This week, I finished edits on what I am hoping will be my second book, A Neighbour In Amsterdam. I don’t want to say too much about i. I will say is that this is a full rewrite. The characters remain but the timescale and the story have completely switched up.
As annoyed about this discovery as I am, rewriting the entire thing has really enhanced my understanding of the message, the characters, the tone and the themes. It feels different to The Forger of Auschwitz but at the same time, nods to the same time period and, if you know TFOA, hides Easter eggs.

While I really enjoyed writing it, Paul Schiernecker hates editing. The relentless slog of holding yourself accountable for your actions is unsurprisingly not something I signed up for.
There’s a wry wink and a nod there, that applies to my life as well as my writing.

The next steps for A Neighbour In Amsterdam are two-fold. Firstly, I’m going to Amsterdam. The first time I’ve been allowed back in since my father’s ill-fated stag do in 2018.
Secondly, the manuscript is off to a good friend to edit before it makes its way to my agent. If you read this James, I hope you enjoy it. So much of the changes are the result of your support.

While Paul Schiernecker hates editing, there was a moment this week where I could not stop myself from opening a crisp, fresh Google doc and typing a new title and my name on a cover sheet. Then, I set the font to Times New Roman, the font size to twelve, the line spacing to 1.5.
I started writing. Something new. Something completely different from the SCU (Schiernecker Cinematic Universe) in TFOA and ANIA.
I don’t know if anything will come of it. Feels a bit like it’s a “one for them, one for me” situation but it exists in a space between American Psycho, Yesteryear and Adolescence. Make of that what you will.

This morning I finished reviewing the outstanding 353 comments in the Kindle version of The Forger of Auschwitz and sent them back to my editor at HarperCollins.

I mentioned last week that the final stage of edits is to put the book on my Kindle and read the whole thing out loud to check for the flow of sentences. It amazes me how much I miss in previous edits by doing this. I’m sure there would be other things I found if I were to read it through again but I gave myself a deadline and I’m standing by it.

I was also really excited to read this morning the news about the films rights of Paul Warner’s A Spy In The Blood selling. As another Watson Little debut author, it’s really exciting to see. Hopefully an opportunity that I can echo next yar.

It feels like I’m entering a room that I’ve been knocking at the door of for the longest time.

When I announced the news to my writer’s group, they asked what I was going to do to celebrate. I’ve told them the truth, I’m going straight into the next book. I’m not stopping any time soon.

Given the changes that have been made to my manuscript, including the name, and with the knowledge that I could be asked to read from it, I’m currently reading the whole thing out loud. I’ve downloaded it to my Kindle so it feels different to reading it on my laptop screen.
This is the E-Reader stage.

Last night, I went to my bi-monthly writer’s group meet-up. By that, I mean we meet up twice a month not every other month. It does me good to get out of the house, to be around other writers, and to reflect on what I have been working on.

I had every intention of reading the latest version of Chapter One. As it turned out, even with half the group absent, we filled two hours with others readings and general updates. I think people wanted to hear more about my time at the HarperCollins office.

The positive to take from the months of edits I have done while working out what my personal life looks like now is how the story looks on the page after all this work. I have never committed myself to one project for so long. Weirdly, that includes romantic relationships. It has been gruelling in the best way. I’ve been forced to confront how I write, what I do and how that works. There have been times when I thought we would never get here but it’s now very fucking real and very fucking cool.

When this is done, I will not sit. I will not relent. I will continue to grind.
Because as much as I love this story and cannot wait to share it with the world, I am ready for edits on the next one. Then, when I send that off, I’ll work out what comes next. It’s an insane approach but I refuse to switch it off.

I’m in the weeds right now. Attempting to elaborate and define, explore and detail. In all the places where I thought I had given enough, there’s a little more to tweak, exchange, enhance. It can feel like I’m overegging it, but that’s how I like my eggs in the morning, in abundance.

This week I got to meet with my editor. This is the kind of thing that I’ve been dreaming of. Not just since my book was picked up but since I first picked apart the sequence of events needed to get something published. I won’t go into details but it was a really positive experience and before I asked if I could pocket some books, they told me I was welcome to take anything that took my fancy.

