…I must be dreaming. This can’t be happening to me, the girl, and then the woman, whose head was always somewhere different to her body. The girl who wrote stories from the moment she could pick up a pen, spent many years playing with characters that other people had invented and then, in the throes of post natal boredom wrote her own story. No. This can’t be happening to me.
But it is.
There’s a book on sale with my name on it. A name I was born with, that I always said I’d reclaim ‘if I ever managed to write a book’. A name that, when I saw it on an actual, physical copy of the book on Friday, part of me still didn’t recognise.
There are quite a few things in life I still can’t quite believe. That I’m a nearly-40 year old woman, wife, and mother of two beautiful (if somewhat feral) daughters. That I’ve been teaching English in a brilliant school for nearly fifteen years. That I have so many wonderful people in my life, who mean so much to me. That I’ve written a novel that people are paying to read.
I am lucky. I know that, in so many areas of my life. I try not to be complacent, because I am also incredibly grateful, and infinitely thankful. I have been truly humbled by the encouragement from friends, family and beyond that has been with me throughout this whole writing experience, especially this weekend. Thank you. All of you. For everything.
And just to stop this post from becoming the luvvie-esque speech it is threatening to be, I would like to add that my house is still a mess, my carpets are muddy and my Weimaraner has terrible flatulence tonight. Ahem.
If you’d like a copy of The Second Chance Tea Shop’, it’s available here: