I’m not one of those authors who wrote their first novel in the womb, or even by the time I was in kindergarten. When I was little, I wanted to eat ice-cream for breakfast. I wanted to be able to fly. In terms of actual, career-based ambition, I wanted to be Olivia Newton John in Grease. It will blow your mind to learn that the only one of these childhood aspirations that actually came to pass involved eating dessert in pyjamas.  

Instead, I grew up, and found myself at university studying to become a lawyer, a career for which I was not at all well suited. In my final semester of study, I took a creative writing class, not because I was interested in creative writing, but because I can be a bit lazy and thought it would be easy. I quickly figured out that writing fiction was in fact quite hard. I also realized I loved it. And the question formed in my mind: one day, possibly, far off in the future, could I maybe be a writer?     

After lawyering (let’s face it, probably rather badly) for a couple of years, I moved to New York with my husband, where there were lots of opportunities to explore my writing dream. I studied at the Gotham Writers’ Workshop, most notably under a kind young instructor named Matt de la Peña (before he was a Newbery Medal winning superstar). I undertook a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at New York University, where I learnt from literary heroes like E.L. Doctorow, had quite a bit of fun, and also taught writing myself.

I emerged from my studies with the slightly pretentious desire to be a very serious literary Artiste with a capital A, writing very serious literary fiction. But when our eldest daughter was born prematurely, the joys and challenges of being a mum sapped my energy to write. Enter babies number two and three. The years passed, and I almost forgot about my dream. Almost.

Then, early in the pandemic, I had the crazy idea of writing a picture book. I had certainly read them often enough. I knew the pleasure of that shared experience with my kids, snuggled together, lost in a story. I decided to give it a go.

Now, I see my previous plans to write serious adult books as something like my desire to duet with John Travolta at the Rydell High School Fair while wearing uncomfortably tight lycra pants. Both amazing things to do, but probably not my journey. Kids books, on the other hand? Now that’s a different story. 

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