About Peter

Peter grew up in Melbourne in the Fifties and Sixties and attended a series of very nasty Catholic schools. One night, during an air raid he escaped - no, wait, I made that up. What really happened was a very ordinary life, punctuated. 

By the age of nine Peter was an accomplished raconteur (‘Dear Mrs Twohig, Peter tells stories,’ was his first and fairest review). His mother, a journalist and peerless BSA, explained to him that bullshit is even more convincing (and memorable) when written down. She pointed out that the radio serials he loved were actually scripted. He got it. 

A Portrait of the Artist as a Kid

A Portrait of the Artist as 
The Weatherboard Kid

It was an easy leap from performing art to literature. During his De La Salle years he wrote quite a bit, and regularly contributed in the school magazine, the Eagle. Getting published was easy; getting censored was even easier. Back then, you didn’t get rejection slips, you got rejection beatings.  Nevertheless, Peter kept on writing. 

He attended several universities, and studied till he was blue in the face (literally true, though that’s another story). He became a prolific diarist with a view to publishing a novel. But the Lord of Reincarnation intervened (again) and sidetracked him. At least, that’s his story. Eventually, discouraged, he eventually became a Naturopath & Homoeopath, but really, he was a just a disenchanted artist. 

Then the L of R took pity, and sayeth unto him, 'Okay, pal, you wanted it; now you got it, ' or something (That's how the L of R spakes [sic]). And he got it.

Copyright ©  Peter Twohig. All rights reserved.