Being a Travel Writer – What Does That Really Mean?

If you've landed here after the recent Facebook group saga or tuned in after hearing my radio interview: hello, it's so lovely to have you here.

I’m grateful you’ve taken a moment to stop by while I try to answer a very fair question: 

What exactly is a travel writer?

The truth is, it can mean all sorts of things. Some travel writers create practical guides or maps. Others, like me, write blogs, essays, and books that capture what it feels like to be somewhere new.

Personally, I’m most drawn to storytelling. The kind that weaves together travel and real life. The kind that notices the barista’s tattoo or the way someone glances at their phone like it holds the answer to everything. I write about those tiny moments that reveal something bigger about the human experience. Philosophical chats about life? That’s my sweet spot. If you're someone who loves to people-watch, I’ll bet those kinds of stories speak to you too.

Maybe it’s no surprise that I’ve found my peace in writing. Somehow I've ended up running a travel business by accident. My books are rooted in experience, and luckily, I’ve had plenty of them. Enough to keep me writing for years. In fact, there are 19 more books on my list. Yes, it's a lot, but I don't mind at all because it's also my dream job. I'm so thankful for the chance to be grounded (just for now), so I can write more, share more, and spotlight some of my favourite places and hotels. It’s the perfect balance.

If you loved Eat Pray Love or Mamma Mia, I think you’ll really enjoy Look An Elephant in the Eye. These stories follow strong, independent women who are trying to find their way even when they feel a little lost.

And if you’d like a free copy, I’d love to send one your way. Head to Made In Kent Radio or message me on Instagram to enter the giveaway. I hope my words keep you company while you sip your coffee, soak up the sun, and watch the world go by.

Egypt - I don't recognise you

 Egypt has changed

 

Fifteen years ago I visited Sharm for the first time and it changed my life.

That’s not an exaggerated version of the story, it did change my life. 

 

Revisiting the hotel, where I felt an awakening, was surreal. I’m sitting here now, writing this, and it’s unrecognisable—just my life. I could sit here and write quite happily, leaving the sun’s rays unattended. What is that feeling?

 

Coming back here again to research the book that will be the final book in the series, I didn’t know what to expect. I wanted to venture off the beaten track, go back to old places that held special memories, and take photos and videos to help me with the writing process. I got more than I bargained for.

 

The hotel I am in now is called the Pickalbatros Royal Moderna. It’s turned full circle to be here, as I had my ‘awakening’ shall we call it – in this hotel, 15 years ago.

Yesterday I searched through old photos and thankfully found some. Turning my phone screen to the management, I asked if this is actually the same place. Back then, terracotta rooves surrounded a swimming pool which has now changed shape. I was concerned that I hadn’t recognised any of this hotel at all. There’s even a swimming pool where I didn’t think there was a pool. It's new. The management assured me there have been major rebuilds going on. 

How it looked iin 2009

Today

 

Afraid of forgetting things as they are, I wondered if keeping my YouTube videos was a genius idea. Writing from life dictates an element of truth and accuracy. I couldn’t plant a flying unicorn in the middle of this hotel, for example. For the purpose of the story, I could use an inaccurate memory of course, but this was bothering me how little I remembered.

 

Taking out my journal and pen, I decided to get my thoughts down about what exactly I was doing here. What was my aim or purpose? It certainly wasn’t ‘a holiday’ as people suggested. I can’t tell you the last time I took one of those – actually – it was the UK summer when I stayed in the tent. But when I travel, it is for the purpose of finding a story, creating YouTube videos and taking photos for my blog. Is this sustainable? Is this the end goal?

How do you even know what you are supposed to be doing? 

I would say, dig deep. Feel what’s inside and go from there. Of course, you need to be sensible but I found on this trip I feel a certain way. I feel I need to keep my faith in my writing and the books I produce. Time will tell of course but without a clear message, how can I expect people to be invested in my business? 

 

For a long time, I thought travel vlogging would likely be the route forward, but now I see it’s one of the things I do alongside my writing. 

Many years have passed since I began writing and my passions around biography and diaries has grown over that time. I feel it’s important we share those stories, which will remain even if a hotel has been rebuilt. 

New stories await amid travel adventures

Harley cried, and looked up at me with eyes like saucers. He wanted to sit on my lap. He had moved between beds and blankets all summer long. They were behind my office chair, on the floor by the wall with the fairy lights. He is a loyal research companion.

“You wanna come up mate?”

