The Magic Kindle

I love the smell of paper and the weight of a book in my hand.

I love judging a book by its cover.

When I walk into a book shop or a library, my head goes quiet. I don't want to talk to anyone, or think about anything. There's just a sense that I am home, stunned, and in complete awe.

Before I had friends, I had books.

When those friendships imploded, or weren't quite enough, I had books.

And before I knew that I wanted to write them myself, I inhaled them.

To my mother's horror (and she still mentions it) I once, upon being told that I needed to look up from the page and spend more time with everyone, protested, 'But books are more important than family.'

Perhaps not the healthiest of perspectives, but luckily, or unluckily I grew up, and life got in the way. Jobs, relationships, decisions, the outside world, they all pushed books into a smaller, less prevalent place.

I could no longer have five or six on the go in different rooms of the house, to be picked up when I entered, then forgotten until I found myself back there. I didn't have the time, but even worse, I didn't have the brain capacity. I can no longer hold so many stories in my head. It's hard enough to keep up with the intricacies of one.

The main thing I was convinced I would never relinquish was the physical books themselves, adamant there wasn't an eReader out there which could tempt me away from them - spine to spine, colourful and present on my shelves.

But I caved, for the most part. Why? Well, sure it is much more convenient than lugging eight thick books to Thailand with you, but if I'm honest, I was bought. Oh the money you save. You might think that as an aspiring writer, my priority would be to give more money to the author, to support them, to pay the full whack for what it took many of them five years or more to generate.

You'd be wrong.

In this case, the greedy reader and bargain hunter in me have teamed up and won. I still allow myself the occasionally splurge. And when we move in a few weeks, the majority of our boxes will contain books. But the future looks Kindle.

What I am proud of, in contrast, is the discovery that I can upload my own writing, as if it were as published and successful as the others it now sits alongside. It feels like a cheat, like a fast track. When I read it, the editing part of me sits back, assuming it's not needed, not relevant, leaving only the reader to enjoy (or not in parts) the journey.

This is how I found myself giddy with the possibility of my novel. I cannot recommend this tactic enough. After reading it once (bearing in mind that at this point it's a stunted, underdeveloped little thing - 50,000 words), I re-read it and made one list (examples below):

Immediate Thoughts
-Harriet’s working life makes no sense - timeline.
-No one has any friends - weird.
-Charlotte is a cliche.
-Too much ‘in head’ writing.

In total, I recorded 18 significant issues with the first draft. And I knew that this was a kind sum, and that dozens more would reveal themselves during the substantial re-writing. I knew that I hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of plot, and structure, and the quality of the chosen words. But they were the starting point I needed, in December 2015.