TLDR: At what stage does theme come into your planning or drafting? Do you have any strategies for selecting it, and keeping things on track? The long version: Theme can be one of the things that really elevates a story/novel, leaving you things to ponder or argue about long after you finish it. It can help dialogue break out from being a simple relaying of plot points and information... But if poorly applied can come across as dry moralistic lecturing, as though the plot grinds to a halt while someone breaks character to deliver a PSA. What do you (of anything) to weave it in naturally and or, are there any examples of writers that do it well for the rest of us to investigate? Alternatively, have you come across poor examples we could break down?

As we come to the closing stages of the World Cup (audible sigh of relief from the less sport minded), I started thinking about the novels I've read where sport is a prime narrative device. I came up with 2, I'm not sure what that says about me but I enjoyed both of the m. The first is Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella. It's the book that inspired Field of Dreams and conveys the same sense of wonder. You do not have to be a baseball fan to enjoy this lovely book. The other book on my extensive list is Carrie Soto is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid. The sport in question is tennis and it's more of a traditional sporting narrative that has you rooting for the protagonist to the very last page. Any other sporting recommendations?

Down-on-his-luck journalist Jack Sutherland has one last shot to resurrect his career: an exclusive profile on the magnetic, larger-than-life culinary queen, Serendipity Brown. Arriving at Bishops Ridge, Jack is drawn into a sensory world of vibrant flavours and deep secrets. Officially, he’s there to capture the real woman behind the famous cookbooks. Unofficially, he’s hunting for the truth behind her husband. Richard Brown had been a prominent attorney who vanished without a trace seven years ago after being disbarred for misappropriating clients' funds. As Serendipity prepares her upcoming series of food demonstrations, an eccentric and volatile circle of guests descends upon the house. Among them are Eduardo Rossi, a smug food blogger; Radha Singh, a glamorous society host with past ties to the missing Richard; and the arrogant Simpson twins. Also watching from the wings are Toby, a brilliant, non-binary tech genius, and Saffron, Serendipity’s fiercely independent, marketer and sous chef who is quietly planning her own exit from the estate. Everyone at Bishops Ridge is playing a game of observation. While Jack sifts through his initial notes in the dark study, tracking his subjects like a hawk, Serendipity is expertly pulling the strings to gather fodder for her upcoming memoir. Beneath the flowing wine, the fragrance of roasting lamb, and the rhythmic thump of the chef’s knife, a quiet game of deception is simmering. Who is hiding the truth, and what really happened to Richard Brown?

My guilty pleasure? Still Kerouac’s "On the Road" — but now we’re throwing the steering wheel out the window and letting the jazz‑powered chaos take the wheel. It’s the book I grab when I want to feel like I’ve been kidnapped by wanderlust, caffeinated beyond medical recommendation, and dropped into a world where every decision is made at 3 a.m. in a diner that smells like burnt toast and existentialism. There’s no plot so much as a vibe, no structure so much as a vibration, and no moral except “maybe don’t hitchhike with poets.” But I love it. Every reread feels like I’m sprinting across America with Beat‑era madness rattling in my bones — jazz horns blaring, neon signs flickering, and the constant suspicion that someone named Dean is about to make a terrible choice that I will absolutely support. It’s escapism that tastes like cheap coffee, freedom, and the kind of optimism you only have before life teaches you about taxes. There’s always that moment — somewhere between Denver and the end of my sanity — where I think, “You know what? I could just drop everything and chase the horizon.” And then reality taps me on the shoulder like, “Relax, Kerouac. You have responsibilities.” But the fantasy lingers, humming like a saxophone solo that refuses to end. It’s messy. It’s impulsive. It’s spiritually feral. And it’s perfect. Peak escapism. Peak chaos. Peak guilty pleasure!

Do you have a guilty pleasure book? Guilty pleasure is about pure unadulterated entertainment and escapism. Generally speaking it's not something you read to broaden your horizons or improve your vocabulary. It's a delightful diversion, so we're not talking about Dostoevsky or Tolstoy, this is more a romance (with or without vampires) or Vampires (with or without romance) kind of thing. For me as a confirmed Star Wars geek, my guilty pleasure would be The Darth Bane trilogy. Over to you....