Although I’m sure I must have written other stories beforehand, my earliest literary effort that I can remember was a grisly tale called Trial by Ordeal. By ten year-old standards, it was a gargantuan effort; easily filling five pages of my dog-eared exercise book. Inspired by a recent history lesson, it was replete with grim medieval imagery and culminated with the hero being wrongly punished for a crime he didn’t commit. I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but suffice to say, it involved vats of boiling oil, a fair bit of screaming and suppurative skin lesions. I imagine that these days, the same story would have earned its writer a hastily-made appointment with the school psychologist. But fortunately for me, things were a little more laid back in 1979…

My efforts were rewarded with a red-ringed A, the buzz of which instilled in me an ever-increasing desire to write. It was the first time that my abilities as a writer had been recognised; and I was delighted that my writing had pleased someone. But even more profound was the feeling that through writing, I could create people and worlds which would otherwise have never existed. I could also vent my innermost feelings, and by spilling my worries onto the page, they would somehow magically diminish.

And now thirty three years after Trial by Ordeal, I find myself on the eve of my first book release. As surreal as it seems, I can finally refer to myself as a bona fide author. It’s a long-held dream coming to fruition, and some days I can scarcely believe it’s true!

Roll on September 8th, you’ve been a long time coming!

In The Presence of Spirits