My book is in Waterstones...how does it feel?

When the surreal becomes real, and then just a bit discombobulating.

My ‘Waterstones’ moment

I currently feel like I have lost the capacity to express myself coherently, as my brain simply cannot settle…but perhaps with good reason. Stay with me dear reader.

I ping pong between thoughts and activities at the best of times, but after weeks of editing, culminating in my near drowning in ‘compound phrases’, ‘subordinate clauses’, ‘split infinitives’ and all sorts of grammar that is foreign to my ears, I had come up for air. Proof reading finished, I emerged into ‘The Waiting Phase’. The period where you know your results aren’t yet in, but you keep checking anyway. Repeatedly logging on to visa, hospital or job application sites in case there’s been a change in status. Or perhaps searching for your name and book title to see if anything exists on the web… Frantically pressing the call button on the elevator that dictates your future, as that will surely make it arrive quicker.

Whilst I was wondering how it might feel to see my book, Breaking Waves, on sale, I typed my name into the Waterstones website (again) - in the ‘search author’ section.

The most peculiar thing occurred.

My book was there. Actually on there. Next to my name.

Bearing in mind I finished writing the book in April 2023 and got the book deal in October that year, I’ve had some time to adjust to the concept…but seeing it ‘live’ kinda knocked me off my feet. I wasn’t expecting it for weeks. What followed was a definite feeling of elation, pride and excitement, yet with a whole lot of other, more complex, emotions crowding around in the background waiting for their moment in the sun.

I think this is perhaps evident in my reaction:

It’s how much?

My brain soon diverted towards the practical, as it does when tipping into overwhelm. I noted the price of the book with interest - which was news to me - and did some swift calculations as to how many books I’d need to sell at my royalty rate to earn out my advance (quite a lot). As I contemplated whether I will sell copies beyond the tens, perhaps into the hundreds, or dare I hope - thousands - minor panic ensued: not as to whether I’d earn out my advance (que sera sera) but as to how the book will be received. There really is no going back now.

I distracted myself by searching for my book on Amazon - yep, it’s up there too, although not yet available for pre-order. Soon after, a friend sent me a link from Foyles. FOYLES. I AM ON THE FOYLES WEBSITE.

Oh. Em. Gee.

What on earth is going on?

So at the moment people can pre-order it (which is critical in getting books onto the coveted best-seller lists as all pre-sales count as week one ‘actual sales’ on publication date). Practical brain starts researching how many sales it takes to get onto the Sunday Times Bestseller List. A girl can dream…

The publication date is 13 March 2025, so the book can currently be bought, but not read or reviewed. I think I’d quite like to stay in this phase please. The thought of getting reviews is frankly terrifying (although I do already have two gorgeous endorsements from

Beth Kempton

and

Suzy Walker

which are also on the Waterstones website - seriously, how does this stuff happen??)

The fear

It didn’t take long, however, for the other emotions to clamour for their moment. I feel something insidious creep through my body as elation and pride get thwacked off my shoulder to be replaced with fear, uncertainty and something I can’t quite yet define - a deeply uncomfortable feeling somewhere between cringe and shame. What if people actually read the book, and find out all those things about me? I’ve written quite a lot of exposing stuff…did I think anyone would actually read it? What if people hate it? What if my relatives discover the extent of my depression? I’ve written about self-harm. Oh God, why did I write that?

I’ve already spent sleepless nights worrying about writing a book about ‘women’ in case I get asked what my definition of a ‘woman’ is. I’ve literally practiced my answer, how crazy is that? I watched ‘Lessons in Chemistry’ author Bonnie Garmus deftly close down such a question at a talk last year with ‘I am not going to be drawn on that’. (I noted that down). In my previous air traffic career I used to wake up in a cold sweat about whether I had made a bad decision resulting in two aircraft getting too close to each other, dreaming about plane crashes and catastrophic loss of life. Now my sleep is disturbed by thoughts of being on the wrong side of trolling. Time for some perspective.

