Aside from the usual teenage acne and puppy fat (not so puppy as the years went on) I had bright red hair so frizzy it could break brushes – the 90s version of “normal” couldn’t have been further from my truth. (It also took me until I was almost 18 to understand you don’t brush curly hair – unless you’re straightening it, which was near on impossible in the mid 90s without an ironing board and great care. *I never actually tried this). 

By the time I’d stopped brushing my curls, I’d also started to care less about what people thought of me. The pressures of school were gone and there was far less judgement from 16-18-year-olds than there ever had been from 11-16-year-olds (kids are arseholes).  

A new educational step also came with new friends and the discovery that there were others out there like me. Other writers, other socially awkward lovelies who didn’t care for that word “normal” either. 

Suddenly it was ok to be different. In fact, it was encouraged. At times it was taken too far – a story I’ll keep for later that has ruined at least one potential relationship, apparently there is only so much weird you should share on a second date... 

Perhaps I took it too far at times, but by the time I headed for University in Southampton – aged 19 after an unexpected gap year – I was proud to say I did things my way. A trait I didn’t even fully appreciate until a lecturer asked my class to consider their writing style – what type of writer was I? 

Having always written first and considered the niceties of the prose later, I had been writing solely for me. I didn’t have a famous writer I hoped to channel through style or substance (still don’t). So when asked what my style was, I replied ‘I just write and see what comes out’. 

For that my lecturer rewarded me with the phrases ‘avant garde’ and ‘a bit of a maverick’ to use, he said, in future bios. Something I haven’t forgotten – and not just because Top Gun is one of my favourite films. 

So, I’ve been doing things my way ever since. After all, trying to do just about anything someone else’s way has almost always frustrated me. 

With a fascination for the odd, the strange, and the downright weird, I decided to run with my kooky side and one day, shortly after that class, I doodled a cat with horns, devil wings and a tail – seem familiar? 

Even into adulthood it’s taken me a long time to embrace the different, and understand that doing things your way isn’t always a bad thing. In fact, often, it’s an amazing thing. 

I still pick up books and opt to watch films that are perhaps to some a bit weird. The odder the better. The further outside the box something is, the more likely I’ll be curious to know more. I watch horror films with a fascination for the initial writing process, reminding myself that someone had to dream that scene up in the first place. 

My inner rebel gives a little whoop when another writer or artist sticks two fingers up to normal so I too will continue to write, create and do things my way and that’s what makes me a Hellcat, writing, reading and publishing.