book launch

For the past several weeks, my daily grind has been consumed with preparing for the launch of my debut poetry collection – final tweaks to the manuscript, meeting with the publisher, approving printed proofs, resolving technical issues at the printers, organising the launch, issuing invites, contacting media and interest groups, making a promo film poem, and plugging the book / launch on social media… It’s been non-stop, and all the while the butterflies jittering away – will the book look good, what poems will I read on the night, what if no-one comes?

It has all been about the energy and force of will required to put the book out into the world. Then, yesterday, I had a moment of pause and realised:

I’m not just putting a book out, I am letting the world in.

Years of work, of scribbling away in quiet moments, with no idea the words I write might someday be read, felt and understood. My feelings, my observations, my ideas, my experience – as of now, they no longer belong to me.

I bring the words to the page and let them go. It is someone else’s turn to claim them.

(Image via BBC News)

Almost one year ago, whilst sitting at my kitchen table supping tea of a Thursday evening, I received a phone call informing me I’d won the Cork Literary Review Manuscript Competition 2013. Next week, on Fri 14 Nov in Dublin, that experience comes full circle with the launch of my debut poetry collection, How To Lose Your Home & Save Your Life by Bradshaw Books.

It’s been an education, moving from the writing mind-set into the business of publication and, as with all new things, not without a few bumps along the way! But now that all the technical decision-making is out of the way and the book is at the printers, the end is in sight and it’s finally starting to feel real.

If you’re in Dublin next Friday, please join me for the launch at The Workman’s Club, on the Quays with poetry, music and a drink or two – all the details are in the invite above or join the book launch event page on Facebook, for the latest news.

You can’t miss me: I’ll be the one with the ear-splitting grin, holding fast to a book.