Living in the historic city of Durham, I write from a place shaped by quiet resilience, dry humour, and a lifelong fascination with the inner workings of people. My life has never been especially dramatic, but it has been deeply human—stitched together from ordinary days, steady work, and the persistent, low-level weight of dysthymia. That gentle, uninvited shadow has become both a challenge and a lens, colouring the world in subtler shades and teaching me to look closely at the stories we carry.

My professional life has always centred around people. I began as a restaurant trainer, learning the art of patience, communication, and the chaotic ballet of a busy shift. That work taught me how much can be understood in a single conversation, a shared laugh, or a moment of pressure. Later, I moved into a role supporting individuals with physical and mental health difficulties. In that space, I saw resilience in its rawest form—people navigating life with grit, humour, and unexpected grace. Working alongside them deepened my empathy and sharpened my commitment to telling honest stories that don’t shy away from complexity.

Writing became the thread that tied all of this together. In my books and essays, I explore the weight and texture of everyday life: the small triumphs, slow mornings, muted emotions, and stubborn hope that pushes us forward. I’m drawn to characters who don’t sparkle on the surface but shine in quieter ways, reflecting the people I’ve worked with, lived among, and learned from.

Whether I’m crafting fiction or reflecting on lived experience, my goal is to capture the truth of being human—messy, tender, funny, and resilient. From my corner of Durham, I write to connect, to understand, and to remind others they’re not alone in the grey-toned spaces.