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Chaotic, to be honest. I work full-time as a journalist, so when I was writing The Wrong Move, my schedule was relentless. I’d finish my day job, take a short break, then dive straight into writing at night—sometimes until the early hours. There was no luxury of taking my time with that first book. I had a five-month deadline and had to push through, no matter how exhausted I was.
Now that it’s finished, I finally have the space to approach my second book at my own pace. No looming deadline, no pressure from publishers yet. And that, honestly, feels like a gift.
Books were my obsession as a child—I’d devour them under the covers past bedtime, not realizing my tiny desk lamp was scorching holes into my duvet. Writing was just a natural extension of that. My first attempt at a book was Abbie the Angel, co-written with a friend when we were ten. That quickly turned into a series about female crime-fighters with names like Charissa the Cowgirl (I know, painful).
As I got older, writing became a way to process things. I kept diaries, wrote terrible poetry whenever a crush didn’t like me back, and used words to make sense of the world. Now, I get to write about both real and imagined lives—through journalism and fiction.
It’s harder than people might think. As a journalist, accuracy is everything—quotes need to be exact, facts have to be checked, and there’s little room for embellishment. Fiction is the opposite. I have full control, but sometimes my brain struggles to let go of reality.
With my new book, which follows an eighteen-year-old who falls for a musician who later becomes famous, I keep hitting a weird block. It’s loosely based on my own experiences, but real life doesn’t always have the pacing or structure of a compelling novel. I have to remind myself that even when drawing from personal stories, the goal isn’t to document—it’s to shape something gripping and immersive.
All the time. You’d think, as their creator, I’d have full control, but they take on lives of their own. It’s like playing The Sims—sometimes they refuse to do what I want, no matter how much I try to push them in a certain direction.
When I get stuck, I turn to visuals. While writing The Wrong Move, I spent ages on Google Images and Pinterest, pinning pictures of people who looked like my characters. Marcus, for instance, was always the lead singer of The Horrors in my mind. Seeing those references on my desk helped when I needed to figure out how they’d react in a scene.
For my first book, I wrote mostly at night, juggling work, travel, and personal life. I was constantly moving between London and Bristol to spend time with my grandmother, who was battling cancer. Looking back, I feel a weird resentment toward the book—it demanded so much from me during one of the hardest times of my life.
I’ve always preferred writing late at night. There’s something about the stillness of the world that makes it easier to focus. When I still smoked, my desk was always cluttered with an old teacup repurposed as an ashtray. Later, cigarettes were replaced with red wine or coffee, but the ritual remained the same—write a few hundred words, reward myself with a break.
Usually when I’m doing something completely unrelated. In the shower, trying to fall asleep, or just out with friends. I have an ongoing list of ideas, one of which—Glitter on Prescription—was inspired by nights out with my queer friends. It’s about a woman who lives with drag queens, and the unique friendships between straight women and gay men. Whenever someone says something hilarious, I jot it down. Is it bad to steal dialogue from real life? Probably. But I do it anyway.
For my current book, set in 2009, I’ve been using music to pull myself back into that time. My playlist is full of bands I was obsessed with then—Two Door Cinema Club, Passion Pit, Foals. Nostalgia is my weakness.
Unhealthy relationships, self-identity, anxiety, addiction, obsession, friendship, loneliness, grief, generational struggles, city vs. suburb life, love in all its forms. I’m drawn to the messiness of human connection—the way people hurt each other, and the ways they try to make amends.
I’d love to say yoga, but in reality? Pizza and Keeping Up With The Kardashians. I find water incredibly calming—if I could teleport anywhere, it would be Brighton, just to sit by the sea. When my anxiety spikes and I feel frozen in fear, the only thing that helps is sleep. In the worst of times, I’ve spent days in bed, unable to do anything else. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened in a long time.
Self-doubt. Writing often feels like playing Tetris—moving pieces around until they finally click. But before that happens, there’s a lot of staring at a blank page, wondering if you’re wasting your time. I procrastinate endlessly, avoiding my laptop because a voice in my head keeps saying, What’s the point? It’s going to be terrible anyway.
The trick is to write as if no one will ever read it. Forget about the final product—just get something down. You can fix it later.
I’m always reading multiple books at once. Right now:
Recently, I was captivated by The Consequences of Love by Gavanndra Hodge, a beautifully written memoir about grief and addiction. And I finally got around to reading Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams—funny, heartbreaking, and a necessary addition to my bookshelf.
Read Save the Cat Writes a Novel. I wish I’d known about it before writing my first book—it’s an incredible resource for structuring a story. Also, just start writing. Even if it’s rambling nonsense, get something down. Every story has to start somewhere.
During The Wrong Move, I became obsessed with a percentage calculator online, constantly checking how far I was from my word count goal. Seeing 4%, 14%, then suddenly 94% made the process feel tangible.
Set in a Brighton flatshare, the book follows Jessie Campbell, a woman escaping an abusive relationship who moves in with three strangers. At first, everything seems perfect—until little things start to go wrong. It’s a psychological thriller that asks: How well do we really know the people we live with?