Six years ago tomorrow my first book, a children’s one, was published. It’s funny, when I say it, when I say ‘six years ago’ it sounds like an awful long time ago. And it is. And it feels it in many ways but, at the same time, it feels as though it could just have been a couple of years ago.

But. Six years. I’m not sure if I was convinced back in 2006 that I’d still be doing this. I certainly hoped I would be and I feel exceptionally lucky that I am. Lucky that I’m still enjoying it, lucky that it provides me with a living (well, of sorts!), and lucky that I’ve had a further two books published, and all at the grand old age of thirty-one. Most of all, I think I’m lucky that Im still able to produce stories and books that people like. That’s the big thing. That’s the acid test right there.

And I’m not going to pretend this last six years have been trauma free because they’ve really not. There have been tantrums and fallings out, good friendships and some relationships have died, I’ve been pretty miserable some of the time and some of the time I’ve wondered whether I really should be writing. And there’s been a lot of self-doubt, a lot of wondering if I’m good enough to be a writer. I don’t know if that will ever change. I probably wouldn’t want it to, to be honest.

But, mostly, these six years have been good. Really good. I’m proud of what I’ve written and I’m proud of what I’ve done, and I intend to keep doing it, one word at a time, for a long time to come. I hope I’ll be able to say something similar on here in another six years. I wonder what they’ve got in store for me.

Happy birthday, book.


And, as it’s a bit of a celebratory kind of thing, I’ve a few signed copies up for grabs. If you’d like to be in with a chance of winning one, leave me a comment (and a way of contacting you). I’ll pick some names out of a hat at the end of next week.