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Thank you for having me! Today, I want to reflect on a deceptively simple question: What kind of writer am I?

My stories usually start with a scene I can’t shake. Often, it’s a spicy one—the first time two characters finally give in to the pull between them. That’s the heartbeat. Then comes the question: Why couldn’t they be together before this? What has kept them apart? And from there, the entire world and narrative begin to unfold.

I don’t plot everything in advance—I map out the key arcs, the emotional milestones, and then I let the characters surprise me. Sometimes they refuse to follow my plans. Sometimes they break my heart. But that’s part of the magic.

As a full-time scientist in my day job, I bring a lot of curiosity and structure to my writing process. I love research. I can disappear down rabbit holes about medieval architecture, ancient weaponry, or the roles of women for days. But I’m also aware that at some point, you have to stop researching and write. Fiction, after all, isn’t about getting every fact right—it’s about getting the feeling right.

I’m also deeply invested in my characters. My heroines are strong, not because they’re perfect, but because they’re messy and real. They cry, they rage, they fall, they get back up. And my heroes? Morally grey. Always. They carry secrets, guilt, and usually some kind of burden that makes their love story feel dangerous—but irresistible.

And yes, my stories come with spice. Because passion is part of being human. Because I want my readers to feel everything—lust, longing, grief, joy, betrayal, redemption. I want to leave them breathless, aching, and full of hope.

So, what kind of writer am I?
I’m the kind who builds worlds with swords and secrets, who writes love stories that burn, and who believes that the most powerful journey we can take—fictional or not—is the one where we find ourselves.

Outlander meets Black Mirror in this sizzling dark time travel romance.

She thought it was real. She was wrong.

When Sophia wakes up in 15th-century England, she expects hardship—but nothing prepares her for this brutal, unforgiving world. Lost, alone, and desperate to return to her husband and son, she vows to find a way home. But as the days turn into months, Sophia begins to build a new life, finding unexpected kinship and purpose in this strange land.

After a violent attack, she takes fate into her own hands, disguising herself as a man to train under Henry, the castle’s enigmatic master-at-arms. As steel clashes and their connection deepens, forbidden desire ignites.

Yet Henry is not who he claims to be. His real name is Ethan, and this is the least of the lies he tells her. Falling for Sophia was never part of the plan—but the closer they become, the more he realises how wrong it is to keep her in the dark.

As danger closes in and the lines between reality and deception blur, Sophia must uncover the truth about Henry—and herself—before she runs out of time.

*Warning: strong language, steamy scenes, and graphic violence inside. Mention/Description of, but not limited to, abduction, blood, death, amputation, childbirth, death, sexual assault, suicide, violence against children, rape, and torture.*

The book is the first in a duology and ends with a cliffhanger.

Enjoy an Excerpt

I had the strangest dream. Nothing unusual for me, but this one lingered in vivid detail, as if I’d truly been there—in a medieval castle, smoke and burning wood perfuming the air, stone walls looming around me. Azure blue eyes. I smiled at the memory, then made the mistake of swallowing and winced at the sharp, scratchy sensation in my throat. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, seeking comfort in the familiar routine of checking the time, but my hand met only empty space.

Confused, I squinted into the darkness. My surroundings looked much as it had last night: thick red bed curtains drawn nearly shut, letting in only a small beam. I shifted under the heavy covers, my feet touching the icy stone floor and sending shivers up my legs as I sat up in my underdress. A faint shaft of light crept in from a small window, softly hinting at dawn. It might have been around six.

Breathing out a small cloud, I rubbed my arms to coax some warmth back into them and took in the room’s strangeness, feeling how truly alien this place was.

“Good mornin’, my lady! How be ye feelin’ today?” she chirped, her voice motherly and comforting in my panic. Her plain brown dress rustled as she moved about the room, efficient and unfazed.

“Toilet?” I croaked, my voice strained and hoarse from my sore throat.

Polly looked at me in confusion, observing me standing there with legs crossed.

“Ah, a privy ye seek.” She nodded thoughtfully, then produced a chamber pot from under the bed, holding it out to me.

I reached for it, mortified. What was I supposed to do now?

About the Author: Award-winning author Eliza Hampstead, a scientist by training, lives with her family in the UK. When she’s not writing, she spends her time as a geek. Playing all sorts of games (board games, video games, RPGs) and being a big fan of medieval history are only a few of the many hobbies she has. Passionate about fantasy, she’s always planning her next adventure.

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