Before all of my boyfriends (even Robert Gregory, age 10), my heart belonged to Terry Pratchett.

‘It’s good,’ said James McConville, in Year Six, about Diggers. ‘But it’s hard.’

I opened the first page, cautiously, expecting mind-fog and bafflement. Instead, there it was. That warm, funny voice, talking to me. It would talk to me for the next twenty-three years, until Terry died, this time last year.

He gave me some of the best friends I never met, in worlds we made together in my head. He said ‘bugger’. In print! He made me laugh myself sensible. Made me need stories like I needed to breathe. I had to chase Sam Vimes along the streets of Ankh-Morpork, until the words went blurry at 2am. I’d reach for the book as soon as I woke up the next morning.

I’m only sorry that the price of his remarkable mind was that he had to leave far too soon. And now it’s up to the rest of us to be as wise, as gleeful, as fun. Gulp.

My books aren’t in the libraries yet, Terry. But maybe they exist in L-space, home to all the books that were ever written, and all the books that ever will be written. Maybe the Librarian’s handed you one of mine right now, with a gentle Oook.

If so, you have to know one thing. It’s only there because of you.

2016 has begun with a stream of goodbyes: David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Maurice White, Terry Wogan, Harper Lee.

People well-known, in this corner of the world at least. Remarkable for the talents they shared with us. Music, ideas, fun. Languid … diction. Gifts we can still hold tight, even though their givers are gone.

Celebrities are a bit like your favourite book characters: we’re drawn to them; we know their names, their voices. What they have to say feels like it’s just for you. But they will never know you in the same way. Often they have no idea you’re even watching. Even though it’s so one-sided, we follow their stories. We burn to know what’s going on. What’s going to happen next?

What’s next for me might seem like the dusty past. I’m deep in London in the 1780s, writing my next book, about a girl who’s on the run as a highway robber. It’s a story that’s bursting to get out of my head.

My girl’s a firework. There’s no way she can live as she aches to, and she can never be with the one she loves. Losing her father puts her life in danger, and her future starts to close around her like a trap. So she breaks out. But how long can she stay free?

A hero’s story rings out. It leaves us seeing things differently.

Long after the song is over, the echoes murmur to us. We could be heroes too.

Yeah, spiders. Spiders are tricky.

I have a friend who’s so terrified of spiders she probably won’t be able to read this post.

So why on earth would I put them in a story?

Hey, I’m no loony spider fan. I felt a tickle on my neck when I was drawing last week. I looked down to see a spider disappearing down my top. Brave move, pal. The jumper came off and the little fella was shaken out of the window in seconds.

When a spider appears out of the blue, you have to pay attention. It’s so tiny, compared to a person – well, in Britain at least – but it gets a big reaction. Something deep in our brain knows. The shape, the scuttle. Death on legs. Look out!

A spider popped into my head in a writing class in 2014. We had to start a story about a character having a bad day.

In my head, I saw a girl opening her lunchbox at school, and a big red spider crawling over her crisp packet. Screams break out across the room. But the girl just sighs. Takes the spider outside. And tells it off for being so embarrassing.

That’s when the spider talks back. Sorry, Boss. But we need your help.

I called the girl Petrel, and the story of Petrel’s Spinacle took shape.

Petrel’s having a terrible summer, when spiders start talking to her. And before long she realises that she has to listen. Not just because spiders sound a bit like gruff taxi drivers. (But of course). A spider tells Petrel that her Dad’s accident wasn’t all it seemed. And maybe that means there’s a way to wake him from his coma…

As the story goes on, Petrel realises spiders are only ever being – spiders. Yes, they’re rowdy. Yes, they always think they’re right. And their webs are their castles. But if it comes to it, they want a fair fight. Not like Beckett, the boy in her class who hurts things for fun. Or someone Petrel thinks she can trust, who betrays her, and her Dad. And when a real monster starts hunting Petrel and her spider friends, it’s learnt everything it knows from humans.

So spiders are tricky. They scare us. But it’s how we handle that fear that’s important. Blindly smash the thing we’re afraid of? Or watch it, and learn…

I don’t think we’ll ever find it easy, being around spiders. But one popped up, talking, and I had to listen.

This is me. Always reading. My Mum says that before I could walk, I’d sit and carefully turn each page of the Radio Times (upside down, mind).

When my daughter came along, I read her my own favourite stories, like Each Peach Pear Plum, Where the Wild Things Are, and Meg and Mog. We discovered new favourites together, like Red Cat, Blue Cat, Oh No, George!, and The Princess Who Had No Kingdom. It felt like coming home.

I wanted to join in. I had some expert help to get me started. Like Alison Sage, who teaches writing for children at my local adult learning centre. She helped me to see the story, and let it out, as simply as possible. How to get unstuck, and keep going.

And the wonderful Trisha Krauss, who is as elegant as her illustrations, and who taught me the practical craft of illustrating a picture-book.

I’m having huge fun. I’ve got story ideas for tiny kids, pictures in my head that are huge fun to get onto paper. There’s a pirate girl chapter book for 6-8s taking shape. I’ve written a longer book for 9-12s, about Petrel, who discovers she can talk to spiders. Then, there are the ideas bubbling away for young adult novels. I’ve started work on the most insistent one first. The main character’s called Red, and she won’t leave me alone. 2016 is the year she’ll get out of my head.

I thought about making my first post all about my favourite books when I was growing up. But there were just too many. How could I mention them all?

That’s the most exciting thing about writing and illustrating for children. When you’re a child, and you find that story you love, it’s a friend that stays with you for life.

We all need more of those kinds of friends.