The most honest newsletter I’ve ever written - Part 2
let’s go round again...
Dear readers,
Last time, I wrote about the highs and lows on the journey to publication (and beyond) in The Most Honest Newsletter I’ve Ever Written - Part 1. This is the second instalment, in which I’ll be sharing more about my second bash at publishing a book!
Where we left off…
Hashim & Family was starting to find its readers after what felt like a bumpy start. I had given birth to my first child and we were living back in Ethiopia in that weird post-but-still-very-present-pandemic world…
Reconnecting with my creativity
It might sound blindingly obvious, but when you are sleep deprived, it is extremely hard to do anything, let alone tap into a creative part of your brain and come up with something that other people might want to read. It was so refreshing to hear Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie talk about this recently: pregnancy and being a new mother utterly fried my brain, wrecking my ability to come up with compelling fiction.
Instead, I found myself turning inwards - I had so many thoughts flying around: reflections on what I was experiencing, musings on motherhood, observations on the changes I felt within myself and how I saw the world. This naturally gave way to me leaning more heavily into memoir. And of course, writing about food has always been a constant, so I found myself writing more about the crossover between the two.
I was so grateful to have a firm champion in Allan Jenkins and Gareth Grundy, editors of Observer Food Monthly, who commissioned several pieces in those early postpartum years. All it takes is one person to believe in your work, to give you that platform, and the rest follows. I was approached by a new online publication, Hyphen, who had seen my work in OFM and wanted me to write a monthly column on food. The more I wrote, the more things seemed to snowball - I wrote longform pieces and recipes for different magazines, all in-between naptimes, feeding, playing, and generally trying to navigate having a baby, then a toddler.
A word on childcare
This would be a completely disingenuous post if I didn’t acknowledge how important childcare is for all parents: whether they are working part-time, full-time, are freelance or employed by a company, or aren’t in paid employment. For the whole first year of my son’s life, I had no other childcare - partly a consequence of the pandemic, and moving countries twice in one year.
By the time he was a little over one, at the age when most of our friends in the UK were putting their children into full-time nursery, we followed local norms and hired a nanny. Gogo Locardia (‘Gogo’ meaning ‘grandmother’ in Ndebele, one of the main languages of Zimbabwe) is a wonderful, kind, sensible and no-nonsense woman in her sixties. She took care of Little Lad a couple of mornings a week while I tried to get back into writing; then we set up a little informal playgroup with some friends who had children the same age. For three days a week, the boys would have playdates at each other’s houses, accompanied by their nannies. It was so special to see these little pandemic babies, who had moved countries so often in their first year, bonding with one another and learning nursery rhymes in English and Shona, painting, singing and dancing every week.
Comforted by the knowledge that my kid was flourishing, I was able to push myself in terms of work a bit more. A couple of hours twice a week became three mornings, then four… My confidence slowly built up again, and I worked on a short story collection set in Keighley, my hometown, in the years immediately post-9/11, as well as drafting almost half of an entirely new novel. I sent my short stories to my agent at the time, knowing that they needed a little polish, but was disappointed when she said that she didn’t see a market for them. It wasn’t the first time I had been told that my work would be ‘difficult to place’. I had written a proposal for a non-fiction book which fused memoir and cookery back in mid-2020 and had submitted it to the same agent about 6 weeks before I was due to give birth. She had been lukewarm about the project, writing to me: I love the idea but I just don’t know where it might sit in the market. Deflated, I let it go. I didn’t have the energy to pursue it further at that stage, so I let the file sit on my desktop, gathering digital dust.
Sliding doors moment…
By early 2023 I was pregnant again, and although I was happier with the direction my career was going in (I had been shortlisted for a Guild of Food Writers Award, and was writing regularly for a few publications), I felt restless. I wanted more. I remembered my old food memoir proposal and read it through again. There was something in here, I realised. It could be really good.
