I'm the first black author to win book of the year. I'm proud, but not completely happy
Instead of celebrating myself, I’m going to celebrate the books by black authors that came before me
I have a funny thing about winning. I find it overwhelming. I don’t know how to cope or act when things are meant to be “good”. What do I do? Should I be happy? What is that? How many ways can I genuinely and meaningfully thank people who congratulate me? Do they understand that if I don’t reply to their kind messages, I’m not being rude – it’s just that I don’t know what to say?
It’s not that I’m not grateful when things go well, it’s more that I need to talk to a therapist about them. Anyway, imagine my discomfort when I was told that my book Queenie had won debut of the year at the British Book awards. Actually, my first feeling was relief that instead of having to attend a ceremony and have my picture taken, and get up on a stage and be looked at, I could just pre-record an acceptance speech on Zoom then go back to watching music videos all day.
