I was never going to be normal. I stopped trying a long time ago.
HOW the STORY BEGINS
I grew up in a small, culturally conservative town in East Anglia: the kind of place where people know your business before you do, where the land itself holds old memories. We were part of Guthrum’s kingdom once. The Danelaw ran through here. You can feel it if you know what to look for, and I’ve always known what to look for.
I don’t remember a time before folklore. No lightning bolt moment occurred, no single book started it; Norse mythology, yes, but also Greek, Egyptian, Aztec. I have the bookshelves to prove it. My mother calls me an encyclopaedia of random trivia. She also once called me a reincarnated Loki, which honestly explains a great deal.
I finished my first novel in 2017. When the world locked down in 2020, I thought: Right. This is it. Time to build something real. The road since then has been honest rather than glamorous: a BSc in Psychology and Criminology, a string of jobs that ended through no fault of my own, and the slow, stubborn work of building a creative life from the ground up; without a safety net, without a blueprint, and without pretending it’s been easy.
What I offer isn’t a polished performance of what an author or teacher is supposed to look like. It’s the real thing. Fiction that takes folklore seriously, knowledge shared without gatekeeping, and an approach forged out of genuine obsession, genuine study, and a lifelong refusal to be put in a box.
A few things that might surprise you: I once sang in an audition-only acapella choir that performed at Christmas in Bury St Edmunds Cathedral; the recording was broadcast on local radio. I’m on the worship team at my local church. Yes, really. The Norse mythology obsessive and the Sunday volunteer are the same person. I told you one size doesn’t fit all. The house I grew up in was reportedly haunted: clocks throwing themselves off walls, a permanent cold spot in the front room. I was less than a year old at the time. Make of that what you will.
I don’t sugarcoat. I don’t lie. I strip complex things back to their bones until they make sense. I care, sometimes inconveniently, always honestly, about the people I’m talking to. And I believe, without reservation, that knowledge was never meant to be kept locked away from the people who need it.
If you’re looking for someone who’ll tell you what you need to hear, make you think, and occasionally make you question everything you thought you knew, you’re in the right place.
Welcome. Make yourself at home. Mind the folklore.
A few things I will never stop believing:
Knowledge should never be gatekept.
If I know something useful, I’ll share it. Full stop.
One size fits nobody.
Your spiritual practice, your writing process, your way of being in the world: it has to be yours.
Uncomfortable truths are still truths.
I’d rather tell you something hard than something easy and wrong.
The most powerful art comes from lived experience.
Not from templates, not from shortcuts, not from someone else’s story.
Non-conformity is not a trend.
It’s just what happens when you stop pretending to be something you’re not.
A few things that might surprise you:
I once sang in an audition-only acapella choir.
We performed at Christmas in Bury St Edmunds Cathedral. The recording was broadcast on local radio. I was insufferably proud.
I’m on the worship team at my local church.
Yes, really. The Norse mythology obsessive and the Sunday volunteer are the same person. I told you one size doesn’t fit all.
The house I grew up in was reportedly haunted.
Clocks throwing themselves off walls, a permanent cold spot in the front room. I was less than a year old. Make of that what you will.
My mother once called me a reincarnated Loki.
I have never disputed this.