Mind the Queer Gap: How a Midlife Crisis and Too Much Coffee Led to My First Novel

Well, it finally happened. After years of saying “one day I’ll write that book”, I’ve actually gone and done it. Mind the Queer Gap is out in the world: a queer romantic comedy full of chaos, caffeine, and a questionable number of inappropriate text messages.

If you’d told me ten years ago that I’d publish a queer romantic comedy before sorting out my pension, I’d have laughed (and probably cried a bit). But here we are. Mind the Queer Gap is out in the world, and I’m still in mild disbelief that anyone outside my family group chat is actually reading it.

So, how did we get here? Honestly, sheer stubbornness, a dash of existential dread, and a Masters degree in Creative Writing that I really couldn’t justify leaving unused forever.

I’ve always written blogs, web copy, product descriptions (I can still tell you more than you ever wanted to know about roller shutter doors or hearing aids). But fiction? That was the dream. I just needed a push, or, in my case, a creeping midlife crisis, and my long-suffering partner saying, “Either write the thing or stop talking about it.” Fair point.

Finding the Story for Mind the Queer Gap

Mind the Queer Gap started as a what-if question: What if two women at completely different stages of life, one a caffeine-fuelled disaster who’s sworn off love, the other an emotionally unavailable GP with a cheating fiancé, accidentally crashed into each other’s worlds?

Cue Vic Spencer, who’s trying to avoid chaos (and women) after yet another failed relationship, and Eleanor “Bee” Beedham, whose life is already messier than a toddler with a glitter set. Add one dysfunctional family, a lot of sarcasm, and some very British awkwardness, and suddenly, I had a story that made me laugh, cry, and occasionally shout at my laptop.

Representation Matters

As a lesbian woman, I didn’t grow up seeing myself in love stories, not in the funny, awkward, human way straight characters got to exist. Queer stories were either tragic, overly polished, or hidden behind euphemisms. One of the things I wanted most was to show a spectrum of queer experiences, not just the glossy, picture-perfect kind, but the messy, human, and funny parts too. Through characters like Beth, who’s discovering her asexuality, I wanted to explore what it feels like to finally understand yourself, to find your people, and to realise that being different doesn’t mean being broken.

When I was growing up, books like this didn’t exist, or if they did, they were hidden away in the “niche interest” corner of a dodgy bookshop. I wanted to write something that would make people laugh, feel seen, and maybe snort coffee out their nose along the way.

Writing Between School Runs and Crypto Calls

Because yes, I still have a day job (something to do with cryptocurrency — don’t ask) and two small humans who think I exist solely to drive them to sports practice. So, this book was written between school runs, dinner disasters, and pretending to understand blockchain. If I can manage it, genuinely, anyone can.

Why It Means So Much

This book isn’t just about love. It’s about self-discovery, friendship, and learning that you can start over at any age, even if your back clicks every time you bend down to pick up your laptop charger. It's for anyone who’s ever felt out of place, made a bad decision, or thought they were too old to begin something new. (Spoiler: you’re not.)

So, here it is, Mind the Queer Gap, my messy, heartfelt, queer rom-com baby. It’s heartfelt, ridiculous, queer, and very British, like Fleabag with slightly more lesbians and fewer dead hamsters. I hope it makes you laugh, think, and maybe send a slightly too-flirty text to your GP.

You can grab your copy here