The officers around me were wry, and amused, and simply waited for the youths to get out the way. 

I used the time to think about how I’d got myself into this mess. What had seemed like a good idea while I was dreaming up the research was fast losing its charm.

We really were going out to face dangerous criminals with guns. Violent men who would be scared and determined to escape, and who, presumably, would have no compunction about shooting at me in my under-sized bullet-proof vest.

Was getting a story out of this really worth it?

I paid more attention to the police around me. How could they possibly be so calm driving into a battle zone?

What would it take to be that courageous, to act without question, with full knowledge of what you’d be facing?

Why would you choose to do this when you could be in a normal job and be thinking about football, women, or the pub?

What was it like to live knowing you could kill someone before the day was done?

The kids finally draggled past the car, and the driver hit the accelerator, and we were off. 

I looked at the teenagers’ faces as we passed, and saw the contempt they had for the car, and the officers.

As we raced through the backstreets, all I could to was consider what it must feel like to be part of SO19. To be part of a crew of people who were, truly the last resort. 

Who were only called when all normal methods of containing violence had failed. 

Who were, clearly and obviously, prepared to lay down their lives without murmur to protect members of the public they would mostly never meet, and who would often hate them while they did it… 

If it’s not too fanciful, that was a watershed in my life.

That was the moment I fell in love with the police.

That day I became convinced I needed to write their story.

All the other things I heard about the police later on, good and bad, only strengthened that determination…

The deeper why

Now, when I say ‘I fell in love with the police’ I don’t mean romantically. I mean something far wider.

That day, heading toward the unknown in Southampton Row, I had seen three people with vast, calm courage, plus a whole unit of the same back in the base. I knew across the UK there were many more officers beyond that who had an immense sense of duty. Who were literally prepared to sacrifice their own lives for others. 

Deep down, that sacrifice could only be driven by love for others, and I could only respond to that in the same way.

Which, speaking as a writer, was incredibly helpful. 

The best things I’ve ever written have all come from moments where I felt a jolt of love for human beings, and what they can do.

Without exception, those are the stories that stood out at the time, that impressed other people enough to get me work, and, most importantly, still stand up and energise me when I look back at them.

The writing of mine that sank, that faded away, that never aroused people in the first place, is the writing that came from other motives: to shock, to horrify, to complain, or simply just to make money.

So, whenever I begin writing from a place of love, I’m amazed how it turns out.

The one true light

There’s a book by C.S. Lewis in which a ghost talks.

When the ghost was still a human, he was an artist, painting away on earth. 

The ghost explains that he was so keen to paint because he was fascinated by light. 

It wasn’t the painting itself that was his first love. What made him paint so much was that he was in love with the light that came off the world. 

To him the light came from God. His painting was his way of telling others about that light. 

That’s true for me too. The best things I have ever written came from having fallen in love with different groups of people. 

You could call that a glimpse of the true light. The true light comes from Heaven. And wouldn’t we all like to glimpse Heaven?

So this is my manifesto. Since I became a Christian, in my mid fifties, I write to talk about that light.

These days I only write about things that I love, because I love them, and I want to tell other people about that love.

That doesn’t mean I’m restricted to simple happy stories with no edge, not at all. I sometimes tell dark stories, and write sad books. I can definitely explore corners that feel sinister, sad, full of anger, or fear.

But if I love the people in these stories, then even these stories will turn out just fine.

It does mean I can’t write to get money or status. I need to keep my eyes on the light, not on the royalties.

These days my goal is to write because I feel the light of love, and to help others experience that light.

Then, regardless of whether my books are read by ten million people, or just ten, I will be successful in the only way that matters.

But why crime novels? Why now?

Things are shifting fast these days. We're losing our ability to name what’s worth protecting. The stories we used to tell ourselves about courage, sacrifice, and love, the stories that sustained generations, we have dismissed as naive or simplistic.

But here's what I keep coming back to.

Some people run toward danger while everyone else runs away. What drives them?

Some people are willing to sacrifice their lives for strangers who hate them? Why?

These days we seem less and less sure of what's worth protecting, or what holds us together.

We used to get wisdom and guidance from the stories we told ourselves, but that’s not really working any more, and modern books seem almost part of the problem.

When they’re not dull beyond belief, they’re often too complex, too morally ambigious, to satisfy.

Anti-heroes have been interesting for a while (maybe) but who really wants to follow them? They are supposed to reflect our greater sophistication, but I believe they’ve dominated story-telling because we're afraid to show actual heroism.

Moral ambiguity is everywhere because we're terrified of appearing judgmental.

Cynicism feels like the only intellectually safe stance.

I think crime fiction is one great arena where all this can be addressed.

It’s in the nature of a crime story that we have to consider what happens when evil acts? Who responds? What does that response cost?

These have always been important questions, but these days they seem urgent.

When everything feels like it's unravelling, when we've turned away from the stories that sustained generations before us, when cynicism or apathy are the only stances that feel safe, more than ever we need to know the difference between Good and Evil.

Abstract theology or political slogans don’t help us with that. Nor does preachy moralism.

Stories are the thing.

Stories about ordinary people facing darkness. People who can show us how the light will not be overcome.

That's what I'm trying to write. That's why now.

Join the tribe

What if the books we need most are the ones that take us back to the stories we've forgotten?

Not nostalgic stories. Not "the good old days." But the stories about courage, sacrifice, redemption, and love that sustained generation after generation until we decided we were too sophisticated for them.

What if those stories weren't naive?

What if they were true?

You’ll know courage is real because you'll have seen it. You know sacrifice matters because you’ve felt its lack. You know there’s a light that comes from beyond us because you've glimpsed it, even if only for a moment.

You know these things but you need stories that show them and that make them real again.

That's why I'm writing crime novels about the police. Thrillers about danger and choice and consequence. Stories where good and evil actually matter, where heroism isn't ironic, where redemption is possible.

You’ll be relieved to know that Rule 1 for me is always ‘Be Entertaining’. Boring stories don't change anything. But running through that entertainment will always be the light I saw in Southampton Row.

The light that's been calling you all along.

The Snake comes out in late Spring 2026. Between now and then, I'll be writing to the people who've found their way here. I’m going to be talking writing about stories, courage, and the light that keeps calling us home. About what it means to write from love in a cynical age. About the ordinary heroes we need right now.

If that's you and you've been looking for this without quite knowing what ‘this’ was - then join the tribe of people who get regular emails.

Let's see where this goes together.

Philip