Yinka, what a year we've had

I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry…

Scanning the sea of familiar faces, their cheeks glowing with warm pride, I swallowed a few times to suppress the tears of joy bubbling in my throat. It was Thursday 31st March 2022, and I was addressing an audience made up of family, friends and the special people who played a part in my publication journey. I couldn’t believe that my debut, Yinka, Where is Your Huzband? was officially out.

So, how does it feel to be published? It’s a question I get asked a lot, and I never quite feel that my answer does it any justice. However, if someone were to ask me how I felt on my publication day, I could easily give them a full doctor’s report: ecstatic. It felt like my wedding day again! Showered with support. Loved.

From the moment I woke up, I received a flurry of messages from my nearest and dearest; people on social media posted pictures of my book and extended their congrats. I was also mega-excited about my launch event later that evening, not only because I had been dreaming about it even before I’d completed my first draft, but because I was looking forward to wearing my patterned Ankara dress, which I had bought four months prior with the hope that Omicron wouldn’t rob me from having an in-person event. Hey, it’s not every day one gets glammed up.

What was an ordinary day for many, was an extraordinary day for me, and this was reflected in the speeches given on the night. My publicist reminded me of how much I had achieved – although, she really should have said "we" because publishing a book takes a village – from securing numerous press coverages with glowing, positive reviews, not to mention landing the cover of The Bookseller’s January issue. My agent nearly moved me to tears when she spoke about how influential my book will be for the many Black women who have yearned to see themselves. And my husband practically had the entire room in the palm of his hand as he gushed about how proud he was.

Then it happened. Pop! Reality set in mid-week when I was emailed my sale figures, and although they were good, they derailed my happy thoughts. For so long, the goal had been to get published, and now that I was, my mind jumped to the next thing: to be a published bestselling author.

Then came the moment I’m certain all writers have visualised: book signing. That felt absolutely surreal; I wish I could have crawled out of my skin, just for a second, and stood on the outside, looking in. Who would have thought all those late nights, those early starts, those wobbly, uncertain periods when I was overwhelmed by fear (but miraculously pushed through), would lead to this?

A few days after my launch, I was still on a high. If I wasn’t reminiscing or looking over photos, I was replying to messages on social media. My bubble was firmly intact the Tuesday after too. I was invited to speak about getting published as a panel member at The London Book Fair. And to my surprise, I didn’t feel like a fraud being up on that stage. My stalker ­– aka imposter syndrome – had the audacity to ghost me!

Well, I am a published author, I thought as I took in the packed room. I deserve to be here.

Then it happened. Pop! Reality set in mid-week when I was emailed my sale figures, and although they were good, they derailed my happy thoughts. For so long, the goal had been to get published, and now that I was, my mind jumped to the next thing: to be a published bestselling author. My team had worked so hard on the Yinka campaign. In my head, selling thousands of copies was my way of making it up to them, to prove that their resources, their efforts had been worthwhile. This is why I stumble when people ask me, "How does it feel to be published?" I know what I should say ­– "It’s a dream come true. Amazing. Surreal!" ­– but what I don’t say is, "I also worry a lot. In fact, I’m sure my blood pressure has gone up as a result." (Insert awkward laugh.)

Thankfully, I have someone I can be completely transparent with – my husband. I told him how I was feeling, and how this, in turn, churned me with guilt. After he listened, he reminded me of his favourite quote in Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist: “The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.”

 Basically, what he was hinting at was the importance of finding balance. The drops of oil that must not be spilt represent my purpose ­ – to write: something I should never lose sight of. However, while on the journey, I must also remember to look up, to live in the moment, to cherish it.

With this in mind, the next time I visited a bookshop, I pondered over my book a little while longer until someone asked me whether I needed any help. And now when a blogger leaves me a review on Twitter or Instagram, I only read it when I have the time to properly absorb it and genuinely thank them. Day by day, I’m learning to celebrate the big wins while also embracing the fine print, the small details because after the champagne bottle has popped, it will be me by myself, hacking at my laptop, writing another book.

I started writing these columns way back in November 2020 with one goal in mind: to document my journey to publication by dishing the reality behind the dream. Readers, hopefully it’s been an interesting series. Writers, I hope my experiences have provided some insight. Lizzie, whenever in doubt, go back and see how far you’ve come.

On that note, I want to say thank you to every single person who came along with me on this very long but rewarding road trip. This is not the end. It’s only the beginning.