That yummy feeling I get when waking up to page views. For me, this is better than sales.

A small step for those looking to conquer the world. A giant leap for little old me… My latest novel is a dual timeline historical fiction. One half of the book is set in 1845, in a factual town called Newmarket in County Cork, Ireland. The other is set in a small factual town called Paxton, in Illinois, USA, in 2025. This week, I made contact with the libraries of both places. Both have agreed to host me for an afternoon later in the year. I am so looking forward to it.

In November 2024 I sat down and began writing my second novel. This wasn't planned. Context for why I wrote it. In October 2024 the UK government changed agricultural property relief in its autumn budget. I knew what that would mean for family farms and I knew people who could be part of the fallout. I was so bloody angry. I wanted to rage about it, join the protests. Instead, I created a twelve-year-old boy called Alex. The structure arrived in under a minute: it would open

Deep down, I always knew I would be an author. How my sisters actually looked in 1969 compared to how I saw them.

If I were to post a profile overview on a dating app, it would be this lol..... It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of

Just a little wordplay playfulness.... Robert, or Bob as he preferred to be known Was enthralled in a daydream A world of his own Bob's daydream was to do with the fog Bob was out walking, walking his dog - It was so thick - not the dog The dog was quite bright The fog, the fog that night The fog was so thick Bob felt the fog He felt, it was the thickest foggiest fog he had ever seen And then he thought of cleaning it With a can of Mr Sheen Suddenly Bobs daydream was o

Some trauma barely makes the local news anymore. Is it that nobody cares? Or is it that it's stopped being rare enough to count as news? We seem to have built up a kind of statistical immunity to certain harms, simply because they happen so often that "shocking" has had to move somewhere else. Forty years ago, a single tragedy in a town would lead the local paper for a week. Now it might not make page nine. Nothing about the event itself has changed. What's changed is the bac