I’ve been waiting a long time for this and now it’s here, it feels… weird. Good. But weird.
It’s one thing to daydream about being a writer but quite another to know that people are actually downloading something you’ve written and reading it.
I’m as nervous about family reading it as I am about strangers. I feel exposed altogether.
I’ve done everything I can. I had the idea. I wrote the book. I rewrote the book. I rewrote the book. I rewrote the book.
It’s as good as I can make it, and I’m proud of it.
But will readers like it?
The reviews so far are good, which is encouraging.
(If you have time to leave an honest rating and/or review, by the way, that would be great.)
But there’s a lot riding on it, for me at least: if this book is successful, however you choose to measure that, it increases the likelihood that I’ll get to write another, which I so badly want to do.
I’ve got the next idea in mind – something set in post-war Bristol – and have started plotting and researching.
Anyway, publication day. Here it is. There the book goes, out of my control, no longer mine to own.