My first memory of my own special books was one Christmas time. I must have been seven years old and I’d been given a beautiful and vividly illustrated book of fairy tales. I remember getting up very early on boxing day and reading the fairy tale book in bed.The pictures of giants and wolves were terrifying with horrible, blood-stained, crooked teeth with large gaps, matching the stories. I remember it all being too much, taking the book to Mum and Dad and snuggling in with them. Is this true? Are children really put into pots and boiled? I left that book unread for a long time.

I got my own library tickets about the same time as my two-wheeler bike. I rode it to Bromborough library, then housed in a pre-fab building in the garden of Stanhope House at the top of our road. I stood my bike against the sandstone wall and walked with anticipation under the stone arch, through the tunnel of dark laurels, emerging onto an open space and the library. I was allowed to choose three books and was directed to the children’s section. How I was going to ride the bike home and carry the books? One of the books was from the Lone Pine Adventures series by Malcolm Saville. These fuelled great excitement as we drove past the Long Mynd in Shropshire. I gabbled the story of the Lone Pine Club hiking to the Devil’s chair (Stiper Stones) and their adventures to my less than interested family. I was desperate to stop there and relive their adventures, but we drove past on our way to Tenby.

I had pneumonia when I was eleven and had six weeks off school, having the best time with a pile of classics, such as Jane Eyre and Treasure Island. Content in my imaginary world fuelled by Ski yogurt.

At secondary school I was good at science and fascinated by nature, so I studied science A levels. My biology teacher told us to read ‘The Silent Spring’ by Rachel Carson and ‘The Double Helix’ by James Watson both influential and shocking in their own ways.

I went to University to study Plant Science and for a while I stopped reading for joy and immersed myself in large tomes from the never-ending reading lists. Until my boyfriend talked about a book he was reading - Wilt, a comedy novel by Tom Sharpe. He was doing his finals! It made me laugh out loud. I realised how much I had missed escaping into a book.

Writing my thesis was the most mentally challenging thing I have ever done. I wrote it long hand and it would come back from my supervisor chopped up and sellotaped back together again, full of annotations and crossings out in red pen. ‘I can’t do this!’ frequently crossed my mind. By the time it was typed up and being put together I loved the work. 

Through motherhood, a business, a teaching career I wrote and read. Finally, I answered an advert for a project editor. They needed someone who understood chemistry and I passed the editorial test and interview. My career in publishing had begun. My first books were a series of  eight library books for key stage 3, one for each group of the periodic table, written by an author I am still in contact with today 22 years on. I worked with the author during the writing, edited the text, selected images, collaborated with the typesetter on the layout and eventually held the finished product in my hands, the first  set of many beautiful and important books. 

I wanted more. I trained to be a One of many  ICF accredited coach, a circle facilitator and a wild voice facilitator. I wanted to help women to share their knowledge and experiences, their stories. I am now helping women, who want to write their first books, so they too can shape people's lives.