My book in my hands
I have got some early copies of Out of the Tunnel. They were meant to arrive on Monday so I have been feeling like a cat on hot bricks all week. The parcel arrived ten minutes ago from Pan MacMillan. I opened it, feeling like I was going to be sick. My hands were shaking. They still are.
I can't actually bear to read it. I flipped through quickly, to make sure that the last-minute subbing errors had been changed, and the dedications page was ok. I sniffed it, smelling the new paper smell. I ran my fingers over the title. I looked at the cover, and felt extremely wierd about seeing my face on it. I put a copy on the bookshelf, (between Barbara Trapido and DBC Pierre!), so I could see what it looked like next to other books. It looks ok: 280 pages, reasonable size ( I don't buy books that are really slim, it seems like a waste of money if I can read it in an hour but my book looked quite chunky). I phoned J, and explained that I felt like throwing up. He thought I was mad. I emailed the publishers and thanked them. I emailed Fergal Keane, who got me into this writing lark in the first place. My sister called and I explained, and she said she was looking forward to reading it.
'I don't read many books, but I'll read your one.'
' Well, you are in it.'
'Am I? Eeek.'
I am about to phone Mum and Dad, but Mum is at the doctors and I am worrying about her.
Now I am sitting here, feeling very odd indeed. I don't know what to do next. Any suggestions?