A Dramatic Debut, Indeed
It is done.
My first novel — the work of countless stolen hours, ink-stained nights, and one particularly dangerous incident involving a cup of tea and a stack of annotated proofs — is now available for public consumption.
A Dramatic Debut has officially stepped onto the ballroom floor.
One might expect the band to strike up a waltz. A flutter of fans. A whispered, “Have you read it yet?” from the ladies lining the wall.
Instead, I find myself in the oddest of silences.
Make no mistake — I am proud. I have embroidered these pages with scandal, sincerity, and the particular ache of a girl who wants more than the world tells her she is permitted. The debutante ball was thrown. The gown selected. The invitation posted.
And yet, the universe chuckles at our careful preparations.
For my mother — a lady of considerable social intelligence and famously strong opinions — has found herself otherwise occupied. Perhaps her invitation is still en route.
Mercifully, my gardener — a man of tremendous talent when it comes to shaping a hedge, and clearly excellent literary taste — has provided the most enthusiastic feedback of anyone I know.
How humorous life can be. A useful reminder to never take oneself too seriously — and as I hope you all know, I rarely do.
There is a particular stillness to releasing something you love into the world and discovering that the reply is not applause, but the sound of your own voice echoing back. One does not ask for adoration, of course — only... perhaps a murmur. A nod. The quiet dignity of being seen.
Because creating is, I suspect, always a little lonely. One spends months building a secret world, only to realize that the unveiling is not a thunderclap — but a whisper. If you are lucky, a whisper that finds another ear.
And if you are especially lucky, a scandal.
Now, whilst unarguably a lady of considerable virtue, I regret that though imbued with charm, wit, and a constitution seemingly powered entirely by spite and Darjeeling, I fear I was not left suitable room for that all-too-important fruit of the spirit — patience.
Though I cannot in good faith pretend to have ever tried to exercise this specific muscle (small as it may be), I daresay the universe — by virtue of blessing me with a love of writing — harbours grand plans for me to finally use it.
So, to those of you who have noticed — who’ve read, or plan to, or whispered to a friend, “You know, I think you’d like this” — you are, quite sincerely, the reason I shall write another.
And to the rest of you:
I shall see you at the next ball.
A Dramatic Debut is available now for Kindle pre-order via Amazon.
The paperback — naturally — arrives on June 17, in time for the height of the season.
She stood at the threshold not of a ballroom, but of destiny —
A debutante no longer,
but an authoress at last.
Penned with pride, and perhaps the faintest trace of pity (the darkly humourous kind, mind you — the kind reserved for when one understands the world just that bit more clearly) by Miss Lucine Elizabeth Watson — authoress, tea enthusiast, and unlikely debutante, whose patience, like her waistline, is largely historical, on the 12th of May, 1835.