My writing begins with a question I cannot quite leave alone. I follow it slowly, through notes, false starts and long afternoons at the desk, until the sentences say what I mean without getting in their own way.

A background in research shapes how I approach a narrative: close attention to evidence, a respect for detail, and a habit of checking every claim against the page. I balance solitary hours of drafting with the occasional reading and the exchanges that come from working with editors.

Drafting is where I find out what a piece is about. I write quickly and without judgement, then leave the pages alone for a while. When I return, I read for the sentences that are doing too much, and I cut until each one carries its own weight. Revision is not polishing; it is listening for where the text stops being honest.

Longform work asks for patience. I keep a running list of questions rather than answers, return to the same pages across months, and protect regular hours at the desk. What sustains a project is less inspiration than a steady willingness to sit with difficulty and keep going.

Notebooks, loose pages and a pencil within reach, in the quiet light of an ordinary working day.