I QUITE like the idea of having a devoted fan. I reckon I'd be flattered if somebody, somewhere, had covered an entire room of their home with my cuttings, or maybe even had a massive tattoo of my face covering their chest, like that deranged fan on I'm Alan Partridge.

Occasionally I'm recognised in public because I'm in the paper every week. An old lady at a bus stop once said, rather cryptically: "Keep writing about the cats", which felt like we were on a spy assignment. And when a woman chatting to me at a scouts fete said: "I can't believe I've met you," I felt like Madonna.

So when an email pinged into my inbox last week starting with the words "Dear Emma Clayton, we are huge fans," I felt a flush of excitement.

It didn't take long to realise they'd got the wrong Emma Clayton.

"We are huge fans of your books"..."We are studying your books in language class and are loving them. We have read both The Roar and The Whisper, and would love to hear if you are creating a third. Hope you respond."

It was from two young siblings in Toronto, Canada, who had clearly mistaken me with a popular children's author of the same name.

It's not the first email I've had that was meant for her. A couple of years ago I opened one called 'Your No.1 fan', only to discover a gushing tribute to a book I hadn't written. "You rock!" wrote the fan. When I broke the news that I wasn't actually his idol, I felt a pang of guilt. "Oh. Sorry," came the rather deflated reply.

It's not an unusual name, in fact my grandma was also Emma Clayton, but knowing there's a namesake out there who's living my dream irks me. I have wanted to be a writer since I was scribbling short stories as a little girl. Whenever anyone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up it was "an author", once I'd passed through the "air hostess" phase.

But this other Emma Clayton got there first. She's even been nominated for the Carnegie Medal. I have vaguely considered just pretending to be her. I could turn up to book signings and literary festivals and give talks about my glittering career as a bestselling novelist. I might be interviewed on chat shows and invited to open supermarkets.

There's just the thorny issue of identity theft standing in my way.

Another option is to give up on my dream of writing a bestselling novel and turn to my other childhood ambition. Is it too late to train to be an air hostess?