If you are like me, and all of these aspects of Tudor history excite you, then I hope you’ll pick up my debut fantasy novel, The Court of Venus, where rumors shape who lives and who dies, and magicians blessed by the planets themselves play kingmaker.

Who’s the clever one? The quiet one? The evil one?

She’s somebody I know unsettlingly intimately, and I’m probably so unsettled by her because I’m afraid to admit to myself how easy it would be to become her.

A friend asked me recently, “how does it feel to write about a version of the city that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Summer is a time that evokes childhood, beauty and freedom, but also becomes a setting to set a family’s tensions against, asking if they can ever break out of their own trappings.

But in following Mattie’s journey, I found some of the answers I was seeking every time I asked myself what if? I hope readers do too.

This time last year I was eagerly awaiting the hardback release of my debut novel, The Game is Murder. It had been a long and strange journey to publication, and I had always seen the release day as a final destination, and the culmination of my efforts.

Don’t worry, the action and jokes and vampires didn’t go away. It is, I hope, a page-turner, and still something I’d be delighted to pick up in a book shop. Fingers crossed you might be too.

Perhaps, though, it shouldn’t have done. A writer is a reader first, after all, and books, their existence, have been a major part of my life.

I didn’t really know what I wanted to write or what shape it would take but I knew (or hoped) that if I connected with the right people, things would come together.

Will the Earth survive the Sun’s red giant phase, or will the Sun consume it? The projections have gone back and forth, wobbling, and no one can say for certain.

So many people have experienced miscarriage, and yet it’s hardly spoken about. Even less so in the context of queer relationships, where the journey to pregnancy is often so much more complex.

The tip of writing what you know can be empowering, primarily because it allows an insecure author to root their story in something honest.

My debut novel experience surprises people and, to be honest, it still surprises me.

Grief flows. It changes shape. I don’t believe it ever leaves us, nor should we want it to.

London may continue to be the heart of publishing, but it is a lot healthier if regional writers and booksellers fill it with endless supply of creativity, passion

How would you go on if your home was taken from you? Your family? Your language?

People started coming up to me after panels, telling me they “loved how unapologetic you are”. What exactly am I supposed to be apologising for?

The thing about myths is that they are always changing.

It is long past time for all the hidden women to be brought from the shadows into the light of their own stories.