Hello, I’m Louis.
Born in Yorkshire as the youngest of four, I was blessed with all the love and support I could ask for. We lived on humble means. My parents would spend weekends chopping up free wood as fuel for the stove, wiping clean foil to be re-used, and decanting ketchup from the glass bottle into the more expensive squeezy plastic ones so that we kids could live with some luxuries. We were lucky enough not to miss meals, and we were happy.
I didn’t know I was a writer at the time. From early on, I was preoccupied with what I ought to do. To my young mind, if I were to pursue what I loved, it would mean playing video games and eating chocolate, and making a living from that was just unrealistic (this was before the internet-boom, remember). At the time, I followed my other interests. Figuring out how the world works, starting with the sciences, and eventually, in pursuit of a stable career path, I found medicine. Sure enough, it was stable, but not a panacea. Something was missing.
“Sure enough, it was stable, but not a panacea. Something was missing.”
My desire to understand the world arborised; the sciences no longer sufficient to quench my thirst. I read history and psychology to understand human behaviour, philosophy, ethics, and politics to explore new and conflicting ideas. The hard-line objective materialist in me softened, and the sharp black-white divide became ever more dulled and grey. Then, I began writing in an online magazine I created, gaining a deeper understanding of these big topics by diving deep into opposing views and presenting them side-by-side. Yet, something was still missing.
I felt it every time I watched a great film or heard beautiful music. A deep ache inside me every time I gazed upon evocative artwork or read a captivating story. That someone had put their heart and soul into something, and it was stirring something within me, whether happiness or hurt. It was unignorable. It was this that I was missing. That I might be able to put something into the world and make someone feel something.
“It was unignorable. It was this that I was missing. That I might be able to put something into the world and make someone feel something.”
I started brainstorming for State of Unrest, having no real idea what I was doing. Then, I started writing. And I couldn’t stop. It was like nothing I had ever done before. Every spare moment was spent typing or reading. Even away from the keyboard, I was thinking about the story, playing with ideas, talking my partner into insanity about it, and itching to get back to making the story real by committing it to the page. My partner was surprised at my persistence, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t a case of motivation or perseverance. There was no question about completing it. I simply had to.
Writing is something that is going to be with me forever now and I will endure the necessary pains of the journey, the endless revisions and the crippling self-doubt and criticality, as I strive evermore to the unreachable peak of perfection, because it is worth it. If you join me, I hope that along the way, you might just feel something too.
“I would absolutely love to connect with readers and other writers, and even though I can’t promise to reply to all mail, I endeavour to read everything I receive, so please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
I would absolutely love to connect with readers and other writers, and even though I can’t promise to reply to all mail, I endeavour to read everything I receive, so please don’t hesitate to reach out.
Thank you for joining me for the ride.