The following is a transcript of a presentation I gave on the 11th of February, 2026, at a conference — Crossroads of Literary Creation: Fact, Fiction and Everything In-Between — hosted by the London Arts-Based Research Centre (LABRC).

I was invited to speak on the topic of “Writing as Self-Exploration and Creative Expression”, following my publication in Issue #9 of their Indelible literary journal. The theme of the issue was “Awakening”.

Indelible is a paid magazine – you can purchase a copy here – but I’ve decided to release the full version of “Night Kingdom”, the short story I had published in the issue, to my newsletter subscribers for free.

Read the full story

Writing as Self-Exploration and Creative Expression

I’m a writer of speculative fiction, which is to say I depart from realism. Some of my work is high sci-fi, but much of it draws on contemporary characters and settings while adding in “one weird thing”.

The title of this session rings true to me, because I have always viewed writing as processing. A friend of mine¹ asked me recently whether I would still write if I knew, for sure, that no one would ever read it – my answer was yes.

That’s because I get something out of the process of writing itself: a deeper understanding of my own thoughts and experiences. A grounded sensation that helps me feel out the harder, sharper edges of ideas that might otherwise be too painful to engage with.

In the case of “Night Kingdom”, I was processing self-doubt and fear in the early weeks of new fatherhood, both of which were intensified by sleep deprivation. The result was a dark fairy story. A cautionary, moral tale, but one without a clear resolution.

It appeared in the “Awakening” issue of Indelible, the literary magazine of the London Arts-Based Research Centre. It engaged with this theme in both a physical and personal sense; the protagonist is sleep-deprived due to his child’s constant night wakeups, but he’s also coming to terms with fatherhood.

Some aspects of the story are drawn from real life. The armchair – which is used as a stand-in for parental responsibility – is the one I’m sat in while giving this presentation. But the events described – obviously – did not happen. And even the emotional undercurrent has been reshaped and deepened.

It could be said there’s an element of disguise to speculative fiction; hiding the fear of parenthood under the guise of a glowing skeleton allowed me to look at it obliquely, meaning it could exist as something separate from myself.

But I don’t think that’s the full explanation of what I wanted to achieve. Symbolism produces a stronger reaction than description. We don’t write, “She felt peaceful.” We talk about the forest around her, the cool breeze playing over her cheek.

Similarly, I found wonder and terror – two words I associated strongly with new fatherhood – were best portrayed by a monster: some external force, glowing and beautiful, which is born from the protagonist but also works against him and his family, offering a devil’s bargain.

That’s not to say the story is true. I am not the character. The baby is not my daughter. I’m rather conveying a strength of feeling, exploring and amplifying darker thought processes, lasering in on uncomfortable moments instead of looking past them.

The metamorphosis at the end of the story further blurs the lines between the real and imaginary. I wanted to show that processing an uncomfortable idea doesn’t fully rid you of it; life isn’t so clear cut. We carry discomfort with us in a way that makes us more complex, more human.

But by shining a light on the darker thoughts that cross one’s mind when under extreme stress, we show how a brain can sometimes think awful things – without ever acting on them. At the heart of the story is this idea of the forgiveness of the self.

I’d thought to give you to him.

But I did not.

¹ The exceptional Phil W. Bayles. Read his stuff here.