I came home last night from a room full of poems, friendly faces and a good dollop of community & joy, absolutely buzzing. Not metaphorically. Properly buzzing. The sort where you're carrying the warmth of the room around with you while making a cup of herbal tea before bed, slightly surprised that the thing you've spent years working towards has actually happened. I was replaying it all while taking my makeup off. Last night was the launch of my two poetry pamphlets, Grit and Flesh,...

Next Thursday 4 June 2026, my two poetry pamphlets, Grit and Flesh, are being launched with Red Squirrel Press, alongside new work from Chris Powici and Tim Turnbull. I am beyond excited. These pamphlets have been with me for years now. Long enough that they feel threaded through a whole section of my life rather than attached to one neat writing period. Some of these poems were written on my phone notes, in the dark when my children were just a baby and a toddler needing me in the middle of...

Hello chums. When I was younger, I had a fairly cinematic idea of what being a writer would look like: sitting by a tree chewing a pen, notebook in hand, beautiful old libraries for research and quiet, a lot of cafés. To note, there are nowhere near enough cafés in my life, but there are some. Long mornings scribbling in beautiful notebooks. Thoughtful conversations with other literary types who would presumably say things like “interesting use of structure” while smoking moodily beside a...