I scooped him up and sat him on my legs as if he was a toddler about to be bounced up and down. I could edit with one hand, and rest the other on the desk in front of him. He placed his paw on top of my hand and left it there for encouragement. 

 

After another thirty minutes, the email was sent. The next draft chapter was making its way to the necessary people, and I was grinning. I had improved my writing beyond recognition and even though it meant my time walking in the sunshine had been limited this summer, I was full of pride. 

I closed the laptop lid and kissed Harley on top of his head. It was time to prepare for a trip.

 

Excitement prevented me from sleeping any longer than five hours. That would do. 

Jasmine and I would use ‘list making’ as an excuse to get lunch somewhere nice, before wandering around the shops to see what we needed for our next trip. Could we call the trip a holiday? I wasn’t sure. They were always ‘work’, but the kind of work you could frequently do without any thought of complaining. We had big plans. 

Facebook housed a group of people who had already been to the resort. This was a genius way of making friends, finding information and making new relationships before we went there. We have so many plans already and I can’t wait to begin writing a new chapter for the book, and filming videos for YouTube. There are more trips planned, all fitting nicely around work, and my PhD research. 

 

My mind is already over there, getting up early, hunting down a frothy coffee and sitting somewhere peaceful to journal. The resort's sun comes up over the sea, and the rooms overlook the sea. Isn’t that just the ideal picture in the mind?  I am excited about life in a renewed way I haven’t felt before. Even though I can’t explain it, I absolutely don’t mind. Whatever this feeling is, it can stay. Wanderlust being fulfilled once again in my inflamed body, I fully intend to make the most of walking barefoot on the sand. The feeling of the warm sea lapping against the ankles is just the most smile-inducing thought right now as I sit at my breakfast table pre-suncream shopping. My cells will come alive today, and in two weeks as we head to the airport, and maybe the inflammation will lower. 

 

New stories will be born, which I haven’t even got an outline for right now. I love that about travel writing; it just takes you on a wave and guides you with every turn. Seeing new things to describe, meeting new people to become ‘characters’, and having new experiences to create the backbone of the tale, all add to the beauty of ‘adventure’.

People see me tapping away at the laptop and ask why I’m working.

“Oh, no, this isn’t working. This is my passion.”

A day in Broadstairs during lockdown

Friday 15^th May 2020, the sun shone and Nathan and I headed to the beach. The house was looking scruffy and needed a lot of attention but I had worked too hard lately. We were able to get out to go walking now, Boris said. So, I spent some time in the garden writing and drinking a soya milk coffee (would the dairy free life finally get rid of this cough?), listening to the fountain tinkling in the pond while my son slept. Broadstairs.  The home of Charles Dickens. We would go there. Always takes me back to happy times at college.

One pound lighter. I was dieting now. I’d lost half a stone on lockdown but wasn’t sure if that was enough so I was aiming for another half a stone before we start getting out in public again. Our local independent gluten free coffee house would be serving me cake again soon enough, so I felt it was a good idea to go a pound or two under my ideal weight just so I can enjoy a guilt free piece of carrot cake. 

Broadstairs was more than beautiful, and there was a solitary cloud looking more like a feather against the deep blue back drop. I vlogged the day, pointing out my history within the local pubs and even the old Captain Digby which was now someone’s home. We had so much fun in there on the nights before we rocked up at Nero’s, the nightclub in Ramsgate. I had never known anything quite like it. Proper clubbing, so much fun, especially on a particular, chilly night in 1987 but that’s another story for another book. 

     “So, it was like pre-drinks then?” Nathan asked, 

     ‘yeah, kinda, can you imagine me walking down that hill at 17 in all my stuff,’ and I remembered and laughed, ‘curly perm, big hoop earrings and so skinny, red and white striped t-shirt and a little rah rah skirt type thing,’ my mind wandered back to that girl. Carefree on that night, but unusually so.

We took photos and walked, trying to decide if it was warm enough to take the hoody off or should It be kept on. One of my lovely people phoned me and made me smile as we walked and I perched for a minute on a bench near the bandstand to enjoy the phone conversation.  All brand new and lit up, I popped the phone in my back jeans pocket and continued with the history lesson, pointing to Morellis the ice cream shop. It was closed. The windows were dusty on all of the shops since lockdown. 

     Handwritten notes were beginning to fade in the windows now, it had been over 8 weeks since places began to close. A long time. I had got used to it now and I liked most parts of living this lockdown life. A reason to flow downstream on the creative path, which I liked. 

