Hello, it is I, your manic pre-heated pixie bookshop dreamgirl accomplice and this is the next update live from the bookshop.
It’s a very warm day in St. Annes on Sea today. I bravely left my trusty shacket at home! Unheard of in Summer 2023. Stay tuned to find out if this is something I live to regret when I remember that however tropical the sun is outside, its warmth does not reach the bookshop until closing time. Will I be forced to embrace the musty shelter of The Emergency Cardigan that I left in the office approximately seven years ago? Anyway, we’ve had one sale (Skulduggery Pleasant - that natty Skeleton’s still got it!) before I’ve even finished writing this intro AND I remembered to give out a chapter sampler for the forthcoming middle grade novel from Katherine Rundell, so things are off to a sunny start.
These posts will remain free, with comments open so you can send me queries like ‘What’s the best Dr Seuss book for reading at bedtime?’’1 and ‘What should I have for tea tonight?2’
10.40: Crikey! The delivery is here already. The driver’s route usually brings him here mid-afternoon, and I’m always wondering whether it’s annoying to ring people to tell them their books have arrived when there’s only a couple of hours until closing. Now I can break the happy news before the customers’ lunchtime stroll and all their birds can be killed with one stone, which is a violent way to end this happy train of thought. Anyway, let’s see some highlights from the box: volume 6 of a graphic novel called Something is Killing the Children, some lovely travel guides for city breaks (I like these DK Top Ten format’s, very flickable), the first children’s novel from (Detectorist’s fav) Professor Alice Roberts and a graphic novel about Eileen Gray that I’ll buy for my husband.3
“He had his leg blown off”
“Who? Robert Galbraith?”
A customer comes in to order The Artist’s Way. If somehow she reads this post, I hope she won’t mind me writing about her. When we first opened the bookshop (it was a specialist children’s bookshop then) we ran a book review competition in the run up to our opening. At our ‘Grand Opening’ party we invited the winners and their families and awarded them prizes. It was such a lovely event and a beautiful way to establish the bookshop within the community to new families who would go on to become loyal customers. One of the winners was this customer, who’s now 13 years older than she was at the time she won our writing competition. She’s not a child anymore, but she’s still a reader, and ever better than that, she’s still a writer! Buying The Artist’s Way! I just think that’s neat.
A man comes in to ask where the nearest meter is to pay for his street parking outside. I’m delighted to tell him that it’s free. He cannot believe it. Nothing is free these days. Especially not parking. It’s true, I tell him. You can park there for up to 90 minutes, absolutely free. There is a traffic warden and they will ticket any cars that outstay the 90 minutes. You’ve made my day! the man says, as he leaves. After he’s gone I wonder if it is too good to be true. To park right outside a parade of shops, in the middle of the day… in a seaside tourist town… for 90 minutes… absolutely free.
I text my business manager mum to confirm I’ve told the truth.4
I have some book post to open. I get sent a lot of proofs and I don’t tell you about most of them because I won’t read them. I’ve got three this week that I’ll be removing from the shop stacks, to my home, which is where they have a decent chance of actually being read. Today I’m opening my doors and my heart to the possibility of:
All the Little Bird-Hearts by Viktoria Lloyd-Barlow. This book has been published now, and longlisted for The Booker Prize, but presumably there were leftover proof copies and the good folks at Tinder Press have kindly sent me one to read. The first part is subtitled The Lake District - good subtitle, I love it there.
Witness by Jamel Brinkley - thank you friends at 4th Estate for this proof. Short stories set in New York. I don’t need much more encouragement. First line of first story; Who knew that old-ass Headass was capable of even greater feats of headassery? Yeah, I’m going to read this.
Lord Jim at Home by Dinah Brooke - thank you Marigold at Daunt Books for a finished copy of this 1973 reissue with new introduction by the queen of squalor herself, Ottessa Moshfegh. Her association alone suggests something kind of icky inside. I’ve been warned this book is not for the faint of heart (which I’m not) and is for fans of Roald Dahl and Shirley Jackson (which I am). Happy days????
Lunchtime lull. No milk in the fridge for a cup of tea. What use is a ginger biscuit if there is no tea to chase it?5 I can’t risk popping out for some because one of the customers I messaged this morning to notify about an order ready for collection had the note ‘text as soon as it’s in’ next to the phone number, so I’m imagining the customer has read the message and is currently sprinting their way towards me and could explode into the bookshop at any moment.
Oh, I didn’t know that was still there.
(that, being the bookshop)
A customer comes in to enquire about books for expectant fathers. I’ll admit, it’s not something I can ever recall being asked for, and yet, of course this is something I should be able to find. I’m doing some digging around and ordering a few titles for the customer to have a look at on her next visit. I want to ensure it’s a fairly recent book, from a UK writer. I’m definitely not interested in stocking anything that suggests Fatherhood is akin to some sort of Bear Grylls type ordeal that has to be SOS-Survived with an army camo print cover, for goodness sake. I’m going to order the only two that fit the bill of being both recent and reasonably titled; How to be a Dad and Don’t Panic: All the Stuff the Expectant Dad Needs to Know.
This parenting book research has also reminded me to get Night Feeds and Morning Songs back in for our poetry shelf. It seems a funny thing to gift a new mother a book of poetry, could there be anything less important than poetry during the 3am feed? But also, you can’t read a novel because your brain has leaked out of nipples and you can’t remember what page you were on, or even what book you were reading. A single poem though, by the light of your phone, hovering over your newborn’s head? A poem that makes you feel seen, in the middle of the loneliest night, because it was written by a mother, about being a mother? A line that understands you when you feel that no one else can; I think that could be a truly wonderful gift. Easier to wrap than Sophie la Girafe, too.
A kid straggles out of the back room, his parents already on the threshold of the shop ready to leave. “This is a really cool shop” he says, under his breath as he passes me on the way out. Was he speaking to them? Was it a hushed message for me? Was he just talking to himself? Anyway, thanks dude. I think so too, sort of.
Double whammy teen graphic novel sale! *glitter canons* This one and this one, if you’re interested. That makes four purchases today from our very recently installed Graphic Novel and Manga offering! We’re thrilled! This is Entirely Decent!
Final hour tumbleweeds. The one guarantee on a hot day is that no one is shopping at the end of it. Everyone’s walking past the shop now on their way homes. They’re hot and sandy and sticky and they want to get home. I get it. The sun is just edging on to the shop window now, it’s ready to blast all the yellow out of the books in the window come 5 o’clock. Which is when I’ll be going home, not hot, sandy or sticky though. I’d choose a bookshop over the beach any day. I’m hitting send on this with twenty minutes until close. Let’s hope nothing absolutely hilarious happens in the next transaction or I’ll be so miffed. Thanks for keeping me company today. Byeeee!
You can support my bricks and mortar bookshop by buying your books via this link, and you can support me as a writer by taking out a paid sub to this Substack. Thanks.
He doesn’t read this newsletter.
I have.
I do not dunk.
It's a universal fantasy I assume (at least of writers and readers) ... that of owning a bookstore, where there's time for tea (with or without milk) and ginger biscuits, where boxes of books arrive and are unpacked with waiting, anxious readers in mind. and visitors pause to chat about a book read or one wanted. Each of these "receipts" lures me into a comfy chair where I give myself over to the fantasy ... I think I wouldn't even mind dusting the shelved.
These receipts are among my top most favourite newsletters to find in my inbox. Overheard gems, book reviews, no milk drama, the sadness of a ginger biscuit without tea . . .
I have to know . . . what happened with Chekhov’s Emergency Cardigan???