Thoughts on the Night Before Publication

Tomorrow morning my seventh book will be released into the world. The Raptures has been fifteen years in the making. It’s the book I wanted to write when I first decided that writing was what I absolutely had to do. I’ve been trying, and mostly failing, to write the damn thing ever since. There’s more of me in this novel than anything I’ve ever written. Before, the critics start speculating, I’ll admit there’s a bit of me in Hannah Adger, and Granda Pete, and Maganda Gardiner and pretty much every other resident of Ballylack, (though mostly Hannah’s where I’m at and Granda Pete’s who I’m aiming for). This novel has been through multiple iterations (for all those -mostly middle-aged men- who keep asking ‘whatever happened to the Bob Dylan/Roundabouts novel?’ well, The Raptures is what happened. I dismantled Roundabouts, cut out all but the briefest mention of Bob and put the best bits into this book). Before I even began taking notes for this novel, I wrote sixteen short stories; one for each of The Rapture’s major characters. (On a side note, if anyone would like to publish a spin-off short story, now’s the time to give me a shout).

I wrote it quickly, in three months, felt unduly smug and then spent almost two years on the edits. When I say “I” I really mean, an incredibly patient and visionary group of people, (Fiona, Sophie, Alice, Kate and Rach), who steered me calmly through the trauma of editing an “outbreak” novel in the midst of an actual pandemic. When I first envisioned a mysterious infectious illness requiring isolation, frequent press briefings and a furore over testing I could never have anticipated the circumstances in which this book would be released. I finished writing The Raptures in November 2019. It all started coming true about two weeks later. The same thing happened with sections of The Fire Starters. I like to think I have prophetic leanings. Alternatively, I may be cursed. All this to say, I worked harder on this novel, than I’ve ever worked in my life and I am very proud of it.

Tomorrow morning I’ll be releasing my ninth book during a Pandemic. I know the maths doesn’t add up here. But I’ve published 7 English language books, (3 in the last 2 years), plus a subsequent 6 translations of The Fire Starters. Which makes 9 Pandemic books in total, only one of which, (the wonderful French translation, Les Lanceurs de Feu), was able to have an actual in-person launch event, with real people, in a real -very fancy Parisian- room. I am so excited to be finally releasing The Raptures into the world. I’ve worked so hard for this, and I’m utterly determined to enjoy every second of it. However, like many of you who’ve published books in the last two years, I am also a little sad. I lament, (and I think lament, is the perfect word here), the lack of real life physical people congregating to celebrate this book.

 Tonight, I’m dreaming of a big, packed room, full of all the folks I love, noise and laughter and people connecting, lukewarm wine in plastic glasses and a table full of Mum’s shortbread, some dubious musical covers from Hannah, David and the No Alibis crew selling books at the back, and a chance to deliver a sappy speech about how it takes a village to write a book, (a variation on the same speech I give at every launch). Sadly, none of this will happen tomorrow. I’m hoping for live events in the spring but who knows what 2022 will pitch at us. The Raptures could well be another book entirely birthed, celebrated and critiqued online. Once again- like many of you, I’m learning, struggling and sometimes failing to manage my disappointment about this. This isn’t the way I want to do books or writing, but for the moment it is what it is and I’m determined that current circumstances shouldn’t be allowed to undermine what I -and every other artist who’s published, performed or created this year- has managed to achieve. If you’re looking for someone to tell you, ‘well done,’ then let that be me. A huge well done to anyone who tried to make something new from this tired, despondent drag of a year. You should be really proud of yourself. Make sure you take time to celebrate.

I don’t know if I’m alone in this, but I have really struggled with celebrating recently. I’ve found the good times the loneliest parts of the Pandemic. I live by myself. I’ve chosen this and on the whole, I’m happy with my choice. I’m pretty good at muddling through the difficult times, and there’s been a fair few difficult times these last two years. I find it easier to ask for help and community during the hard stuff. People understand that you’ll feel lonely and require assistance while negotiating illness or grief. They actively go out of their way to be present with you. It’s been the good times -the celebrations- I’ve found hardest. I’ve won some stuff. I’ve been shortlisted for other things. I’ve released 9 books and umpteen projects into the world and strangely, it is during these moments of what should be happiness, that I’ve felt most flat and most alone. I am acutely aware that when I close my laptop and exit the Zoom room, there isn’t a noisy pub to move on to or a group of friends waiting to dissect the evening’s events. I am trying to be more intentional about making small plans to celebrate safely with real life, in-person friends. This can be good; sometimes great. But it’s not the same as the sort of joyous, spontaneous moments we used to have at book festivals and launches in the times before. (I fully admit to rose-tinting here. Not all lit events were enjoyable. I’ve sat through more than my fair share of dull as dishwater poetry readings and book launches which felt more like funerals than a celebration of anything).

Tomorrow will be what it has to be. Muted, maybe, but nonetheless a positive thing which I’ll do my best to celebrate. I’ll be in No Alibis masked and loitering with a large coffee between 10am and noon on Saturday 8th. If you’re free and you’d like a signed copy of the The Raptures or you’d just like to be a real life person for me, I’d be so very grateful to see you there. I also want to thank all the online, not-in-real-life people who’ve been such an encouraging presence recently. Social Media can sometimes be an absolute void of hope. It can also be really great. It’s allowed me to connect with people when I’ve needed connection. It’s introduced me to so many new books, writers and ideas. And it has, on several occasions, turned strangers into actual real life, in-person friends. I’m so thankful for these people and all those who’ve taken the time to make contact, no matter how passingly. Thanks for reading. Thanks for listening. Thanks for helping me feel genuinely excited about releasing yet another Pandemic book. I’d rather the big, packed room and the actual people, but this way’s also pretty class.

(Photo = me celebrating first Pandemic book launch with some of my “friends”)