I grew up in Auckland, New Zealand—land of flat whites, beaches and weather as changeable as a mood-ring. When I was nine, I started telling bedtime stories to my godsister (because apparently I was born with a full writer’s room in my brain).

These stories were about mysterious creatures from another world called Shadows. The twist? Everyone on Earth had a Shadow of their own—a cosmic counterpart they didn’t even know they were missing. Cute, right? Also slightly terrifying. You're welcome,

Fast-forward to now and—boom—those bedtime stories turned into the Shadows Series, a six-book saga of magical mayhem, emotional trauma (the fun kind), and characters who will absolutely ruin your day in the best way. Readers all over the world have devoured them like dragon snacks, and I love every unhinged reaction I get.

I’ve run school talks, writing workshops, and book launches where people draw their own Shadows—because if you can’t emotionally bond with your interdimensional alter-ego at a literary event, why even go?

Basically: I tell stories. I ruin lives (fictionally). And I help people find their monsters—and maybe love them a little.