I didn’t always want to be a writer.
Being ‘a writer’ seemed like something other people did. People who had studied Creative Writing at university. People who spent their mornings in trendy cafes and their weekends at writers’ retreats. People who ‘looked like’ writers.
As a young mum living in South London, Black, Muslim, wearing hijab and niqab, I definitely did not look like any writer I had ever seen!
If someone had told me then that I would one day write books that would win awards, be translated into other languages and be read in schools, libraries and universities around the world, I would never have believed them.
I was afraid.
Afraid of rejection, of not being good enough, of being ‘found out’.
Afraid of failure.
Afraid of success.