There are two months to go until the publication of How To Be A Good Wife, and I wanted to write a post about all the exciting things that have been happening. There will be one day, when I am an old lady with no teeth, that I will want to remember each detail, to run over and over them in my mind like old treasures. If I ever do end up like that, I give permission in writing now to lock me in a room (with a bowl of melted chocolate please): I imagine I will be a bore.
I never quite know what new thing will happen each day: new cover designs, details of publicity events, upcoming magazine features, exciting early reviews, support from family and friends. These are the things I used to imagine when I knew I wanted to be a writer, when I was making my way through draft after draft, and now that they are really happening, it feels wonderful. Surreal, but wonderful. It is as if I am in one of those really long, evocative dreams (involving Ryan Gosling and a mountain of chocolate) and at any moment I will wake up to my mother screaming that I need to go to school.
Because that’s the other thing: I keep forgetting that I am an adult. I can make my own decisions about things, and I am the one held accountable. I don’t need to ask anyone’s permission to spend my own money, though I do still find myself thinking I should ring someone to ask for a second opinion. This is my life, right now, and it is whipping by so fast I feel like I need to grab it by the arms and keep it still for a moment.
I used to wonder when I was slogging through the process of writing the book while working full time, getting up early mornings and working on the weekends, whether it would be worth it someday. And I can say now, with absolute certainty, that it was. Anyone who is at the beginning of this process should know that. I’m sure it won’t always be like this, but even if things change, at least I know I have achieved this much, and that is something that can never be taken away. I am aware that I am living what will probably be the most exciting time of my life, and that’s why I constantly envisage an older version of myself, with a bird’s nest of white hair, mulling over this time and enjoying it again. I just don’t want to disappoint that silly old bat by not making the most of every moment.