The unsaid things: writing secrets through a child’s eyes

When people ask me what my upcoming novel is about, I usually pause for a second.

Heroine is a haunting and traumatic story about a little girl navigating childhood secrets and an uninvited presence in 1990’s Cornwall.

Writing a story like this requires diving headfirst into difficult places. Often this means sitting with the silence so that I can feel the quiet fear of a child who is trying to hold her world together with string and toast. My heart needs to beat in time with the heart of the little girl in my story.  

Sensory details always reach us before the memory does. The smell of something chemical that tickles at the back of the throat, the taste of toast that is buttered right to the edges.

In my novel, Willow is a remarkably observant child. She notices everything including the shift in the room when a new guest arrives, the way her parents speak in ‘sticky peanut-butter voices’ or the sudden absence of things in the house. But because she is young, she builds her own logic to make sense of it all.

Writing hard truths through a child’s perspective is a delicate balancing act. As adults, we see the tragic reality of what’s happening in a home long before a child can find the words for it. For Willow, she doesn't understand the darkness, but she gives it a face, a personality, and a place at the table.

Exploring these heavy themes through innocence isn't just about the darkness, it's about highlighting the incredible resilience, humour, and the bond between five sisters who create their own safety when the world around them becomes scary.