     A local vegan shop was open for take away, one person in the shop at a time. We went in and I bought a coffee, using cash for the very first time in two months. We remained socially distant and followed the rules and walked with the takeaway coffee to sit on the pier where the most perfect empty bench gave us and our thoughts some time to pause.

     It was odd seeing somewhere new again. Just like people. When we see them, that will be new too. I’m frightened. 

Bleak house, where Charles Dickens lived and wrote, had the most perfect desk in front of the most perfect bay window overlooking the sea, high-up on the cliff.  I was in slight envy of that desk but remembered my own office at home with the adjacent palm tree outside. Very blessed, especially when the birds flew in and out to take the little berry type flowers. 

Before long, it was time to stop escaping the lockdown and get home once again. The car felt warm so we opened up the sunroof and windows before choosing some loud, music to play and sing along to. Nathan checked his phone, 

     “Mum it’s work. They are opening up again. They want me to start back on Sunday,”

     “No?” I said. My stomach felt like it was full of waves and I felt tears begin to build some pressure behind my eyes. I wasn’t ready. I liked lockdown. I was clearly still frightened of life, of my children being out there again, of the people getting stressed and afraid of me being so busy that I would wear a watch, check it often, work hard to stay awake and probably not be half the writer I am able to be at the moment. 

     “aww but I like it like this, oh, Nathan,” I said,

     “Not really, I’m just joking, not yet Mum,” he smiled. 

***********

An excerpt from the forthcoming book, 'No rain no flowers'

She's writing again

I've been off.

Off from writing, but not from creating. 

Before Christmas, I decided to lick some wounds and figure out where I'm at and what I'm doing with my writing career.  I've ALWAYS written and it's been such a life force for me.  Yet something wasn't sitting right so I took a hiatus.  

Todays IG story

Haha! I laugh now how I think about other writers who type that exact same thing. I never understood it before.  Figuring why you would need to stop and think about this thing that you not only love but simply have to do.

Journalling helps.  That, and time.  I have used both as a vessel in which to tap into my own source, gut feeling, intuition and tried so hard not to overthink, which is a conflicting term in itself. 

My faithful law of attraction in all it's magical splendour has helped more than I can begin to explain. Showing me directions in line with my thoughts even when they change daily.  My heart is a creative writer, yet one with a gentle soul who might actually want to put 'stuff' out without a return in harsh criticism.  My stories are personal and deep. For now, I'm not convinced about sharing the IVF - Happiness in Vitro story with the world. Simple reasons really.  It needs more juice, it needs a little injection of fiction and the possibility of hurting someone - regardless if he hurt me - even if no one knows who he is. 

I'll continue to write this story behind the scenes while I'm sharing narratives of the creative non-fiction type.  Stories of adventures, travel, discoveries and life lessons which all provoke inner learnings of myself. Helpful stories which aren't guides, but contain information for others hoping to visit the same places.  Yes, I might add some characters in there and possibly part of the story arc might need some fiction, an extra crisis point and the like. 

It's unique.  

I don't mind if you don't understand what I'm telling you in this blog post but as always I love the fact that you listen.  I adore the preciousness of those of you who see these trips on my Youtube and click, like, subscribe and look for the next video.  You can be safe in the knowledge I'm gathering information on the trips which will show me the way forward into the next narrative and you can read while picturing the set scene if this is a place you might have visited. 

Regardless of the 'spilling-it-all-outness' of this post, rest assured that the takeaway for those of you who follow this post is that I am writing again.  

It feels warm and cosy here. 

Winter thoughts

🌷

💜

Travel thoughts from Mexico

Travel evokes emotions and thoughts.

Most of us feel this but do we get quiet enough to listen and see and pay attention?

My current trip is in Mexico at the huge resort called the Grand Sirenis in Riviera Maya. 
Coming here in a brand new decade of my life (as well as for the rest of the world) has given me some time away from day to day life to figure out my next moves in life. Especially in my writer life. 

Blogging is a love of mine and 9000 of you tune in each month to read what I have to say. My YouTube channel  currently sits at 14,000 views a month. Huge stats for me. 

Do I focus and grow there? I’d love to. But I wasn’t sure about remaining independent or taking a path into being published?

For now, with a few life challenges happening, I’m going to stay indie while I plough on getting laser focused and totally clear. 
One thing I know, mornings sitting in the sun, eating yoghurt and fruit while thinking about life has been one of my favourite (and needed) parts of this trip

Many more posts will follow with tales of the hilarious waiter in the Italian restaurant and the journey  me and my twins have been on during this trip. Is it the last one for us three? 

Life lessons

Almost time to go home. 🌪 rollercoaster. 

