Tell us about your writing journey since completing the Escalator Fellowship.

I finished Escalator in 2023 with a polished draft of Season, which was picked up by Eye Books early the following year. It felt like an interminable wait between signing the deal and the book coming out, but by industry standards, everything moved very quickly, and the book was released in January 2025.

There were some excellent reviews, a translation into Italian, and a few shortlistings for major literary awards. This is obviously dream stuff for any early-career writer, but I tried not to get too distracted and kept writing through it all. Not long ago, I finished revising the book which will hopefully become my second novel. At the time of writing, I’m pulling together ideas for another novel, working on some shorter pieces, and still doing events to promote Season where I can.

Looking back on your time as an Escalator Fellow, what were the key takeaways from the experience?

I went into Escalator with the sense that my creative career was on the launchpad. I had already spent years working independently on the craft, trying to write all the cliches out of my system, and I felt that I was almost good enough to be publishing my work. What I had been missing was an external critical perspective.

Through Escalator, I found the critical challenge I had been looking for, and I really grew as a writer. I loved being mentored, just as I still love being edited. I remember feeling that Season had evolved into a viable novel throughout my time as a Fellow, and I walked out of the showcase with the feeling that my writing career was slowly but perceptibly taking off.

You were mentored by Michael Donkor. How did that mentoring relationship influence your craft, or shape your perspective on life as a writer?

Michael was an incredible mentor. He interrogated every aspect of my work, forcing me to drill down into my creative decisions and justify them to myself. This not only made Season a much better novel, but it helped me to understand some of the first principles of creative writing.

Before Escalator, my writing was still quite self-conscious, and I had a habit of picking at the edges of my stories. Michael helped me work out where the real meat was and encouraged me to get stuck in in a way which has helped me with everything I’ve written subsequently. He also did me the credit of taking me and my work seriously, which is important (I think) for any young writer who wants to learn the craft.

Escalator champions writers from the East of England. Why is it important that opportunities like this exist outside London, and what can regional publishers and organisations offer that London-based ones might not?

London-centric publishing has bred a glut of London-centric stories, with the result that English literature doesn’t really reflect the country as much as its capital. Not only is this boring for readers craving fresh voices, but it entrenches the kind of conformity and groupthink which is toxic for the arts.

There’s a class perspective to this as well, with publishers disproportionately clustered in London (and staffed by the urban middle-classes) while working-class writers are more likely to be based beyond the M25. Think of all the huge, untapped talent across the rest of England, and then imagine how much more vibrant and vital our literary scene would be if these writers were supported and encouraged. There’s a huge opportunity here for smaller, regional presses to tap into this vast reserve of literary potential and to promote voices which otherwise wouldn’t get a hearing. I have to hope that in the long run, discerning readers will reward them for it.

Escalator supports underrepresented voices in UK publishing. How do you think the industry has changed in recent years?

I’m fortunate that Season was picked up by precisely the kind of independent, regional press which does genuinely value underrepresented voices, so no complaints there. But in terms of the wider industry, I think publishing has a well-earned reputation for being out of touch with real England, and it’ll take more than talk to change that.

Season explores loneliness and modern masculinity. What first drew you to those themes, and what impact and feedback have you received from readers?

I started working on Season not long after moving to Norwich, at a time when I was still reeling from the awful years of the pandemic. I’d hazard a guess that subconsciously, at least, this is where my interest in loneliness came from. I also knew I wanted to write about football. While it’s an unfashionable subject for a literary novel, it’s undeniable that football is central to millions of lives, and I think that our national sport tells us a great deal about the character of our nation.Football is still a male-dominated arena, and the study of two taciturn season-ticket holders seemed like a great way to explore bigger, broader questions of male inarticulacy and the way that men interact with one another. (Not least because I, myself, have been a taciturn season-ticket holder.)

Above all else, though, I wrote Season because it was a novel I’d want to read. And it turns out that plenty of other people wanted to read it too, which has been a pleasant surprise.

I’ve had a great reaction from readers all over the world, some of whom have shared their own stories about how footballing rituals have helped to anchor and provide meaning to their own lives. I’ve also been very pleased to hear from quite a few readers who can’t stand football – as well as from a number of men who don’t typically read a great deal (and certainly don’t read literary fiction) but who gave Season a chance and really enjoyed it. We hear a lot about how men ought to read more, and if my work can serve as a gateway novel to literary fiction, then I’m all for it.

Season has been shortlisted for several literary awards, including the Nero Book Awards (formerly the Costa Book Awards), the Betty Trask Prize, and the East Anglian Book Awards. Has being shortlisted changed anything for you, and what do you think literary prizes can do for writers at different stages of their careers?

At their best, prizes are a great way to draw attention to works written by up-and-coming authors and published by independent presses. Literary merit must be the ultimate yardstick, of course, but it’s nice to see books by different publishers on these lists every now and then. I know my publishers were delighted to have cut through and made these shortlists alongside some of the industry’s big beasts.

I’m still fairly young, and Season is my first novel, so I hope that almost winning a few prizes will help convince readers to take a punt on someone (and something) new. Prize money also helps, of course; as grateful as I am for all the reviews, praise doesn’t pay the rent – and you can’t live off award-night canapés alone.

The Escalator New Writing Fellowships are kindly supported by