What it feels like to be a published author

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What it feels like to be a published author

What I’m about to write might be obvious if you’ve ever published a book; if you haven’t, and have no intention of doing so, you can stop reading now. If you think you might write a book, or are in the process of writing your first, with a view to publication, it might be of passing interest. But even that’s not guaranteed. You can duck out here. I don’t mind.

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Interview with Paul Dalgarno on Writerful Books

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Interview with Paul Dalgarno on Writerful Books

I’ve lived a life, since being a teen, where I believed in the idea of meritocracy, as sold by Tony Blair’s New Labour in the 90s. That has seen me try all sorts of things that would have traditionally been considered above my station, but it’s also led to the inevitable conclusion that meritocracy is a trick. Cultural capital – which I’ve never had much of – is the thing: without that, one way or another, you’re screwed.

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Ten questions for the author by the author

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Ten questions for the author by the author

At no point – until I was told otherwise – did I think of And You May Find Yourself as a memoir. Over the course of my life I must have read, conservatively, 250 novels for every memoir – which is nothing against memoirs: that's just what I’m drawn to. Even though some of my favourite books are memoirs, the idea of me writing one, if I’d even considered it, would have seemed hopelessly self-indulgent.

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In four days my book will be published

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In four days my book will be published

This'll be a short post cos I'm writing it during my lunch break and my lunch breaks tend to be ten minutes long, give or take a second. If there's food on any of this as you're reading it, sorry. 

Also I'm tired. I had to speak Spanish at a high-level business breakfast this morning. I struggle to speak English at high-level business events. I struggle to speak English or Spanish while having breakfast.

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In five days my book will be published

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In five days my book will be published

I thought I was dying last night. It went like this.

I met a friend at the Malthouse for the opening-night performance of Antigone. The bar was full of people talking and laughing. I hugged my friend, talked, laughed, said how hungry I was. She'd already ordered food. I went up to order some too, realised it was expensive, that I didn't want to spend that much money, bought a bag of crisps instead.

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In seven days my book will be published

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In seven days my book will be published

In seven days my book will be published. That's never been the case before. I'm nervous, and emotional in ways I hadn't expected.

A few evenings ago I met the author Clint Greagen, of Reservoir Dad fame, who will launch my book on September 10, and wrote a wonderful blurb on its cover. I drove to his house – in Reservoir, of course – listening to an audiobook version of Wuthering Heights, trying not to think about how nervous I was, wishing I was Emily Bronte and my book was still being listened to by soon-to-be-authors 168 years after publication.

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