Learning curves. 

Shocks and twists and turns. 

💫 mental health hanging on in there with a few wobbles 

Trips away and epiphanies seems to be a thing. 🏄🏼‍
 Should you keep on these learning adventures despite the Highs and lows? 

Yeah. 
I guess. 
Despite the brain racing and lack of sleep 🇹🇷 Life is blah when it’s flat. 

The ups need to be celebrated and the downs white knuckle ridden. 🌊 But always, always try and keep strong knowing those who love you are always there. 

Phew. Deep. 

👩‍💻 plenty of writing has occurred and such inspired stories. 

So where next? 👠👠

Shall I quit love? (A Najowrimo excert)

This excert is from my NaJoWrimo efforts as I write each day though July.  In this very open and honest post, you see me talking about why I'm thinking of quitting love.

Releasing this writing and all of July NaJo (with my personal snapshots) will be available in book form on  Amazon soon! Follow this page so you know when! 

July 14^th

The Wonder of You

Strange dreams sees me awakening with an odd feeling inside my heart.  As a bride in the dream I was disappointed.  A five-minute ceremony with strangers I hardly knew left me wondering about love this morning.  Will I ever “have it all”?  Is there such a thing?  I watch couples on this holiday of a myriad of situations.  There is Elvis who sang “Wonder of you” to his wife at Karaoke in between using the microphone as an opportunity to publicly declare his love for this lady.  They were older than me, I would say late 50’s and clearly had lots of love between them.

After Elvis left the stage, his wife pretty much ran from her seat to greet him with love and affection, cupping his face with her hands and planting a proper kiss on his lips.  Not proper as in French kissing but a real, heartfelt, true kiss.  She meant it.  No denying that.  They had a balance between being publically decent and showing true love.  A rare thing I feel these days.  Now when I look around the restaurant I generally see couples who have nothing to say to each other, seem disinterested or even at times one partially turns the chair away.  Of course there is the odd Tut when someone says something the other is frustrated with or has simply lost their tolerance to.  Why is that?  What happened between them?  Would it have been an affair?  Some other form of hurt which broke them forever and never quite allowed things to be the same way again.

Do you know of the film “Love Actually”?  Emma – I forget her surname which is unforgivable as she is one of my favourite actresses yet it’s very early in the morning here – who plays a wife who is very nearly cheated on by her husband (who buys the necklace for the secretary) at Christmas while the wife is left with the usual Jonie Mitchell CD…  This realization moment is priceless as she heads to the bedroom to take a breathing moment before taking the children to the school nativity.  I cry everytime as the soft music accompanies this scene – “I’ve looked at life from both sides now”.  We fall in love with this character who seems to be the perfect mother and wife as well as sister for her grieving brother.  All things to all people as many mums are.  Yet the fact that the husband bought the necklace for the secretary (to be honest, I don’t think he really wanted to at all.  It was all very awkward which would see the wife with reason to forgive him) the wife decided that she would blot her tears with the palm of her hand before taking a deep breath, painting a smile and going back to jollying the children along.  After a while we see her confront her husband with the classic line which is something like, “Do you carry on, knowing it will always be a little bit broken?”  What a cracking line.  It will always be a little bit broken. 

I’m long enough in the tooth now to know what that line means.  You stay because it’s easier, because you love that person, because life gets complicated when you break up, yet; things are never the same.  Is this life?  Is this what we should accept?  We are all human after all.  None of us is ever perfect. 

Yet,  Dear Diary (open heart moment) I feel I love with all of my heart.  I would never consider treating my loved one like that if they were also loving me with a whole heart. Yet in my years of loving people, not one has.  Not one has taken that decision to put me first.  Which leaves me with the question of what is love actually about?  Was I put on this earth to discover this and write stories about it?  I have some cracking books to write based on romance stories which were real…. I have also read some cracking stories.  Ones which allow me to become educated about the differences between men and women.  Books like men are from mars.  I get it.  We are different.  The same could be said for every human being.

This time in Gran Canaria was timed perfectly to get away to heal my heart.  I thought this could be something that naturally may happen.  Alas, this is not what I’m feeling.  All I see with my eyes around me and feel in my heart is a lack of love except for the rare case.  This makes me want to quit love.  My twins love me with all their beating hearts.  They would never consider trading me in for a new mum or go looking for a new mum would they?  They just wouldn’t.  No matter how tough things get.  Likewise I would never consider stopping making an effort for them and forgiving their wrong doings. 

Why can’t husbands and wives be the same?