Morning thoughts...
Dear Blog,
A short one today.
Last week I wrote about the pressure on authors, particularly indies, to achieve more. To hit the bestseller lists with every launch, to become that mythical six-figure author. About how those spam scam emails sent by people desperate to give my books the recognition they deserve can be so demoralising, sending the implicit message that I am not doing well enough. That I should do better.
Well, yah book sucks to them, as they used to say about a hundred years ago. (Apparently, the phrase was first noted in popular usage between 1910 and 1920 as a schoolboy playground taunt.)
Over the weekend, a couple of things happened that made me feel that, actually, I’m doing fine.
· My local bookshop sent me an official purchase order. We have a private supply arrangement as it works out financially advantageous for both. Usually the owner phones me and asks me to drop one of each book in when current stocks have sold. Last month, she phoned and asked for three of each. Bearing in mind that it is a tiny (but excellent) bookshop that only has one copy of each book on the shelves at any time and has very little storage space, I was thrilled. But this month, no unofficial phone call. An official purchase order. To which I sent an official purchase order confirmation. Like a proper publisher. Like a proper business. From tiny acorns, mighty oaks grow.
· For the first time since publishing my first book in September 2025, my income from the books exceeded my expenditure. (This merits several woo hoo emojis, prompting me to consider how dependent I am becoming on emojis.) I haven’t yet broken even and probably won’t for a few years yet. On my initial business plan, I factored in three years to break even and five to be making a decent profit. Of course, if it happens before that, brilliant. If it doesn’t, then that’s fine too. Like any business, an initial investment is necessary. But this month (July) was a GOOD month.
· I got my first email newsletter response. A small but significant triumph and heartwarming. With the number of emails landing in our inboxes, how often do we read and delete without replying? Every day for me.
· A friend’s mum (who is, I think, about ninety years old) messaged me on Facebook to say how much she is enjoying my books. She’s not someone I know well. I think I met her once, thirty years ago. But to hear that she is enjoying them enough to get in touch meant the world.
I’m writing at the kitchen table, the doors wide open to the patio, which is blissfully in shade while the sun scorches the brown grass beyond it. It is 9am and already 26 degrees. As I sip my coffee, I’m reminded of breakfast on the balcony in Marbella, our last overseas holiday. Similar smells, that same hazy blue in the sky, the sounds of construction from a nearby development.
Only I’m not in Marbella, or even on holiday. I’m at my partner’s house in Wallingford, Oxfordshire and it’s Monday morning. Today, it’s set to be thirty degrees by midday. By mid-afternoon, the predicted temperature is thirty-three. I’m grateful for shade wherever I find it and for cool showers. For a job which means I don’t have to toil in the sun and which brings me such joy.
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