There must be a part of my brain that simply refuses to believe that my book has arrived in the world. From selling out at the launch (this never happens apparently, bookshop No Alibis were surprised and delighted) to struggling to see it in Waterstones. Is it here? Why yes, yes it is. And it’s so beautiful.
What Just Happened?
On Stage!
Well it’s been quite a time. The month of May has left my mind tired and my heart full. To see my book out in the world continues to be amazing and surreal, and the love from readers and supporters just keeps coming. I’m truly grateful.
First of all the celebrations when THE PROOF COPY arrived
Then the emotional handover of author copies to parents
Then came the launch party – the best night EVER. Pics will be here soon!
One Year is now out in the world and (in case it wasn’t obvious) I still can’t believe it. Thank you Gill Books for being talented and clever and pushing me to make this book shine. Thank you everyone for buying it, reading it, telling others about it and generally being wonderful. More soon but meantime I’m still doing publicity and resting in the knowledge that my book will find its way to anyone who needs it.
Fly little debut memoir, fly…
Happy New Year
It’s dark in January, but there’s light ahead, and light within. Revisiting this wonderful poem by John O’Donohue.
Mercy
There are cobwebs all over the place lately, in the writing shed, yes, but in the house too. I was cooking dinner the other day and had to sweep aside layers of cobweb to reach the olive oil on the top shelf (and could hear Granny’s horrified intake of breath) and admitted that I really should do a deep clean of the kitchen soon. It was like Miss Havisham’s attic. I’ve always loved spiders and feel terrible about vacuuming up their homes, double checking that everyone in the eight-legged family has moved out.
A few days later, while hanging out some laundry on a rare sunny day, I heard a loud humming noise, like a generator, coming from the writing shed. It sounded like a lot (a LOT) of buzzy insects. Sure enough, when I made my way towards the open door, I thought I saw a swarm of wasps. I stepped back and then just watched them. Hundreds and hundreds of honey bees, I soon realised on closer inspection, were clambering all over the desk and chair and roof, and despite an unconscious recoil of fear, I knew instinctively that they meant no harm. They were simply lost.
Perhaps they had moved with their queen to find a new home, or maybe they had been thrown out of the hive and had to find somewhere new to live. The noise they made! It was enthralling to watch. As twilight arrived a few hours later, I looked into the shed and saw that they had indeed moved on. New homes beckoned.
Like us humans, insects and arachnids need places to live, to find somewhere to call home. I’m always glad when I leave them in peace to continue their busy days. It’s a small thing, but making time to be part of their lives and watch their fascinating behaviour has been keeping me sane.
The world is not kind right now, abuse of power is normalised while compassion seems beyond our sights. But I know that in small ways all around the globe there are people who are full of love, who find meaning in holding the hand of a loved one, who seek first the good in another person. We don’t hear about this love, but it exists.
My inability to kill small creatures seems a kind of mercy in dark days. Kindness is not dead, it’s as quietly powerful as ever it was, and shouting cruelty will have its day soon enough. The pendulum swings.
Understanding the World
I missed the train recently and it just so happens that a gorgeous indie bookstore is on down the road from the station, so what was I supposed to do? Wait for half an hour on the cold platform?
The problem is that I can’t visit No Alibis in South Belfast without buying something. I’ve tried. And even though I know this to be true, I still pop in with an innocent and deluded belief that, this time, I will leave empty handed. My TBR pile is teetering dangerously next to my bed, I remind myself. I don’t need more books, I think, as I step over the threshold. Ah, but look at them! All laid out with their beautiful covers nestling next to one another like old and new friends. One more wouldn’t hurt, would it?
On this particular day I had been chatting with a friend about the state of the world (it’s awful) and how I don’t understand what’s happening. We parted with drooping shoulders and then I missed the train and got even more annoyed. So as I scanned the bookshelves (convinced I wasn’t going to buy anything) I could hardly believe the title of one of the staff recommendations. ‘When We Cease to Understand the World’ by Benjamin Labatut was shining like a beacon and telling me to pick it up so, with barely a glance at the blurb, I took it to the till. This would fix my philosophical failures, I thought, as I made my way to the station.
I started to read on the journey home and was immediately transfixed. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever read, sitting between non-fiction and fiction, and I ate it up in two days. It’s dystopian and frightening and weird and engrossing. My quantum mechanics aren’t great (who’s with me?) but there was Schrödinger and Heisenberg alongside Einstein and Oppenheimer as they make discoveries that reach forward into a bright future full of new knowledge and yet all the while they are putting our world (and the humans within it) at terrible risk. Somehow these characters are only half-alive, both real and fictitious. Parts of my mind opened up that had been long-closed (or perhaps had never opened).
In case it’s not obvious, I can’t really describe it, and the Booker Prize judges agree. It’s odd. When I set the book down I took a deep breath and did indeed feel a bit better about the world. Perspective in a crisis really helps and stepping back to look at the universe from afar makes my problems very small indeed.