One afternoon, I took a call from my hometown newspaper back in Derby. I was feeling pretty excited. My first novel, Blackmoor, had been shortlisted for the Desmond Elliott Prize, the winner of which was due to be announced later that week. I’d had a few nice little reviews in the national papers, but I was hungry for recognition in the motherland. My family would be proud, and it would be one in the eye for the doubters. I was the local boy done good, right? This interview was going to be a pleasure.
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