Tomorrow, Lost in Translation will be in UK bookshops.
After 8 months of trying to peer far enough across the Atlantic to see what was going on in the US, my book is finally close to home. I remembered the quote below while in the middle of washing my hair earlier today. Partly, I suppose, because (if you're paying attention) the emotions that come with a publication of your work are quite overwhelming, and it's so much, so good, so incredulous, that a heart breaking seems like the lesser of two evils—it's either broken magnificently with the much-ness of it all, or it curls up and crawls somewhere to recover some semblance of normal. You feel exposed, understood, misunderstood, everything. Nobody told me how to do this.
They don't teach you how to behave when people can go into a bookstore and flick through the pages, the ones covered in you, your blood and sweat and tears and whatever else it took to finish this thing. They turn the unnumbered pages, looking inside you, yet not really knowing you at all. But that's OK, because this is exciting, this is real.
Tonight I will sing myself to sleep to the tune of 'Happy Publication Day' and wake up tomorrow much the same as every other day before it. Then I will go into my local bookstore and, looking the cashier straight in the eye, buy a copy.