also a place to walk along quiet country roads, to watch hawks making lazy circles in the sky, to breathe fresh air as the dog-companion sniffs out rabbits and pounces with glee into thickets.

In many ways the perfect place to dream up stories. From time to time those stories will spring out fully emerged onto printed page for you to discover. You already know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And, presumably, since you’ve clicked this link, you want to know something about me, the author. But what if I didn’t want to tell you? Would you mind terribly? I hope you’ll be more interested in the stories themselves. Suffice it to say, here’s a quick character sketch of myself. Tallish. Masses of hair. A ready grin. Fond of small furry animals. There, that’ll do. Now, back to the stories…