I’ve been thinking a lot about how ADHD traits show up in the writing life — not just as a challenge, but as a quiet superpower.
ADHD can mean:
• Hyperfocus – those wild late-night bursts where chapters pour out and characters feel more real than reality.
• Fast, layered thinking – twisty plots, emotional depth, unexpected connections; perfect for suspense, parallel storylines and tangled relationships.
• Big feelings – empathy, intensity, injustice, heartbreak. All the things that make characters believable and stories stay with you.
• Curiosity – the deep dives into places, history, psychology, mental health… which is exactly how Yorkshire villages, real pubs, and lived emotion keep finding their way into my books.
But it can also mean:
• Starting five projects and finishing one.
• Forgetting tiny details and needing systems.
• Struggling with structure, admin, and self-doubt after rejection.
If this is you too: you’re not “too much” and you’re not “scattered”. You’re wired for stories that feel textured, human, intense, real.
The trick is learning how to work with your brain, not against it:
small goals, short bursts, visual notes, kindness to yourself, and remembering: the way your mind works might be exactly what makes your writing unforgettable. 💫
Put me in front of a blank page, and my imagination can go absolutely wild. Characters arrive, conversations begin in my head, one idea creates another and suddenly an entire story is taking shape.
I struggle when I'm presented with too much information at once. In the past, I didn't really understand how to deal with it; I would simply become overwhelmed. Whether it was revising for exams, completing my degree, or managing a career that has required huge amounts of studying, learning and constant validation, too much information at once could make my brain feel as though it had simply reached capacity.
Over time, I discovered something that changed the way I learn. I break things down. Instead of trying to absorb everything at once, I work in short, manageable blocks. Suddenly, what once felt overwhelming became achievable.
I have not been officially diagnosed with ADHD, and for me personally, I don't feel that I need a diagnosis. I completely understand how important and validating a formal diagnosis can be for many people, but for me, having a label isn't what matters most.
What matters is that I have finally begun to understand the reasons behind so many of my actions, feelings and choices throughout my life. I recognise that my brain processes things differently, and suddenly I understand the why behind so many things I once questioned about myself.
And perhaps that has been the most important discovery of all. Instead of becoming frustrated with myself or wondering why I can't always do things in the same way as everyone else, I have learned to work with the way my mind works rather than against it.
Since recognising this, I've become far more accepting and understanding of myself. I don't need to change the way my brain works. I need to understand it.
And after all these years, I can finally say something that perhaps took me far too long to learn:
I accept myself. I understand myself. And I love myself for exactly who I am. ❤️
When Did ADHD Become a ‘Thing’?
Sometimes I find myself wondering: when did ADHD become a thing?
I don't mean when it suddenly appeared, because of course it didn't. People didn't suddenly start having ADHD in the last twenty or thirty years. What changed was our understanding of it, and the language we had to describe it.
The modern diagnosis developed over decades. In 1980, the term Attention Deficit Disorder appeared in the DSM-III diagnostic manual, and our understanding and terminology continued to evolve from there. Today we also recognise something that wasn't always appreciated: ADHD doesn't necessarily disappear when childhood ends. Adults can have ADHD too.
And this is the part that fascinates me.
I am 100% certain that, if I had been a child growing up today, somebody would have noticed me.
But when I was young, there wasn't a conversation about ADHD. You were the child who couldn't concentrate, talked too much, daydreamed, forgot things, became distracted, got bored or simply needed to “try harder.”
Nobody stopped to ask whether your brain might just work differently.
Looking back at my own life through what we understand today makes so many things suddenly make sense. My mind can race from one thought to another. I can have several things on the go at once. Routine tasks can feel impossible to begin, yet give me something I'm passionate about and I can disappear into it completely.
Interestingly, that's also how I write.
If you've read any of my books, you may have noticed that my paragraphs tend to be short and there is plenty of space on the page. That's deliberate. I don't want to confront the reader with great walls of text. I like to give the words — and the reader's brain — a little room to breathe and catch up.
Perhaps, without even realising it at first, I began writing books in the way that my own brain likes to read them.
Perhaps some of the very things that might once have been described as my weaknesses have also become part of my creativity.
That's why I think it's important when we talk about ADHD today not simply to ask, “Why does everyone seem to have ADHD now?”
Perhaps a better question is:
How many people were always living with it; we just didn't have the knowledge to recognise them?
And how many adults are looking back at their childhood now and finally thinking:
Ah. That explains a lot.
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