kept all those early poems and stories, and when I read them years later, I smiled (with just a tiny bit of embarrassment) at how earnestly I was trying to find my voice.
P&I – Can you tell us about that journey from writing for yourself to become a published author. I know you have had roles in education and teaching, so has that fed into your writing process?
FM – I worked as a language and literature teacher in a language school in Glasgow for many years. What I loved most about that time was getting to know children from the most diverse backgrounds, each with fascinating life stories that often began in faraway places, and realising just how different, and yet how alike, we all are. What always amazed me was how young people can sometimes be wiser than adults when discussing certain topics. Their clarity and compassion are often untouched by prejudice or media influence, and their ability to see straight to the heart of things is inspiring. It’s what I miss the most about being in a classroom full of young people. That experience definitely fed into my writing. It reminded me that stories are bridges: they help us see one another more clearly, beyond borders, stereotypes, or labels. I think that’s when my love of writing began to shift into something more purposeful, a desire to write stories that reflect that richness of human experience and help young readers feel seen, understood, and less alone. It also made me realise that children are not only capable of engaging with big ideas, but they want to be. Children value honesty, and they deserve to be included in the important, world-shaping discussions that affect their lives.
P&I – Poetry has obviously been a big part of that journey – can you talk about how important is the connections it builds with readers?
FM – Just like in my teenage years, decades later I still find myself turning to poetry whenever feelings grow too big or heavy, whether from joy or from sadness. Poetry has always felt like a safe place to pour emotions into, to try to shape something beautiful out of what feels overwhelming. It’s where I go when prose feels too solid and I need something lighter, more fluid, to carry what I’m feeling.
Poetry was also the very beginning of my writing journey. When my poem The Beast was published by Scottish PEN in their Penning magazine, I was in awe. I hadn’t thought I stood a chance of being published, but seeing my words on the page gave me a spark of belief: maybe I could do this. Maybe my voice had a place in this wild, exciting, and intimidatingly
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small world of publishing. That moment gave me the courage to begin writing My Name is Samim.
P&I – Coming on to My Name is Samim, can you talk us through the inception of that story and the characters?
FM – The idea for My Name is Samim grew from a real story I came across about a young Afghanistan refugee who, after a harrowing journey to France, lost his brother, the only family he had left, during the English Channel crossing. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. What must that grief feel like for a child? How do you keep going after losing everyone you’ve loved? What does hope even look like after that? Eventually, that boy’s story planted the seed for Samim’s voice. I wanted to write
something that didn’t just talk about refugee journeys in terms of danger or headlines, but showed the human side: the bravery, the resilience, the confusion, the small moments of joy, the fragile thread of hope that somehow keeps going. The hardest part was finding the right
tone. I didn’t want to shy away from the truth, but I also wanted the story to be one children could connect with, not feel crushed by. That’s where Zayn, Samim’s best friend, came in. His humour, cheekiness, and loyalty brought warmth to Samim’s world and reminded me (and I hope readers) that even in the darkest times, friendship and laughter can be lifelines.
P&I – How do you do the research for a story like this?
Autumn-Winter 2025
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