Bookish Weekend in Brighton
The Binding Spell Book Launch
Last weekend, I did something completely out of my comfort zone: I drove on the left side of the road for the first time in my life. Why? Because one of my dear writing friends, Marisa (a fellow "Pinkling," as we call our critique group), was launching her YA fantasy The Binding Spell in Brighton.
The adventure began the moment I landed at Gatwick. By the time I sprinted to the car rental, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the parking lot. Then came my first hurdle: the car. Not just any car—an ultra-modern Korean machine that seemed determined to outsmart me. For fifteen frantic minutes, I jabbed at unmarked buttons while Punjab Nation blasted at full volume, the bass vibrating through my seat. (Note to self: Next time, Google "how to turn off Korean car radio" before panicking in a rental lot.) Finally, I muted the chaos, figured out the ignition, and lurched onto the highway—heart pounding, hands gripping the wheel like it might flee without me. Every speed limit change triggered a symphony of beeps, as if the car was judging my life choices.
Somehow, I made it to my aunt’s village, though not without an impromptu three-point turn in a school parking lot that would’ve failed me on any driving test. But the next day, Brighton awaited—and in daylight, the drive was almost peaceful. Almost.
Brighton (well, Hove, technically) charmed me instantly. Bookshops! Cafés! The sea glittering under a sky so blue it felt stolen from a postcard. I met Marisa and our friend Gillian for spinach-and-feta pastries and writerly gossip, then dashed to my hotel to scrub off the adrenaline sweat of my highway escapades.
The launch at The Book Nook was everything a book event should be: cozy, celebratory, and slightly witchy (fitting for a novel about dark magic and brooding love interests). Marisa’s agent, Lucy Irvine, gave a heartfelt speech, and Marisa read the opening pages—a passage so deliciously eerie I got chills. Afterward, we toasted with drinks across the street, giddy with the magic of seeing a friend’s dream take physical form on a bookstore shelf.
The next morning, we reconvened at Waterstones for coffee and an impromptu Q&A, because when three writers gather, of course we end up talking about craft. Then, ever the overachiever, I arrived at Gatwick a full three hours early for my flight, just in case the car staged a mutiny on the return trip. (It didn’t. We’ve reached an uneasy truce.)
As I flew home, I realized two things:
1. Driving on the left isn’t so terrifying once you survive the first hour.
2. There’s no joy quite like celebrating a friend’s book birthday—especially when that friend has cheered you through your own writing trenches.
Next time, I’ll bring my kids. (And maybe take the train.) But for now, I’m just grateful for bookshops by the sea, friends who turn launches into reunions, and stories like The Binding Spell—the kind that remind me why I fell in love with fantasy in the first place.
P.S. Run, don’t walk, to grab The Binding Spell—especially if you love folklore, witches, and love interests who brood like professionals. (And if you see a confused tourist hesitating at a UK roundabout? Honk gently. It might be me.)