Quick Recap

 My first novel, Fine, was released into a world where, terrifyingly, Donald Trump is president. Again. 

There is an ominous silence as the book plops onto the world's doormat. Almost as if a particularly showbizzy Archangel were preparing to open another seal. 

Nothing happens. 

A few people want signed copies. I fire them off, grateful. 

My friend Francess has a party and I'm the star turn. I give a reading of a chapter of Fine in her kitchen and people laugh in the right places. Afterwards they dutifully line up to purchase a copy. I feel a bit like the price of entry, but I'm not complaining. I sell some books. 

I organise a book launch. 

I do a couple of podcasts in America. The hosts are delightful and they go well. 

I get a good review in The New York Times Review of Books. It calls me a "Belfast based playwright", which, okay...but describes Fine as a "witty, tragicomic debut". In the New York Times! My first review is in the New York Times!

Nothing happens. 

I go on BBC Radio Ulster's The Ticket to pimp the book. The executive producer of my last film is also on. As is a theatre producer I once spent an hour pitching a play to, only to never hear from her again. We all get on well. I get a quick interview and do a reading. I am a natural. Nice to find new talents in your fifties. The film producer asks me to join his Film Festival Quiz Team but I demur because I don't like the venue. This is why I don't get films made. 

My attempts to get local press fail to manifest. Belfast has tired of me. 

I make a four hour playlist for the book launch. It starts off as the songs that Paul - the main character in the book - mentions. But I then broaden the range because I want people to have a nice time and Paul's records aren't particularly sociable sounds. 

Still no other reviews. From anywhere. On anywhere. Not even Amazon. I've sold dozens of books, that I know of, by now. People send me photos of the books they've purchased. Looking forward to reading this, John, they say. There's never a "I really enjoyed the book" message, however...and no reviews. 

Ahead of the book launch, Joe and I go down to The Harrison Hotel to check out their "Chambers of Distinction". The hotel is amazing and Melanie, the owner, couldn't be nicer. We have the whole front bar for the launch and she'll throw in a free glass of wine! I'm amazed by this generosity. 

While we're there, Joe and I do a spontaneous podcast with a chap called Ed Finn who has immaculate teeth. Better than mine, I quietly fume. Ed is a delight, and Joe and I talk nonsense about Cavan and Status Quo on cue. Afterwards he feeds us a chocolate drop each and disappears like the Cheshire cat. Ed Finn, you make my head spin. 

First review of the book on Goodreads from a cool librarian from Colraine. Alright!

It transpires, the day before the launch, while there IS a mic at the hotel, there's no P. A. Ah well, it's a small room. I can shout. Unlike the last book launch I'm just going to be doing a reading - a whole chapter by the way - there will be no Q and A or anything. That'll be enough, won't it? I haven't done anything of interest since the last book launch except launch this book. 

I do my first telly in support of the book on the "Robin Elliot Tonight" show. I'd met Robin at a party some weeks earlier and he'd invited me on. I thought he was pissed but he persisted, and here I was, sat scribbling off the cuff remarks into my notebook in the giant empty green room. The interview lasted ten minutes and, again, included a reading - carefully vetted for swears - and, surprise, surprise, I'm a natural at this too. I give good telly. I mean, obviously, watching it back was disturbing to see I looked like I'd been fashioned from warm hubbabubba and some miscreant had made off with my neck. But I was natural, witty and funny, things I am not in real life. I had fun and read quite well. Phew. 

It snows on the day of the book launch. The only day, so far, it has snowed in Belfast. There is a flu bug going around. About forty people have confirmed they are going, but on the day ten of them tell me they can no longer make it. That's a quarter gone at a stroke. And that's just the polite ones, the ones that bother to tell you. Most people just can't be arsed. I shall be dancing alone with a sticky cocktail, under a glitterball buffeted by the air conditioning. 

I receive a second review, the first on Amazon. It's a five star smash hit. More of these, please. 

People do show up, some of them forty five minutes early. Susan and I arrive an hour early but there's nothing to do, Melanie has the whole thing in hand. The place looks magnificent. The room starts to fill up. Then it overflows, spilling out into the adjacent rooms. There are a lot of people here. They're drinking wine. They're smiling. The snow has abated. Joe is at the back of the room working the busy card reader and my friend Helen introduces me, and I'm flapping and I'm introducing myself as a sort of introductory tautology, and then I'm reading a chapter of the book and, as I'm writing this, I can't remember which one. If there's phone footage, I haven't seen any. Probably for the best. 

After I finish reading and the applause subsides, I sit down at my table, which is laden with books, alone. I expected people to approach me and want to buy a book and get it signed, but nobody does. I sit there, awkwardly, thinking, well this has been a waste of time. No one comes near me. I've stunk the room out. 

What has happened, in fact, is that Joe is at the back of the room selling people books. They eventually approach me for signed copies having legitimately purchased them. If I'd thought about it, I would have realised, but no, I only think about myself. The rest of the evening is a blur of book signing, selfies, shaking hands and talking about myself. Obviously, my dream evening. Many thanks to all the wonderful people who came down, to Mel and Joe, and to Susan who held my hand through all of it. 

Now review my book, guys. C'mon.