[Although I did then come across this utterly brilliant, alarming and illuminating piece by

Lauren Hough

. We see this played out time and time again, especially with women. Being lauded, lifted, exalted, and then mauled and left for dead. Is it any wonder we pre-emptively do this to ourselves? Allow moments of self-congratulation and joy and then rapidly self-destruct before anyone else gets the chance to do it for us? I digress…but this is a MUST-read.]

Chappell Roan Doesn't Owe You Shit

Who is buying my book?

I shared the link to the book on my social media, and here on Substack, and people started telling me they were buying it! I must admit, that was an indescribably joyous feeling. One powerful enough to displace the dark emotions temporarily as I felt pride and joy reappear on my shoulder with their ‘whack-a-mole’ mallets to obliterate the usurpers. (Is anyone else envisaging the characters in ‘Inside Out’?)

I wonder if there is a way to find out how many people are ordering it as I dream of actually having information. I turn to Dr Google to ask: ‘How to find out book sales?’ The response is: ‘Contact the publisher/author directly’. Well, don’t contact the author - I don’t know anything. I didn’t even know it was going to be on pre-sale this week or at what price. My position at my own book birthing is one of trust in the professionals around me whilst feeling slightly unclear as to what the fuck is going on or what comes next. Wearily similar to when I birthed humans.

Wafer thin

By the time the evening came around, I felt so so tired. I wanted to celebrate, but had no-one to celebrate with. I poured myself a glass of wine, ordered a pizza and watched a rom-com with my girls before going to bed with a cuppa. I woke up the following morning feeling strangely discombobulated, scared, fragile. Inexplicably tearful. I wasn’t sure why, although it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. I came on here and was lifted by support on Substack, and beautiful comments from fellow writers and readers like

Anna Wharton

and

Anna Rose

. People I haven’t met in person, but who have become part of this tacit support network. Voices of kindness and wisdom.

I turned to my personal Facebook. I don’t use it that often anymore, but I feel safe there. It is closed, private. I know each and every one of my ‘friends’ on there personally. I don’t put a lot of my writing on there, I normally just dick around chatting about music, the latest TV show, the Olympics or despairing at the state of UK/US politics. I shared the link to my book. People were lovely, there was an outpouring of support, but then I noticed a snark. A comment about the price of my book, accompanied with unfriendly emojis: ‘Can I pay in instalments?’. Sensible me knows it will be a joke, the person who posted it is a kind man and a good friend. Fragile me burst into tears. Pieces of me strewn around the kitchen floor.

My resilience is wafer thin.

FFS I really need to get a grip. Give me a disaster, a death, a plane crash - I’m your woman. Level headed, sensible, calm. Fire me an innocuous personal criticism? I’m a jelly. What is that all about?

I have no armour

When I worked in corporate world, there were clearly highs and lows, but whenever I felt vulnerable, I had a company to stand behind, or perhaps hide behind. A corporation to back me up, protect me. I was part of that brand, not a lone rider. When it was the company that made me vulnerable I had colleagues to support me. People who understood my situation intimately. Either way, I had armour.

As a writer, I am stripped naked. There is no corporation. There is no one to stand in for me, to protect me, to fight my corner. Although…I do have an agent and a publisher…so perhaps I have a bit more clothing than I have allowed myself to consider. That part of our relationship is yet to be explored. Having nothing between my words and a reader, and no control over who that reader might be, feels deeply exposing… but if I didn’t want that, why did I write a book?

Be careful what you wish for.

Big girl pants

The one piece of clothing that is never far away are the trusty big girl pants, so as I enter this phase I will do my best to ensure they are firmly in place. I am not on my own here, we have a wonderful community. I met with 2 lovely Substackers for a virtual cuppa just this afternoon, and chatted with others online throughout the day. We are not alone in this writing business after all. In some ways, I have never felt more connected.

So whilst the fear will rise, and there will be reactions to the book that are difficult to manage, and I’m sure a lot of tears along the way, for now I am going to let myself celebrate. I wrote a book. It got published. IT’S ON THE WATERSTONES WEBSITE.

Fucking A.

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How do you react in times of good news? Are you able to celebrate? Does fear sometimes get in the way?

I’d love to hear.

As always,

Love & lemons 💕🍋

Em xx