When I was seven, I wrote Standing in the Night: a four-page catastrophe, riddled with spelling errors and based (heavily) on a TV show my parents were watching at the time. Unsurprisingly: it’s not good. But despite its many (many) flaws, it will always be my own personal masterpiece. This story marks the beginning of my deep-rooted love for writing and has the sort of charm that can only really be created by a seven-year-old with high ambitions, and a stomach filled with cupcake icing. Since then, writing has played a key role in my life. While my friends played make-believe at school, I was hunkered down with pencils and…
