Seeing my book for the first time

Today was surreal. I found myself in Waterstones looking for a book. Not mine…what I wanted was some comfort-reading to get me through the next few days so that I didn't have to think of mine for a while, — something like the one I've just finished, The Summer Book by Tove Jannson, something timeless and ageless, some other world I could just sink into for a while.

I always knew my own book was out tomorrow, but I somehow managed not to be thinking about that at all by lunchtime. It was hot and the high street was crowded and after I’d been to the supermarket I wandered in off the street without planning to, and almost without thinking. I browsed from table to table, picking up books randomly, turning them over, reading the publisher’s blurbs on the back, flicking through pages. Then as I passed the ‘new release’ hardbacks on the wall by the door I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye and stopped in my tracks. There staring back at me amongst all the others was a copy of my book.

It was the weirdest thing. I think my heart stopped at least two beats.

I’ve had a copy of that cover pinned to the noticeboard in my room for months now, and it's here on the blog as well (I also had my own author copies by then) so the image on the front of the book is very familiar to me by now. But in the shop today, seeing it there for the first time — and a day too soon! — for a moment I was completely disorientated and just stared up at it frowning, thinking 'what's that doing there?' I recognised it as my book, but, for a split second that’s all I did, just recognised it as mine — a possession, something belonging to me. It was almost as if I had left my own copy — which just happened to be in my bag at the time — there on the shelf by mistake. ‘How did that get there?’ my head was trying to say, as my hand almost got ready to grab it off the shelf and put it back into my bag. As soon as my head caught up and I realised why it was there I turned and left the shop without even taking it down to look at it. Very, very odd reaction.

But it's there - my life in a book on a bookshelf somewhere - and it's bizarre seeing it, but I was right: it doesn't belong to me anymore, it's somebody else's book now. My life is just a story now, out there with all the other stories. And hopefully now, at long, long last, I can finally be free of it and move on.

A life more ordinary

Weeks and weeks since I've written in here. I haven't known what to write. I kept waiting for something more interesting to happen, but since I've written the book nothing has really, not really, nothing particularly bloggable anyway. I've spent the time since slowly putting my life back into order, sorting things out, settling back into things, relishing the ordinariness of it all again. I feel stronger now than I have ever done, can't imagine what could phase me after how I lived this time last year, but the feelings I have about the book are still very complicated, conflicted feelings and I suppose that was another reason to avoid writing in here too soon — to avoid even thinking about any of it for a while once it was written. It is done now, will have to speak for itself.

Part of sorting things out was gathering my belongings around me again. All my stuff in proper commercial storage went a long time ago, when I couldn't afford to pay the bills anymore. But I had stuff stored in other places too, and have been slowly reclaiming them. Last week I went up to get the last of it, bags and boxes stored up in an old organ loft in a church near Hexham. I spent a few days on the way back walking in Yorkshire. On the last day I ended up at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. One of the main attractions there is the sky space, in an old deer shelter. There is seating around the walls and everyone sits in silence looking up at the sky through an open roof. It really is very beautiful, and loving the sky the way I do, ever since I first heard about it months ago I was really looking forward to going. Falling into a mediative state along with everyone else as I leaned back and stared up at big, white cumulus clouds drifting through all that clear, bright blue, I realised how familiar that state of mind was — sitting there staring up at it in silence was just like laying in the car all those months looking up out of the windowscreen. All I could see was sky then too, hours and hours and hours of it — my very own deer shelter.

The thing I've been trying to avoid thinking about is the book coming out so soon. It all happened so quickly. It's very strange not having any of the feelings of excitement or pride I'd expect to have if this were any other book I'd written— but I guess that was inevitable.