Becoming A Very Modern Débutante

My Cli-Fi Novel Is 'Official' And What Happens Next Is Wild

My novel, Godstorm, is now ‘official’. Last week, my lovely publishers announced the book, and in book launch terms, this is a big moment! Pre-orders will open soon, cover reveal is on its way, and final publication is January 2026.

I promised to share some updates about my writing and the countdown to publication. So far, it’s been so nerve-wracking.

Right now, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to debut at court. In Victorian society, a young lady of good breeding would be ‘presented’ at court as part of her coming out season. ‘Coming out’ (no relation to our modern LGBTQIA+ term) was the social debut, an official nod that a young woman was ready to be considered..for marriage, for society, and for scrutiny.

The same holds for the debut novelist. I, too, am ‘coming out’, as in being announced to the literary world. There is a press release. There are Instagram posts. I even have to reach out to ‘influencers’. I’m about to have my moment at the metaphorical Queen’s court, with perhaps a panel at a festival, or a book launch at a Waterstones.

Both debuts are acts of exposure. As one Victorian etiquette guide cautioned, “To come out too early is to risk one’s reputation; to come out too late is to be overlooked.”

Bear with me. This does have at least some relevance! Godstorm is set within a very ‘alternative’ Victorian era with all these social trappings. And although my protagonist would NEVER attend a ball (unless as a serving girl…or assassin), I can’t kick the analogies.

So, as I navigate this unfamiliar world of fiction, I started seeking advice. Not from modern publishing gurus, but from the grand dames of history. What would they say to someone like me…a writer, newly ‘out,’ and entirely terrified?

Coming Out Is an Announcement, Not a Transformation

In 1870, The Queen: The Lady’s Newspaper described a debutante’s presentation at court as: “She is brought out, not changed. Society is not dazzled by novelty but charmed by readiness.”

This hit me quick hard. I guess I’d imagined that being published would change me. Make me feel like a “real” novelist. But no, this isn’t transformation…it’s revelation. I'm not a different person now that my book is about to go on NetGalley. I’ve just been announced. My work is in the room.

Wear The Dress. Don’t Be The Dress

One débutante advice column warned: “Do not let the gown speak louder than the girl. Elegance lies in restraint.”

For me, that gown is my book: polished, blurbed, copyedited, and dressed for the ball. It’s tempting to hide behind it. To say, ‘Let the book speak; I’ll be over here, crouching behind this potted fern of Goodreads reviews.’

But just like a debutante had to speak, dance, and write thank-you notes…I, too, have to show up. Not just at launch parties, but in interviews, emails, school visits, maybe even on TikTok (be still my Victorian heart).

My book may be the dress, but I still have to wear it.

Comparison Is The Thief Of Composure

In 1885, one poor girl wrote in her diary: “Miss Langtree’s gown was embroidered with real silver thread. Mama says it’s vulgar, but I feel dreadfully plain.”

Reader, I have felt dreadfully plain. I’m in a Discord group with many debuts who seem shinier. Their covers are embossed. Their ‘Big 5’ publishers are very enthusiastic. Their blurbs come from authors I worship. Meanwhile, my launch plans feel like they involve more biscuits than buzz.

But the Victorians knew better. “To envy the admired is to dim one’s own candle,” advised The Habits of a Lady. And in today’s terms: my book is not in competition with someone else’s. We are different gowns, different dances, different stories.

Also: I like biscuits.

Choose Chaperones Wisely

No débutante entered society without a chaperone, a watchful and worldly aunt to steer them away from scandal and into safe conversation.

In publishing, those chaperones are my agent, my publisher, my early readers. They tell me how to position Godstorm, when to pause, and how to make some noise about my book.

My work in sustainability taught me that impact demands community. Turns out that is true of most things in life, including publishing!

You Might Not Be the Belle, But You’re Still At The Ball

One of my favourite quotes is from Lady Louisa Anstruther in 1864, who wrote in a letter to her sister: “I was not much noticed, but I did not fall over the footman, nor say anything too foolish. It was, all in all, a success.”

This might be the most comforting debut advice I’ve found.

My novel may not win the Booker. It may not sell 10,000 copies in week one. Maybe the New York Times won’t notice me. But I will not fall over the footman. I wrote a book. I got an agent. I got published. That’s a dance well done.

After The Ball

The Victorians had another truth I’ve come to love: the season was just the beginning. The point of the debut wasn’t just the ball, it was the life that came after. A future full of choices, chapters, and (if very lucky) real companionship.

That’s what I’m preparing myself for. Perhaps I won’t be the belle of the literary season (even though I’ll do my best to be). But I will be there. And I’m already writing my next book. So, I’ll be back. Not as a debut, but as someone who remembers how to breathe through a corset.

And if any debutantes from 1883 are listening, thank you for the advice. You understood more about this wild publishing ride than I ever expected.

As Lady Harriet Stanhope wrote in 1872, “One must never mistake the party for the purpose.”

As I reveal a few more snippets of Godstorm I think my purpose with become clearer. And I hope you like what you see.