Normalising publication week

MINBAK is finally out

Last week, on World Book Day no less, my second novel Minbak was released. Little me who dressed up with my whole class as the assortment of Dalmatians (our form teacher was Cruella) is nostalgic at the timing of it.

Today, officially an author of two novels, I don’t know how I feel. ‘Numb’ sounds emo. ‘Delighted’, ‘happy’ and ‘excited’ are all twee. ‘Empty’ is bitchy and melodramatic. I’m in some sort of anticipatory angst I guess. Publication week is a bit like a wedding week¹: the culmination of months of build-up, everyone congratulating you, wanting to take pics of and with you, being the centre of attention. The week is a frenzy of events and outfits and dinners and drinks. Life is but a dream. It seems it will never end.

Of course, it must end. On Sunday, when I finally had a moment to reset, the adrenaline plummeted. The day was just…. free? After two weeks of intense event-ing and promotion, my schedule was clear. During my debut’s post-pub slump, I watched all six seasons of Downton Abbey in 10 days. Second time around, I thought I knew to expect, and avoid, the crash. I thought I wouldn’t be so tired. But alas, I’m lethargic and depleted, yet all the while, jittery and bored. I cannot begin to face my inbox which I have let build up. There’s so much neglected admin that is screaming for attention. I feel an urgency to dive back into writing, while simultaneously feeling deeply uninspired. I’m ashamed to say that the only thing that will quieten my brain is mindless scrolling.

Perhaps this feeling is specific to the creative industry? I should feel a sense of achievement. The book I poured so much work into is finally out in the world. But it’s inevitably anti-climactic isn’t it? How can any number of events and instagram tags match up to years of work? How can it not feel demoralising to see the publishing cogs move swiftly onto the next release? I also feel the goal posts pick up and move further away, slightly out of my reach. Rather than enjoying the moment, I’ve already moved onto berating myself for not having finished my third book. Worrying about the next book deal. If this had been a promotion, or another professional milestone, would there have been more of a sense of completion? Of arrival? Ultimately, publishing a book feels for authors like an end of a long journey - the finish line - until you realise you’ve jumped the gun and it’s only the start. The book is no longer ours, but belongs to the readers. What happens from now out is, for the most part, out of our control.

I don’t intend this post to be a depressing one. I can’t claim to speak for all writers, but I can say that the above experience of flatness post publication does seem to affect most authors. It’s not publicly spoken of much because there’s such an emphasis on the role of luck in publishing. We ought to feel grateful. But as with all experiences, multiple things can true at once: I can feel lucky and I can also feel a bit dejected. In that vein, it would be remiss of me not to highlight the brilliant happenings of the past week:

• Monday: some launch outfit options arrived. I frantically messaged my sisters-in-law for feedback then didn’t take their advice because I’m toxic like that. Some books were released early, and I started to get tagged in pictures of it on shelves.

• Tuesday: I had my publication lunch with my agent and editor at Caravan in Covent Garden. My agent has been by my side the entire time, and my editor came onto the team when the manuscript Minbak was already finalised. There’s some neat symmetry to that I think. I followed lunch with book signings at Goldsboro and Foyles.

  

  Copies are available at Goldsboro and Foyles

• Wednesday: the night of my book launch at the Korean Cultural Centre, a venue which means a lot to me. The day was mostly herding cats - collecting my parents, collecting flowers, sorting catering, dropping off beverages, unpacking books, arranging the venue. I arrived at the KCCUK about an hour before the launch party was set to start. I wore some epic Khaite studded heels and a St Agni all. leather. maxi. skirt. and panicked that I was overdressed. I pranged out that maybe no one would turn up. Over a hundred people turned up. Some have been on this journey with me since the nascent days of Jaded and some were new friends made since. A joyous evening.

  

• Thursday: publication day. My phone was blowing up with congratulations and tags. The doorbell popped off with flower deliveries. I couldn’t focus on them too much however, as I had to get ready to head to Broadcasting House for an interview with Sara Cox for the BBC Radio 2 Bookclub. The sun was shining (I left the house in a T-shirt?). I was slightly overwhelmed, the interview was SO fun. As a sidenote, I rarely think about how my job requires me to be alone 95% of the time, but walking through BBC Studios, there is so much lively creative energy that it did make me miss being part of a team.

  

• I then hotfooted it back home, got changed, and headed back out for my launch night event at Waterstones Piccadilly with the indomitable Candid Book Club. If you’re looking for a book club to join either for IRL events in London or on social media, look no further. I talk above about how it feels like there is no finish line to publishing a book, that progress is so subtle. This event proves that feeling wrong: I saw how much my career had grown in the number of people who came out. The intelligent, challenging questions I received. The signing queue that went on for what seemed like hours because I wanted to chat with every single person. The booksellers I have the privilege of meeting. These are all measures of success.

  

• Friday: two personal heroes of mine requested copies of Minbak and I hand delivered them. I then did signings across London: Covent Garden, Trafalgar Square, Gower Street, Tottenham Court Road and more. No one warns you that there’s every chance you go into a bookshop and find zero copies of your book - I found that quite crushing with Jaded. But I was very pleasantly surprised to find Minbak in every bookshop I visited. I even resorted to lingering around the corner like a total creep watching a woman take a copy of Minbak to the till. I read Anne Tyler’s Three Days In June. I cleaned the whole house. I took a bunch of packages to the Post Office. Life slowly returned to its usual beats.

• Saturday: completely wiped. Watched The Housemaid in bed, which was surprisingly entertaining. I felt constantly hungover even though I’d not been drinking. I felt slightly bereft, not wanting the magic to end quite yet. I got ready and popped into more bookshops to sign more copies.

All this to say that publication week is a uniquely discombobulating time. That’s not to say that it’s not joyous and bewildering, but it’s also vulnerable, soft-bellied and frankly extremely prone to disappointment. All I can say is thank you to everything who has bought, read and shared Minbak. I’ve had a great time, even if I do need to rot for at least 2 business days to get back to my normal state.

Minbak is out now at all bookshops with taste.

Go well, little book.

1. Though I wouldn’t actually know because I had a covid wedding in the pub