It was one of those sliding doors moments where I could have believed the professional opinion I sought out (it was unsellable), or I backed myself and went for it anyway. I am so grateful that I did the latter. I parted ways with my agent: scary in itself, to be unrepresented in the big bad world of publishing, but I was also letting go of a relationship with one of the biggest agencies in the world. Was I mad? But professional relationships, as with personal relationships, should be enriching, supportive, and fruitful - not just look good from the outside. If it isn’t - it’s okay to move on. So there I was, back to square one with no agent, no publishing contract, but a proposal I believed in, and a second baby who was due to come into the world in the next three months…I needed to get my skates on.
The power of community
One of the most valuable lessons of my adult life has been learning to ask for help, and for seeing the strength in doing so. It is so important to cultivate a community, whatever your profession, that you trust, who you also offer support to, and who you know will have your back.
Determined that I would try and sell my book to a publisher myself (after all, I had basically done it the first time, albeit it totally accidentally…), I reached out to a few trusted colleagues and mentors in the industry. One was Mark Richards, my original editor at John Murray, who had since gone on to launch Swift Press - a new indie publisher. Another was Pragya Agarwal (who had interviewed me for my very first online virtual event for Hashim & Family all those years ago). Both were supportive, encouraging, offering advice and practical help in so many ways - and I will be ever grateful. Pragya made several recommendations for agents and publishers to approach - one being HarperNorth (HarperCollins) who, unusually for a division of a big 5 publisher, accepted submissions directly from unrepresented authors.
Now - in an industry that talks a lot about attracting new voices, being more inclusive, and hearing from underrepresented authors, it’s crucial that publishers really put their money where their mouths are. While a lot of publishers really are doing their best, with various schemes and initiatives, it’s also a fact that agents can represent an additional layer of gatekeeping that it’s hard for people to break through. I really believe that if publishers are serious about being more inclusive, more of them need to accept direct submissions from authors.
Anyway, long story short: I dusted off my proposal and sent it off to HarperNorth. And within a couple of weeks, I heard back from Ben McConnell, one of their non-fiction commissioning editors. Yes: they wanted to acquire my book!
The perfect home
I signed the new contract just weeks before my due date. As it happened, I couldn’t have asked for a better home for my new book - that eventually would be titled The Jackfruit Chronicles: Memories and Recipes from a British-Bangladeshi Kitchen. The team at HarperNorth are a delight to work with - engaged, supportive, and dedicated. It has all the intimacy of working with a small indie press, but with the clout of being part of a big 5 publisher. And of course, I LOVE that they champion Northern voices.
Mark, my former editor, was so generous with his time and expertise, helping me to negotiate the terms of my new publishing contract (in lieu of me having an agent) and recommending what I ask to tweak, change, increase, and accept. I want to say another word here about the importance of real allies and champions: genuine trust, cheerleading, and respect for one another is really what makes the world go round. And it makes me determined to offer that to any other authors, now and in the future.
Look how far we’ve come, my babies
It’s been 5 years since the publication of my first book, and it’s just 2 months to go until my second one goes out into the world! In that time, I’ve had two babies, written a whole book (thanks to my daughter being the most forgiving, contented newborn I could have asked for <3 - though she’s making up for it now…), moved countries twice, built and maintained community, strengthened personal and professional relationships, and honestly, I’ve worked really, really hard. I think sometimes I forget that.
One of the things publishers ask authors to do is fill out a questionnaire where you talk about your industry contacts - who you could ask to give an endorsement for your book, who you could approach for interviews, and so on. I looked back on the one I did for the publication of Hashim & Family and felt a pang. I knew so little as a debut author about how to navigate this opaque, kind of chaotic industry. This time, I’ve been able to reflect on the colleagues, allies, and friends I have made in the publishing and food worlds. And they have been so generous and so supportive. Endorsements for The Jackfruit Chronicles have been coming in, and each one takes me by surprise: they are so generous, so kind, so warm.
A beautiful twist on this, is that I have been approached in the last few months to give endorsements for several new writers. I feel so honoured to be in the position to offer that, and I’ve so enjoyed sitting down to read the words of these authors, hopeful that maybe I can be to them, what so many others have been for me.
So I’ll end with a little reminder to never underestimate the power of community - and to always trust in your own abilities.
Shahnaz x