Fahrenheit 2600 follows a teen boy battling his demons who, after getting into some trouble, meets a dreamer with a crazy plan and forms a bond of friendship in a steel foundry. What were some ideas that were important for you to share in this book?

I wanted to capture the spirit of 1970s Australia—the grit, the slang, the music, and the quiet dignity of people who broke their backs every day just to get by. But I also wanted to explore the irony behind the old adage, “they don’t make them like they used to.” The so-called good old days weren’t always so good. Yes, we worked hard and faced real physical challenges, but there was also a kind of silent suffering that went unnoticed. Pain buried under pride, humour, and often long shifts at a factory.

Today’s world—while more comfortable—comes with its own brand of pain. We may not be toiling on production lines, but we’re caught in the exhausting, cerebral maze of social media, identity, and constant comparison. The struggle has shifted—from the body to the mind—and both eras carry their own kind of scars. I wanted to give that some air, to draw a line between those two worlds, and maybe bridge the generations a little.

What was the most challenging part of writing your memoir, and what was the most rewarding?

My first book, Wog in a fish shop  of which Fahrenheit 2600 is a sequel, was a challenge in a different way. I forced myself to revisit a tough childhood, but I wanted to tell it with humour and warmth. I wrote it in an anecdotal style, leaning into the absurdity of certain moments to make it more entertaining than heavy.

Fahrenheit 2600 was tougher in that I didn’t just want another collection of memories—I wanted it to feel like a proper story, with a clear protagonist, stakes, and a reason to keep turning the pages. That shift from memoir to narrative was an enormous leap for me. The hardest part was editing it down—it was nearly twice the length at one point. Being brutal with the cuts, killing off scenes I liked for the sake of pace and structure, that was painful but necessary.

One thing that really helped me through the process was something my daughter, Jess Leondiou, taught me. She’s a  journaling advocate who is podcasting about the benefits of writing down both positive and negative thoughts and can help rewire the brain. That practice helped me push through the doubts and stay clear on why I was writing this book in the first place.

What do you hope is one thing readers take away from your story?

It might sound like a cliché, but I truly believe the most important thing in life is to be kind to others. No matter how they present themselves—More often than not they are carrying some kind of internal struggle. In Fahrenheit 2600, I wanted to show that via the conflict between the main character and the antagonist, who at one point are on the brink of actual violence. But as the story unfolds, something shifts. There’s a twist near the end that I hope catches readers off guard—in a good way—and shows just how complex and surprising people can be when you look past the surface. If that moment leaves readers thinking twice before judging someone too harshly, then that’s a good thing.

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