I have come to accept that I am not for everyone. My writing might not be for everyone. To have found myself with an agent who believes in me and supports me and to now be working with an editor who really gets what it is I’m trying to do, it’s genuinely the stuff of dreams. I have to remind myself that just a few years ago, this was the kind of lofty hopes that I had. Now I’m actually here.
I guess we have to think about my audience and how I find them or they find me. If you’re seeing this, hi. You’re my audience. I really appreciate you.

It’s less than a year until my debut comes out. There’s obviously a lot to do on it still but I’m excited. That and the follow up are heading in the right direction. I’m being given everything that I need and the expectations on me are helping shape it all.

I am in a position where I am excited by my life, by my work, by my people. What more could I ask for?

I’ve spent the last few weeks deep in edits on The Novel. For all the developments that have been made to it, working with a proofreader ahead of the Italian publication and now an incredible editor at HC, there is still a way to go.

I guess I assumed I was a writer who was exempt from other people having views on what they were doing. It’s good to be humbled sometimes, for someone to prove you wrong. It’s going to be so much richer for the experience. If everything goes well, so will I, lol.
This novel is now so loaded with heart that I don’t know if I’ll ever duplicate how this one feels. And believe me, I’m really trying.

For all the line edits that were needed, there are also a number of delicious asides that highlight what does currently work and how we can lean into that. Gripping onto them like Rose and Jack clinging to a door of the Titanic.

I’ve also, in the last two weeks, seen potential cover designs. It will come as no surprise to those of you who know me that I immediately burst into tears. Somehow, despite all the conversations up until this point for my book to become real, seeing a cover by a highly accomplished and wonderful designer absolutely tore me up. Very excited to finalise and be in a position to share.

For now, I remain in the shadows, like Batman.

This week, I started to see the book come back together after being pulled apart. The flow of the story is there. The justification for movements of characters. The foolish spelling and grammar mistakes eradicated. I’m so grateful to those who have got me here.

It’s all happening.

I’ve felt a bit listless this week.
Struggling to focus. Lacking attention in things that I usually find pretty engaging. Lost in the doom scroll rather than sitting with big feelings.

The fact of the matter is that I always turn this stuff inwards. Make a habit of punishing myself, not being kind. The way I can talk about myself in terms I wouldn’t ever express to anyone I cared about.

I overthink and I analyse. I can be brutal in my treatment of Paul Schiernecker. It also doesn’t help that something has triggered what I’m pretty sure is undiagnosed OCD.

That’s why, this morning, I dragged myself up to the gym. Forcing myself through exercise in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s to make myself feel better but actually to punish and feel much, much worse.

Recognising that on the way home, I turned down the music and had a word with myself. It felt strong. I would compare it to Shia LeBeouf’s Just Do It but it’s hard to make any kind of comparison when the guy is going through his own shit right now.
It was a moment to recognise that I have to turn inwards with kindness, look after those fundamentals and wait it out.

Things feel pretty shit, but they won’t always.

Once we had wrapped on this year’s improvathon, I was grateful to get out of Southend and to explore somewhere else. To touch grass, as the modern parlance goes.

Surprisingly, this little utopia took the form of some farmland outside of Ongar where we had a cabin, an outside bath and a view that was unrivalled.

For five days (ruining the title of this blog but I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to reference a Bloc Party album), I had my phone on Do Not Disturb mode. This meant that for the week, my screentime was halved.

During those five days, I sat on our little veranda, writing, earning an enviable sunburn on my bald head and drinking copious Dr Peppers.
I have a fantasy of going on a writer’s retreat, you know, like a proper one where it is organised and you have all your meals catered and have to journal and earn your stripes. I wonder if this was a better fit for me.

We cooked jacket potatoes on an open fire each night, had long baths watching the sun set and then curling up in bed to watch an ever improving list of films.

It’s no secret that I carry a lot. I burden myself. It’s a lot to be in my skin, in my brain. To relent, to relax, to give in. No agenda. No destination. That’s unusual for me. Fuck, it felt so good.

This weekend, I was lucky enough to be in the Southend Improvathon 2026, the seventh year that it has been run and the seventh year that I have taken part.

