What if your friends don't like your book?

Ok, so finally it's publication day.  Farewell Trip is up on Amazon etc ready for your perusal. Or in the words of one Karin Dixon: 

WOO-FUCKING-HOO

There is one thing I haven't seen much advice on throughout this publication process. What about our friends, who will be the first purchasers of our magnus opus?  Our friends are spread all over the world. People have been following our "journey" from places as various as Sydney, Melbourne, Los Angeles, Hong Kong, Ho Chi Minh City, Paris and Harpenden.  And then there's all the people I've worked with over the years. And the ones I went to college with over 30 years ago. What if, after all the fuss, our friends don't actually like our book?  Well, frankly, I don't know, but here's what I've said to them on Facebook this morning.  

Should you not enjoy the book, we still thank you for buying it. We're most grateful, but we do realise that some of you aren't going to like it much. And some of you will be a little embarrassed about that. Please don't be. I give up on books easily and for all manner of reasons. I can't get into the story; something annoys me about the set-up or the characters; or the type-face or the lack of chapters. Or I'm just not in the right frame of mind for it; or start reading something else; or, let's face it, because the book's shit. And it's not all about quality. I've been reading Moby Dick for 28 years and am currently on page 124.

So please don't worry about non-completion. Please don't feel the need to force some white lie upon us about how you enjoyed it. We're not youngsters standing on the threshold of life in need of encouragement. We're used to negative feedback. My poetry has been howling into a public void for thirty-five years

Much better to be honest, like the five people to whom we sent the very first draft of our very first chapter, as an initial road test. Two said they loved it, two went “meh” and one said “Oh God, what a pointless book. Why on earth would anyone read that?” And we still speak to her. Or, more accurately, I do. Sometimes. Well, once.

Seriously, we'd prefer that than awkward silence.