Writing this book through 2020-22 has been beautiful, and it has been hard.

I find my way back by taking extra care when I show up to make my work space feel like a place I want to be.

The nib of your pen hovers over the paper. After a few seconds, you watch as your hand begins to write:

In the weatherboard house at the end of the lane, nine-year-old Alice Hart sat at her desk by the window and dreamed of ways to set her father on fire.

I put myself at my desk in Frenchie and remind myself I’m there because underneath everything else - fear, self-doubt, anxiety, inner critic - writing is joy.

I turn to adornment and self-decoration as a regular practice of embodying creativity and recovering from trauma.