I’ve agonised for years about doing this. Far, far too long.

I suspect I’m an anomaly among writers – in that I’m not especially anxious about sending my writing out into the world. Well, I’m anxious about that too. But my main worries centre on the business side of writing: pitching, self-promoting, keeping accounts, etc. These things have formed a tangle in my brain since I started my first book.

The thought process goes like this: I have an idea for a novel. I get excited. I start planning. I sketch out scenes, maybe entire chapters. Then a thought stops me. How will I publish this? The question leads to others. Should I pitch to literary agents? Where does this book fit in the market (a question I find particularly chilling)? Or should I self-publish? If so, where and how? And – more worryingly – where will I find readers? Who will even see my book among the millions available? And so the worries multiply, until the idea dies in a snowstorm of doubts and admin.

But some ideas resist. They shiver in the blizzard, clinging to life – just as stubborn as the doubts.

These opposing forces have slowed me down, leading to… nothing – until my five-year-old daughter talked some sense into me. I told her I’ve written a novel but might not put it on sale. Baffled by this abject foolishness, she said: “Just sell it. You don’t know people won’t like it. They might love it.”

So – whether I win the Booker Prize or reach a handful of readers – I’m sending my books out into the world. I’ll do the best, most professional job I can. This newsletter is part of that, and I thank you for reading it.

Through these emails, you can join me on this journey. Like all good stories, the ending is uncertain. So far, I’ve published one book (a non-fiction book about local journalism, called: There’s Someone in Reception). But my focus now is writing fiction. I’ll outline the current projects in next month’s newsletter.

The newsletter will also include some regular features – which I’m calling Comfort Fiction and Dicing with Death (more details below) – and some short stories exclusively for subscribers. If you know anyone who might be interested, please invite them to subscribe at alexmorrison.co.uk

Comfort Fiction

I’m lucky to come from a close family – one in which books are important. When facing life’s inevitable challenges, we often talk about books we’ve read – and how their characters and situations might provide some real-world comfort. What would Sam Gamgee do? How would Lyra Belacqua (His Dark Materials) handle this? What advice might we get from Merlin, Gandalf or Dumbledore? Even when no fictional hero seems to fit the bill, simply escaping into books can bring great comfort and perspective. In this section of the newsletter, I’ll share some of my favourites (and I’d love to hear yours).

First up, a novel I’m currently slightly obsessed with: The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown. No spoilers here, but the novel is full of magic and mystery. I escaped completely into the world Brown has created. There’s a moment when four new friends are planning something difficult and dangerous (not unlike trying to forge a career as an author). In the following paragraph, Brown captures the value of making plans when you’re full of optimism:

They sat together in silence, enjoying the warmth of the morning. It was going to be a beautiful spring day, a day that would make you believe nothing was wrong in the world. It was a perfect day to chase away doubts and fears and plan for the impossible.

Dicing with Death

The other big creative project in my life is Dice Company. It’s a podcast in which five old friends (including me) tell an epic story by playing Dungeons and Dragons. If you’re not familiar, D&D is a role-playing game where each person plays a character – and the world is ruled by a combination of dice rolls and a Dungeon Master (my dear friend Tom). If you love D&D or are simply intrigued to try a different kind of storytelling, give us a listen. The podcast is a real labour of love for everyone involved. We’ve learned a lot by building it from scratch, and I’ll share news of our triumphs and disasters.

Until next month, thanks again for reading.