If you told my nine-year-old self—scribbling poems on the back of receipts, dreaming up stories with a cat sprawled across my notebook—that one day I’d write books for a living, I probably would’ve shrugged and said, “Of course.” Back then, the world felt magical and infinite, every heartbreak and joy a secret ingredient for the worlds I’d one day build.

It all started with poems and songs. That’s the honest truth. I grew up filling battered journals with lyrics, messy rhymes, and half-finished lines written in the soft blue glow of my bedroom window. Stories crept in next—short ones at first, born from dreams, from overheard conversations, from things I was too shy to say out loud. Every story was a way to process what I couldn’t explain: my traumas, my wild hopes, my love for people who shaped me and those I’d lost too soon.

If you want to know who inspires me, the answer is simple: my family, my friends, my people. My aunts who held the whole house together with nothing but laughter and tea. My uncles with their wild stories and kind hearts. My cousins—my built-in best friends—whose loyalty and chaos taught me everything about belonging and love. My friends who show up at three a.m. when the world feels too heavy, and the countless souls I’ve crossed paths with who just needed someone to listen, or someone to write their pain and hope into a story. If you ever wondered where my characters come from, it’s them—it’s you—it’s all of us. I write for every person who ever needed a voice, for every broken heart that just wanted to feel seen, for everyone who still believes in second chances.

By the time I wrote my first real novel, I was obsessed. Not just with words—but with building. Suddenly, I was creating mood boards for every story, piecing together aesthetics, faces, colors, whole worlds. That’s when the idea for a saga bible hit me: a foundation, a living document for every book and every character. I started tracking every spark of inspiration—ideas come at the weirdest moments, don’t they? In line at the grocery store. On the beach. In the shower. While burning my tongue on tea.

My stories are mosaics: part real life, part memory, part fantasy. I pour in my trauma, my joy, the influence of everyone I love or grieve. Sometimes I borrow from the lives of strangers. Sometimes a favorite actor or author sneaks in, a face or a voice or a gesture that makes a scene breathe. TV shows that kept me up at night, books I re-read until the spines cracked, tarot cards laid out under moonlight—all of it finds its way in. (Yes, I love mystical things; yes, I used to do tarot readings; and yes, the magic’s real if you want it to be.)

For twenty years, I worked a 9-to-5—writing on scraps of lunch breaks, on rainy commutes, in the cracks between bills and deadlines. Since 2023, I’ve been a full-time writer. The routine is sacred now: up at 4 or 6 a.m., coffee or tea in hand, my cats curled nearby, typing before the world wakes up. My best ideas show up in the hush of early morning, or when I’m walking in nature, toes in the sand, salty air clearing out the noise. Beaches, forests, thunderstorms—there’s nowhere I feel more like myself.

Behind the scenes? It’s chaos and comfort. Mood boards tacked to the wall, post-its everywhere, the kitchen table taken over by outlines and half-finished cups of tea. Cats climbing over my keyboard. Sometimes I’ll light a candle or put on a playlist that fits the book I’m writing—every sense gets involved. I’m always snacking (and yes, food, coffee, and new places are their own kind of muse). Traveling inspires me. A single street in Dublin or a windy afternoon in Belfast can unravel a dozen new stories.

But the best part is, I never know where it’s all leading. Every book starts as a spark—trauma or joy, something lost, something found. I write to understand, to heal, to remember, to imagine a world where hope always gets the last word. I write because I want to give a voice to anyone who needs one. Because everyone deserves to be the hero or heroine, to be loved, to be fought for, to laugh, to cry, and to know they matter. Whether it’s fiction, romance, fantasy, or anything in between—if my books make you smile, help you feel seen, or just let you escape for a while, then I’ve done what I set out to do.

So, why did I start writing books? Because it’s the only thing that ever made sense. Because stories save us. Because every heartbreak, every sunrise, every purring cat, every storm and song and silly tarot card—they all become part of something bigger. And because every day, I still can’t wait to see what comes next.

Thanks for reading, friends. If you want to peek behind the scenes, see my latest book mood boards (and my cats), or just chat about stories and coffee, you know where to find me.

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Amazon Author Page: Laura Carpenter on Amazon

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Website: www.lauracarpenterbooks.com

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