People often ask me what my writing routine looks like. The honest answer is: organised chaos with a cup of tea. I tend to write in the mornings, when the house is quiet and the light is gentle. I sit at the kitchen table with a notebook — always a notebook first, never straight to the computer — and I write whatever comes.
Sometimes what comes is brilliant. Often it isn’t. But that’s the secret of writing: the first draft doesn’t have to be good. It just has to exist. You can’t edit a blank page.
For children’s books especially, I read every draft aloud. If it doesn’t sound right spoken, it won’t feel right read. Children experience books through the rhythm of the words almost as much as the meaning, so the musicality of the language matters enormously. When a sentence makes me stumble, it gets rewritten. When a page makes me smile, I know I’m getting somewhere.
