On Saturday, I went to a book launch. My book launch. As in, the launch of my own book.
It’s all still a bit surreal.
After a hectic week of preparation – wishing away the volcanic ash long enough for my books to fly in from North Carolina, telling everyone I know that unless they show up at exactly 12.30pm they can expect never to speak to me again, spending so much money on make-up in Boots that the cashier eyed my credit card with suspicion – the day had finally arrived, and I felt ever-so-slightly nauseous at the thought of what was about to happen.
Let me explain: it wasn’t a traditional launch, per se. As I’ve previous blogged, I wanted to save the glitzy, alcohol-drenched launch party for my novel dreams; for my adventures in self-printing, I went for the glorified-signing-in-a-local-bookshop approach, which was really all I could handle. Baby steps and all that jazz. Continue reading