Publication Day

 It's out. My book is out. It is available for purchase. If you don't see it in your local bookshop, you can order it. Or why not buy directly from my publisher Sagging Meniscus Press - https://www.saggingmeniscus.com/catalog/teeth/ - or even from Amazon, if that's how you choose to live your life, you degenerate. Regardless, the book is out. I am a published author. 

I mean, I've been published before, many times, in various places. But this is the first time a book is ALL me. In fact, it's undiluted me, it's TOO me. Because it's not a fiction. It describes a series of terrible things that happened to me at my own request, I paid for it, described in my own voice. You can hear me saying these things. Well, you can if you know me. If you don't, I'll describe the voice. It's a sort of posh estuary, but with Hampshire voicing on the O sounds (I say "floi" instead of "fly", apparently). There's a lot of splashy sibilance and a slightly weak reflexive R. It's deep and quite bassy until I get excited, at which point it becomes positively empyrean, darling.  

As for the words? It's like carrying me about in your pocket, handbag, or arty tote. A pocket Higgins, complete with drawings of my face and a glossary of terms to give you a fighting chance of understanding half of what I'm going on about. 

And you can. Because it's published. It's tangible, it's real. It may not be unputdownable but it's definitely pickupable. I can't quite believe it. And yet, there's one sat next to me on the desk, the one I use for readings. There are grease stains on the covers. There's marginalia, turned over pages, scribbles and highlights. It's well-thumbed and well-loved. It couldn't be more real. 

How did I celebrate? I spent a farcical half an hour trying to get Zoom to work on my computer before giving up and having a lengthy telephone chat with a very nice woman from the Irish Examiner, where neither of us were Irish and both were brought up in the environs of Basingstoke. Which was nice. 

I then went out to get prices for postage deliveries of the book for the people who want signed copies, and checked the Belfast Telegraph to see if an article I'd written about the book had been published. It hadn't. One job, Bel Tel.  

On my return I discovered my publisher had been frantically (he'll deny being frantic) emailing me to get hold of a photo where I'm actually smiling - still very thin on the ground - because The Spectator wanted to run a review of my book(!) and they'd specifically requested a grinning illustration. 

The Spectator will HATE it. 

I received my first review too. I may share that tomorrow. But not now, as I'm going to open a very small bottle of champagne and toast myself. Susan's working, so it'll be a sante a un, but still, I'm marking a very special day. 

I have a book out. I'm a published author.