Notes on Having a Book Published

Outside, it had begun drizzling. I’d spent an hour faffing around, trying to find the ideal combination of red, white and grey. My bedroom floor was a blanket of clothes – dresses tried on and tossed aside again. By the time I’d slicked on my lipstick, the world outside was lowering and grey. Still, we went for it: hopping in the car, heels in one hand, a stack of books in the other. At the top of the hill we surveyed the scene; rain blurring the far-away horizon; gorgeous, slightly soggy hay-bales; fresh, damp, green fields. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It felt right. It felt like home. It felt necessary to clamber on the bales in heels, doing what I do...