"Observing exposure is a cognitive exercise; experiencing it is an existential one. The shift from protecting a product to exposing a piece of oneself requires an entirely different psychological skin."

This comment eloquently captures the space I find myself in, from book publicist to book writer... and it's had me reflecting how we navigate putting our words out here for scrutiny.

I’ve spent years on the other side of this. I’ve been there when  writers get their first review, their first one-star rating: ("Another one that was recommended by the book club and just turned out to be an all round disappointment. We haven’t had the next get-together yet, but I will be sure to complain a lot."  And "I read to the bitter end because, like others, I just wanted to see if somewhere this tiresome book would redeem itself. It didn't. Big fail.").  Yes these are actual real reader reviews posted for a multi-award winning internationally no 1 bestselling novel which elsewhere was praised by the New York Times, The Times, by Gillian Flynn, by actual Hilary Mantel. Gulp.

I could talk through the theory of it in my sleep, the books world I work in has a whole vocabulary for supporting writers through publication, and I’ve used most of it. What I didn’t have, until now, was the thing itself. Knowing what exposure looks like from the outside turns out to be almost useless preparation for what it feels like from the inside.

So here’s what I’m doing to get myself prepared, or at least a bit ready, for whatever it’s worth to anyone else about to hand their book over to strangers. The first thing is doing what I can to separate the book from the self, on purpose, in advance, before anyone else forces the distinction on me.

This novel is a thing I made. It is not the whole of what I am, and it never was, even in the years I spent inside it. This sounds obvious written down. It is not obvious at 2am reading a stranger’s Goodreads review. And pretty much every published writer I've spoken with says - do not read reviews in that space. Do not read the starred reviews on that Big Online Retailer.  I’m doing the work now, talking to other writers who’ve been through it, reminding myself daily of drawing a line between “my novel didn’t land for this reader” and “nobody likes my words.”  Those two sentences will try to collapse into each other the moment the book is out and I need the muscle memory to pull them apart.

The second thing is choosing, deliberately, what I let myself see. I’ve suggested to authors I work alongside for the longest time to mute certain social posts, to have someone else screen their reviews, to give themselves a Media Diet during launch and I always meant it, but I said it the way you’d tell someone to drink more water. You know what I mean?!

Now it’s for me, and I’m taking it seriously in a way I never quite modeled. I’m deciding now, while I’m relatively calm, which platforms I might check and which I won’t, and I’m asking a friend to be my filter for anything that crosses a line from “criticism of the work” into something more harsh, more biting.

Boundaries built after the fact are boundaries built too late. And when a great glowing review lands for any book, in my experience, even the most successful writers find the 'but' within it which needles and criticises. And that's the bit that sticks the longest.

The third thing is finding my own definition of success before the world hands me its own version. If I wait for reviews and sales figures to tell me how I should feel about this book, I’ve possibly outsourced my entire emotional experience of publishing it to people who don’t know what it cost me to write. And right now, I feel so tender towards this novel and to the people within it. Like they are my own cousins and neighbours.

So I’m writing down, now, what will make this feel worthwhile regardless of how it’s received: the finishing it in the first place. I did it! The saying the thing I set out to say (it's all about love in the end. I still believe that's true)

And the last thing, maybe the most important, is accepting that none of this makes the exposure painless, it just makes it a bit more survivable. I don’t think you can fully brace yourself against being read and exposed.

Something in you does have to stand there unprotected, and that’s not a flaw in the process, it’s the whole point of writing something true enough to be worth publishing. My job isn’t to stop that from being hard. It’s to make sure that when it’s hard, I’m not also alone, caught off guard on top of it.

I think I've seen enough authors go through this now to know the ones who come out the other side intact aren’t the ones who felt nothing. They’re the ones who built a life sturdy enough to hold the feeling.

And this is the notebook I'm writing it down in. Gifted by friends who have known me since I was a child. And way before all this writerly stuff.

And that’s WOW, right?

It has been, and continues to be, the drive of my working life to elevate the voices of others. And to elevate my colleagues (Lift As You Climb as my pal Viv Groskop would have it).

And still the best moments in my working life continue to be the smaller, unseen ones. Sitting talking with a smashing group of readers in a pizza restaurant on a rainy afternoon in Leeds (and learning the benefits of Coke Zero vs Diet Coke…), sharing tiny vulnerabilities with my friend Philippa, people pleasers both of us, and finding common ground in talking it through. Holding the hand of a brilliant young woman who doesn’t know how brilliant she is. Not telling her, just showing her, in a subtle way. Voice-noting a friend who’s having a tough time. I can’t be with her. I can’t fix it. But I’m here thinking of her. Making a secret arrangement to meet with someone who has helped me enormously with my writing. Looking a colleague in the face in a one to one meeting and saying ‘yes, that’s exactly how I feel’ and both of us making the room glow.

Laughing and laughing with a US colleague over here for a secondment. Finding touch points, learning new things, revealing the similarities. Brilliant times.

So while the awards are such an exceptional, uplifting and beautiful manifestation of work well done, what’s really kept me floating this week are those moments above. And many others which I won’t share here just now

And here I am, just dipping my toes in this Substack world, having enjoyed and been uplifted by words of many others here.

Working on the PR For Nobody's Girl was such an exceptional, singular  experience. The campaign carried so much with it - expectation, weight, responsibility and multiple powerful emotions. . At its centre stood three extraordinary women.

Our publisher, Susanna Wadeson, whose vision and conviction brought this book to U.K. readers.

Our co-writer, Amy Wallace, whose integrity and friendship helped this story sing with clarity and courage.

And above all, Virginia Roberts Giuffre.

Virginia’s words remain candid, fearless and alive. Virginia did more than tell her story. She turned pain into purpose and opened the door to change. For Izzie and for me in receiving the Nibbie - British Book Award - for Publicity Campaign of the Year, for shepherding her words carefully onto the media landscape we stand for Virginia.

And we continue to do so.