The Unexpected Catalyst

If life gives you lemons… write a book!

In September 2024, I found myself lying in a hospital bed in Tenerife wondering how a perfectly ordinary holiday had gone so spectacularly off script.

The night before had been brilliant. My wife and I had enjoyed an evening out with friends, good food, a few drinks, plenty of laughs, and absolutely no indication that anything was wrong. Then, at around 3:30 in the morning, I woke up feeling dreadful. My heart was racing, I felt anxious, nauseous, and generally unwell. At first, I thought it might pass, but it quickly became obvious that this wasn’t just a fast heartbeat. It was completely out of rhythm. Several beats would come rapidly one after another, then there would be a pause, followed by another chaotic burst. It was frightening, both for me and for my wife.

A trip to hospital followed, along with the realisation that holiday insurance is one of those things you never appreciate until you genuinely need it. After being diagnosed with atrial fibrillation, I spent two days in intensive care after undergoing an electrical cardioversion to restore my heart’s normal rhythm. Thankfully, the procedure was successful and, after a week-long delay, we eventually made it home.

Physically, I recovered well. In fact, within a relatively short time I felt completely back to normal, once the medication had settled. But the strange thing was that something else felt different. Not dramatically. Not in a way I could immediately put my finger on. Just… different.

For many years there had been a cemetery on the road I used to take into Stafford. Every time I drove past it, I experienced exactly the same reaction. As I approached, I would develop an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Then, as I drew closer to the second entrance gate, I would feel a sharp pain in my right-hand side. Sometimes it felt like a stabbing sensation, other times more like a burning discomfort. It happened so consistently that I eventually stopped questioning it. I certainly never ventured inside. The closer I got, the worse it became.

Then, after Tenerife, it stopped.

Completely.

Since returning home, I’ve walked through that cemetery several times without experiencing so much as a flutter of discomfort. No stomach churning. No pain. No sense of unease. Nothing at all. I have no explanation for it.

The same goes for cheese.

For most of my life I hated it. Not disliked it. Hated it. Most cheeses made me feel physically sick just from the taste alone. Strangely, Stilton was the exception, but everything else was firmly off the menu. Yet after Tenerife, that changed too. Today, I happily eat cheeses I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near previously.

Do I believe an electric shock somehow rewired my relationship with cemeteries and cheese? No, probably not. But I can’t ignore the timing either.

What I do know is that something else changed, and this change was impossible to miss.

For nearly thirty years I had wanted to write a novel.

Like many aspiring writers, I carried the idea around with me for decades. I had concepts, notes, characters, fragments of stories and countless “what if?” moments. What I didn’t have was the determination to actually sit down and do it.

Then, suddenly, I did.

Whether it was the experience in Tenerife, the realisation that life can change without warning, or simply a moment of clarity brought on by circumstance, I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that shortly after returning home, I sat down and started writing.

What followed became a manuscript I am immensely proud of.

At the time, I had no intention of publishing it. The goal was simply to finish the story that had lived in my head for so long. Yet as the manuscript developed, so did the world around it. Characters evolved. New ideas emerged. A detective called Sam Rourke stepped forward and gradually took ownership of the story. What began as a standalone novel slowly revealed the foundations of something much bigger.

Now, twelve months after typing those first chapters, I find myself preparing to independently publish Harbinger: The Prophet’s Game, the first novel in a planned series featuring Detective Sam Rourke. It is a story that will challenge his morality, test his resilience, and force him to confront the darker corners of human nature and his own sense of justice.

Looking back, I don’t know whether Tenerife changed me, or whether it simply gave me the push I needed to stop postponing something I’d wanted to do for most of my adult life. Perhaps that’s all it was. A reminder that eventually “one day” has to become “today.”

Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for it.

Because without that experience, there is every chance that Sam Rourke would still exist only in my imagination, and Harbinger would still be another unfinished idea waiting for the right moment.

Instead, it is about to be released into the world.

And I genuinely hope you’ll join me for the journey ahead.