This Thursday, 18th of June, my novel was published in England, and what a glorious day it was too!

It began at the reception of Penguin Random House on Vauxhall Bridge Road, currently decorated in fifty shades of grey. As I was waiting for Louise to come and get me, I overherad one receptionist saying to another: ”Mr Grey’s birthday cake has arrived.”

And then we were off to beautiful and charming Heywood Hill, the very first bookstore I visited on my last trip, and the one that recommended Five Children and It. I sat there and signed some books when David Mitchell came in, charming and polite to a fellow newbie writer. ”Hello there, Fellow writer”, said he, and then proceeded to eat an apple, generiously donated by Heywood Hill.

Next stop was Foyles, this haven for booklovers, where I signed by books next to piles of  David Mitchell’s The Bone Clocks. My only regret on this day is that I had finished before he turned up, so I didn’t get a chance to buy a signed copy (obviously I’ll have to return and get one). Jonathan of Foyles spoke enthusiastically about him and his books: Apparantly, according to Jonathan, he has the next four ones thought out, and every book takes approximately four years to write.

”But…” I said, slightly awed, ”that means he has the next 16 years thought out for him? Isn’t that slightly terrifying?” Although my memory of David Mitchell from Heywood Hill did not suggest that he was in any way struggling under the burden of sixteen years of work ahead of him. I might have missunderstood it of course.

I was also a guest of Foyles blog, where I wrote about the curse of being a bisexual book-lover and What I’ve learned from living with my nose in a book.

The afternoon was spent at wonderful Goldsboro Books, signing 500 copies of my book. They’re having it as their Book of the month for July, which is of course absolutely amazing. I have to say I hadn’t really thought about how many books 500 copies actually are.

It was a great sight. A beautiful special edition with dark blue edges on the pages, and piles and piles of books. Sam had only worked at Goldsboro Books for two weeks, but she had already learned the importance of placing herself strategically, most of the time hiding the more terrifying piles so that I could focus on the more managable pile on the desk.

Ps. I did not get tired in my hand, but I have to admit that my own signature (not to mention todays date) started to look very weird after a few hundred books.