What is my best memory of being a writer?
It would have to be winning two Golden Crown Literary Society Awards for my debut novel Girl Island. That was a dream. I wrote most of that book in stolen moments, often still in my pyjamas, fuelled by tea and utter panic. Seeing it recognised by such a brilliant literary community was surreal.
But the moment that meant the most to me came from an email I received not long after the book came out. It was from an 11-year-old girl called Tenley, who sent me a photo of her bedroom bookshelf, complete with fairy lights, a glitter lava lamp, and in the middle of it all, Girl Island was propped up like treasure. She wrote, “You’re my favourite author. I’ve read this three times already. Please write more.” That stopped me in my tracks. We write in such isolation, never knowing if the words will land. But there it was on the bookshelf of my perfect reader. A story I typed in quiet corners had found its way into a child’s world.
And then, not two weeks later, I had an email from Edwin, aged 83, who said he borrowed the book from his granddaughter “out of curiosity” and ended up staying up past midnight to finish it. He called it “unexpectedly exciting and very moving” and said he wished the girls had been on his Scout team.
There is something extraordinary about writing young adult fiction and seeing it connect with such a wide range of readers. To be part of those lives for a few chapters is an honour I don’t take lightly. Writing is chaos and joy and connection. And every message from a reader, young or old, reminds me why I am doing it.
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