slip-sliding away…..

There’s something special about holding your first book – or indeed any of your books – in your hands. Months, years, or sometimes even decades, of time, energy, and emotional exertion all crystallised into a tangible package of ink and paper, presented to the world for all to read.

Three and a half years ago, I held my first literary baby in my hands for the first time. Let it Flow was the result of over three years of publishing effort, preceded by over a decade of actual writing – which came organically…I didn’t write with a book in mind as the end goal. (I’ve chronicled the process here, and also sent it off with a poem capturing the journey here, in case you’re interested.)

Within this process, I received a few A3 sample prints of some of the pages. It was all very exciting at the time, and I hung onto them for all these years – despite many opportunities to ditch them. After all, in the plus three years that have passed since then, I’ve lost an office space at work (where I kept them initially…and now WFH is permanent), renovated house, and then moved house. As I started cleaning up my new workspace at home recently, I found this new home for them. On the wall next to me. The pages aren’t beautifully framed or decorated. Just plain and simple stuck on the wall…but a visual reminder of what was a proud moment for me all those years back.

Maybe I’ll do the same for the subsequent books. Maybe not.

The point is: In the constant quest to look at what’s next, and work on new things, don’t forget your previous wins. Remember how they made you feel. How they formed the foundation of who you are now, and what you’re producing in the present. When you feel doubt or imposter syndrome, cast your mind back to those highlights, and take confidence from your achievements.

What’s this got to do with New York, though?

Not much, really. Other than providing some encouragement (hopefully), and context for today’s events.

I ended up on Google Books today, and looked up Let it Flow, as I was curious about where it was available. The publishing platform I used for the e-book version did a great job of making the electronic version available widely – including on Overdrive, which services many libraries, allowing readers free access to e-books they otherwise would have had to purchase.

Anyway, so I found that the book was available in South Africa’s national library (I had to send them a copy, by law), as well as at my alma mater – UCT (the University of Cape Town…I’d supplied a copy a few years back).

But, curiously, I also saw that it was listed at New York’s Columbia University. I suspected that they’d purchased the electronic version via Overdrive, but the listing seemed to say it was the actual printed book, and it had been added to the library earlier this month.

Now, Let it Flow had a very limited print run. Roughly 50 copies, some of which ended up being sold in local bookstores. But I sold most of them directly. None of those sales were to Americans, so I was mystified as to how it ended up across the Atlantic.

I emailed Columbia’s library to try to solve the mystery, and received a reply indicating that it was indeed a printed edition. The African Studies Librarian purchases books published on the continent, and he’d acquired it through a reputable bookstore in Cape Town – which Columbia has a book purchasing plan with. The funny thing is that I’d never even given the book to that store. I heard, through an acquaintance in the business, that they were asking for my book, so I sent them a copy through him. And this was the copy which ended up flying (or sailing?) 12,000 km over the sea, ending up in yet another university library.

And it was just amazing to me. How something I wrote – a physical copy (which was relatively rare) – now sits in a university halfway across the world, through none of my own efforts. I had no agent. No publisher. No marketing machine behind me. It was just a first-time effort, following a long-held dream of getting my work out there in printed form.

I think I’m particularly pleased that the books sit at university libraries, as opposed to public libraries, because it means that the readers would most likely be young people. People who are just a few years younger than I was when I wrote most of the content in that book.

So, to have what I consider my creative autobiography in the hands of young people is fitting. And I hope that people actually pick it up. I hope it gets read. And I hope it has an impact on someone. Because that was the sole purpose of publishing in the first place.

So, if you’re ever in New York and at Columbia University, head to the Butler Library and pay me a visit.