Five years ago, I was living in rural Ireland with little more than sheep for company. My boyfriend lived in another country and I had left my university friends behind. It was a lonely time. One day I took it in my head to begin to write, with the primary objective of passing the time. At first, the words came out at the lethargic pace of a sleepy sloth. This was how my book started, in its highs and lows.
When Covid arrived I had made another move, to Brussels. A new country with new potential doors, that were all sealed shut by the pandemic. Loneliness was an ever more present companion in the corners of my quiet, empty apartment. I began to think of old friends. Amazing people I had met at university, at school. As I thought of them, my book expanded, falling onto the page in a flurry of words and fond memories.