First published just under a year ago, Candice Carty-Williams’s debut novel, Queenie, has become not just a bestseller but a publishing phenomenon. Now out in paperback, the book has blazed a trail with its smart and funny portrayal of black womanhood and black British life. A hit with critics and readers alike, it was shortlisted for numerous prizes, including the Costa first novel award, and won Blackwell’s debut of the year prize. Carty-Williams is now adapting it for a Channel 4 series.

Born in south London in 1989, she wrote much of the novel at a writers’ retreat at the home of author Jojo Moyes during a week off from her job at the publisher 4th Estate. Booker prize winner Bernardine Evaristo described it as “a deliciously funny, characterful, topical and thrilling novel for our times”.

How has it felt seeing Queenie out in the world and doing so well?

Seeing it in a bookshop is wild but when I first saw someone reading it on the tube that was even wilder. At Brixton station I was recognised and someone wanted to take a selfie. My nan calls Queenie my “little project”, so having grown up with people who are like, “Do your work” – that keeps me grounded.

Are you often asked if you are Queenie?

All the time. We’re very different – I’m way more controlled than she is. But like Queenie I tend to catastrophise. The whole book was written in one burst over six months. It was a year in someone’s life. It had to have that energy and drama.

You show the precariousness of life for Queenie, including her being trapped in the housing crisis.

I was living in a horrible flatshare in Brixton Hill at the time. I’d lived in at least 10 houses by this point. I applied to Jojo Moyes’s writers’ retreat. I was very frank – I said I do work in publishing but I don’t have the access my peers have. I never get to go on holiday. I don’t have anywhere to go as all my family are in south London. I don’t have space and time to write. I started writing this novel on that retreat. What I needed to say in Queenie is that we are all living variations of the same life but for some it is harder. How much money you have, the colour of your skin, your cultural capital can make it harder.

Tell me about Queenie’s exploration of self-esteem.

When you haven’t been represented in fiction, TV, film, advertising, you feel invisible. If you don’t see yourself you feel like you don’t fit in. And I didn’t want people to feel anxious about feeling lonely or having casual sex or being irritating to their friends – because for loads of us that’s the reality.

All of the odds have been against black women since the beginning of time

Did you draw on your own experiences of racism in online dating?

I drew on some of my own experiences. I haven’t been on apps for years because they’re horrible. I wanted to show how black women are fetishised. One of the storylines came out of something that happened to me and my friend Lydia. She was on Happn and I was on OkCupid, and we ended up talking to the same white guy. Lydia’s white. He said to Lydia: “Let’s go for coffee so we can talk” but his opening gambit to me was: “Can you take a day off work so I can fuck you?” I was like: “Erm, no.” Things like that show you how other people devalue you.

Where does “the black Bridget Jones” tagline come from?

I chose that – I was working as a marketer in publishing and I thought this was going to be a hard sell because there hadn’t been any books like it. Bridget Jones is the closest. Also, most fiction by black authors gets pigeonholed into literary fiction. I wanted Queenie to be widely read and understood.

The book shows relationships more enduring than romantic ones, such as friendship.

Friendships are there for you unequivocally. I have really good friends. The Corgis [Queenie’s group of friends] were necessary to show that you do need your support systems.

You’ve written movingly about a friend, Dan, who encouraged your writing.

The book is dedicated to two friends who died young, Anton and Dan. When I was 23 to 25, I had panic attacks all the time because my best friend, Dan, had just been diagnosed with cancer. I also had loads of unresolved childhood stuff. I talked to Dan about it and he said: “Why don’t you write about it – but rather than a diary, why don’t you fictionalise it, so it isn’t necessarily about you, but you’re still getting the stuff out.” So yes, Queenie and I have similarities but also much of it is fiction.

Can you describe your childhood?

My mum worked as a hospital receptionist. My dad was a cab driver. My childhood was shit and lonely. I just read all the time. That started when there was an incident that led to me being excluded from school – I went to Lewisham library instead. I read a lot of Judy Blume, Malorie Blackman, Sue Townsend. Those were my childhood reads that formed me, that I loved.

Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams review – a smart and breezy debut Read more

Has humour been an important part of your life? For Queenie, it seems like a survival mechanism.

My nan always used to say: “If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.” That literally is how we’ve always had to live. When I was growing up and trying to be strong, humour was definitely a deflection. And for Queenie it’s a deflection. Sometimes, life can be stranger than fiction and you have to laugh about it, as there’s nothing else you can do. I’ve also grown up around funny people. My mum is the funniest person I know.

You founded the Guardian 4th Estate BAME short story prize. Would you see yourself as an activist?

I’ve always been someone who spots what is fair and what is not and I really operate on fairness. When I was growing up I would always recognise something unfair and think: “How can I change that?” When I worked at 4th Estate I thought this whole industry was quite staid. Queenie is part of the same thing – I wanted to bring forth that representation.

What is your second novel about?

It’s about grief and how grief doesn’t ever really leave you. My friend Dan has a plaque at St Bride’s church [in Fleet Street] and I go to it every year on his birthday, Christmas and the anniversary of when he passed away, and I have a chat. Last year, when I went for his birthday, I found it hardest. I was weeping for so long and so loud as I was like: “So much has happened that I want to tell you about and you’re not here.”

He would have been so proud of what you’ve achieved.

All of the odds have been against black women since the beginning of time. Some of the things I’ve gone through – to even have survived is wild. But to have survived and been like: “OK, I’m going to do more on top of that.” I’m always thinking: “I’m not strong, I’m not strong.” Then I’m like: “Nah, you must be, even to be in the public eye.” I’m so shy, and I find talking to new people hard, so there’s obviously some strength there.

• Queenie is published by Trapeze (£8.99). To order a copy go to guardianbookshop.com. Free UK p&p over £15