The Early Hours



I wrote much of BLACK DOG SUMMER in the early hours of the morning.

I wrote sitting up in bed with my laptop balanced on my duvet. Morning birdsong, sleepy breathing and purring cats were the soundtrack, very at odds with the story I was trying to tell.

Tragically, the whilst writing the last chapters of BLACK DOG SUMMER, a friend’s father was murdered in a botched robbery. It gave painfully fresh insight into the fallout experienced by a family after such a violent loss.

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