find your voice & tell your story
I spent my early years on the edge of Dartmoor’s wilderness: the high, desolate moor, in summer dressed with a trimming of golden coconut-scented gorse. A ruined castle was my playground, ice-cold streams my paddling pool. As a small child I ran through steep woodland where the ancient hollow trees housed -I felt quite sure
I’ve loved stories since I was a tiny dot. As a toddler, I asked my parents to read ‘Where’s the Green Parrot?’ and ‘The Truck on the Track’ until their pages disintegrated. As a child, I wrote endless stories and set up a library in my bedroom. As a teen, I read late into the
‘Come with me into the woods where spring/ is/ advancing, as it does, no matter what.’ – Mary Oliver Come with me into the woods. It’s quiet there, except for the chattering song of birds, and the swishing of emerging leaves. You can hear your own calm footfalls on the path, mixing with jumbled half
