Well, here we are. Today, The Boy From Elsewhere is officially out in the world, and I’m sitting with that familiar, slightly surreal mix of feelings: nerves, excitement, gratitude, and the strong urge to make twelve cups of tea and stare out of a window for a bit. I
How autism taught me that books should open doors, not give you a rulebook.
The point of no return. One book, one week to go, and the moment where a singular story begins to expand.
I walked into the room to read my book out loud. Instead, I had to learn how to let it breathe.
On gentle queer stories, strange coincidences, and a launch I’m very excited about.
Four weeks to go, and the growing suspicion that sandwiches would have been easier to make than a novel.
Five weeks from now, The Boy From Elsewhere will take its first steps into the big wide world. Which is exciting. And strange. And currently being processed over several cups of tea, like all major life events. This book didn’t begin as a book. It actually started as a
This year was heavy in places and generous in others. I’m trying to honour both of those things, and the new ground I’m standing on, as the year turns.
Hope, light, and warmth at the darkest part of the year.
This National Poetry Day, I’m thinking about play, about poetry, and about the small moments that make a city human.
On rocks, gravel, and the friends who keep me standing.
Writing doesn’t need permission. Just a pen, a pocket of time, a rubber duck, and the courage to begin.