My Life as a Writer
Cue August 2009.
I'm sat on an old wooden bench at the front of my dad's house, discreetly tucked away at the end of quiet Yorkshire village. It's a beautful blue sky day, but a forboding dark cloud hones in from the south.
I sit on the bench and give myself a good talking-to. (It's not the first time.)
The night before was a watershed moment.
After 9 years of trying to write, it was now time to write.
Three days later, I find myself sitting at the bottom of Hillyfields park and I'm writing the opening three pages of a book about a girl called Shelly Clover. Where she came from, I can't honestly say. But, she came spilling out of my mind, and I'm glad she came.