The improvathon has come to mean an awful lot to me. When I first started learning improvised comedy in 2011, it was to fulfil a promise to a friend who had signed us up on a bit of a whim. In the process, Sam Sexton was dragged along as well. We were both indifferent to it from my recollection.
Through that initial course I met Lee, Bish, Ali, Ross, John, Debbie, Luke, Dan, Haley et al. In subsequent courses, the group grew. All of us with an interest in being creative, being silly and having fun.
Then in 2018, the Southend Improvathon was announced and we were all keen to see what that would entail. 24 hours locked in a function room at a local football club where we made the most fantastic memories and friends.

Over the years, our numbers have grown, the production has become all the more impressive and we have garnered in-jokes the likes of which I have never witnessed elsewhere. This SICU (Southend Improvathon Cinematic Universe) now spans old Hollywood, space, the wild west, the fantasy world of Middle Mirth, high school, magic school and as of this weekend, the shark-infested Shamity Island.

What always surprises me with these shows is the level of talent, grit, determination, sleep deprivation, blood, sweat, tears and bubbles that they require. Each go around the sun, we unlock and level up, we laugh and cry in ways that come to mean everything. It’s a mad thing for a group of adults to do but that is what makes it what it is. To down tools, to forget what makes up the rest of our lives and to get in trouble, go on adventures and fall in love with these fine people is certainly what I needed.

There are very very social events I like to commit to be the Southend Improvathon will always have my heart. Thank you to everyone who made it what it was. In particular, the friends who came along to support, my partner E who packed my lunches and ran interference when I no longer had cognitive function, Ali James for steering this behemoth into dock, Chris, Jonathon and EJK for directing their hearts out. John Oakes for always trusting his feet, Jess and Cat for holding me up and holding me accountable. Matt, Sam and Pip for being incredible scene partners in particular. Jessica, Katy, Chess and everyone else who kept us ticking over and playing nicely. All the musicians who came to provide such a wonderful environment for us. Thank you to Gaz for the photos, Rob and Rhys for all the tech magic. Thank you to Lisa for handing me a tissue when I broke down in tears at the end of it all. Love to EJK for locking eyes with me to tell me everything.
My thanks to my soap buddies, Lottie and Sam, for propping me up and to every single player who stepped out on that stage.

What a mad, wonderful, stupid thing to do. Love you.
I hope to see you next year.

Thank you for asking. Thanks for being patient.

We are about a year out from TCOA being in your grubby, greedy mitts.

In the meantime, I have been working on a rewrite/redraft of what I’m hoping will be the next one out there.

Then today, I got an update from my publisher, with three options of copy/blurb for the book as well as a writer’s questionnaire.

When I mentioned this to my partner, she said; ‘Well that’s perfect, you love talking about yourself.’ She’s not wrong.

I have 35 questions to think about and will take my time on it in the hope I get to talk a lot more about the history that brought this story to life. It all feels a bit fucking real. Hooray!

This week I celebrated my birthday. It wasn’t a banner one so don’t worry if you didn’t message me to wish me your warmest regards. We are saving that for next year. What I did do was take some time with some of my favourite people to enjoy my favourite subject, me.

On Sunday, we went to the arcades on Southend seafront, and spent roughly fifty quid on games, winning tickets that we collectively exchanged for a 5D frog puzzle – the fifth dimension is frog.

Then we went for incredible dim sum at The Pearl Dragon.
We were very well looked after and (for once) nailed the order size. The most joyous part of the evening was the Lazy Susan that we swung in each direction to get our sticky fingers on dumplings, soups and rice dishes, shout “Susan” to give others the heads up before it was sent into motion.
For the first time in my recollection, I got to pick my own birthday cake so a Spiderman cake with a suspiciously placed sparkler was brought out. I love the nostalgia of an icing covered jam sponge. There’s nothing quite like it.

I took Monday off (I’m like Garfield or Brenda Spencer) and we went out for bagels and then to see Hamnet at the cinema. I cried a decent amount and was surprised to discover that William Shakespeare, like me, had a little earring.

On Tuesday, my partner took me to London for Vietnamese food and entertainment, at first courtesy of the insane old women who were seated right next to us (complimentary use of the term insane there) and then a How To masterclass where George Saunders was interviewed by Richard Ayoade.
To be able to step away from the usual dross that people pour in my ear and listen to two very intelligent people talk about writing and culture was a high point of my month. It left me so inspired that I haven’t stopped writing since.