Every now and then, some charming soul will attempt to fuck with me by informing me that they’d seen one of my books in a remainders bin, or a discount store, or a charity shop. The intent is apparently to let me know that nobody likes my work and I am a failure.
I smile every time.
I was poor for a long, long time. You know how I bought books? From remainders bins, discount outlets and charity shops. I would never have been able to afford books without those places. I would never have discovered the books that were in fact the most formative in my development as a writer and as a human without those places. Those places are second, third and fourth chances for the right person to find the right book in the right moment.
Those photos of my books on a discount table or an Oxfam spinner give me hope. Bring me full circle. Make me smile.