I spent a long time thinking about and preparing this promotion around my novel Gates of Redemption, as well as my new website, podcast, and of course this Coffee2go blog you’re reading. One evening in early November, I organised a small working meeting at my place, with a bite to eat, and invited Biba and Sandi — a wonderful married couple who do my web design. And that evening, they said to me:
“Katja, do you realise it’s been thirteen years since we worked on your website?”
Thirteen. One tends to think it was just yesterday. Of course, we refreshed it regularly, added texts and photos, announcements… but still — thirteen years pass in the blink of an eye.
I’ve had social media all these years, and I know very well how it works. I also have my wonderful, talented assistant Ana, who has been with me for a long time and is now taking care of all of this as well. I’ve always had — let’s call it that — a certain resistance to all of it. But even my publisher Neven says:
“Katja, it’s important. Current. Necessary. Inevitable. You need it.”
This time, I felt that importance too, and I said to myself: “OK. Let’s do it — but in a different way.”
So, over the past few months, I’ve been actively researching everything: what people read, what they click on, what keeps them engaged for longer than three seconds. That kind of content often reminds me of the “friendship notebooks” we had in primary school — I made them weekly, just so I could write special questions and give them to someone I liked. Yes, that was my adrenaline.
I ask myself the same about this blog — will it interest anyone at all, do people have time for anything that lasts longer than five seconds? What are they even looking for?
The more I analysed, the more one thing became clear: for me, this is a tool, and that’s how I’ll use it. I started honestly, without filters or cheap tricks. And that’s how I’ll continue. Whatever happens — happens.
My goal and motivation are simple: that my novels — in this case Gates of Redemption — reach someone to whom they matter. Just that. And that’s why I come to the question: do we read at all?
I’ll explain why I ask. Every manuscript has its beta readers — people who read it first and can give the author useful guidance: whether the plot is clear, whether some parts are too long, and so on. It’s a huge help, and I was very lucky. Anka Poropat (from the readers’ club), a wonderful woman, and my sister — a passionate yet objective reader — were excellent. They saved me.
Because, believe it or not, more than thirty people turned me down. Friends and close acquaintances. Their reasons were simple and everyday ones: “Sorry, I don’t even have time to watch my favourite series”; “I have too much work”; “Until New Year’s I can barely breathe from work”; “I’m on a business trip”; “I’m drowning in deadlines”; “The kids exhaust me”…
And honestly — I understand them. A day passes like a whirlwind. Night comes, one or two in the morning arrives, and I catch myself sitting there asking: “Did this day even exist?” The only time I can really do anything is at night, because during the day… phones, emails, people, messages, questions, apps that supposedly make life easier but actually bury you.
Of course we don’t have time to read when the day chews us up and spits us out — but then, does writing even make sense?
Everything has become instant and superficial. Everyone thinks they can do everything. We’re educated, instructed, bombarded. Online schools, online love, recipes for everything — from cooking to mental disorders and therapy. We’ve all become bipolar — if you don’t have likes and followers, you don’t exist. And even if you pay for extra likes and followers — it’s still nothing. There’s no private fulfilment or satisfaction in that. An empty hole always remains an empty hole.
And profit — of any kind — achieved in that viral way has practically become the only officially accepted PR and marketing model. Yes, times have changed, and that’s fine. But what has also changed is that much of what is valuable and high-quality has become irrelevant. And that “anyone can do it.” Well — not quite.
I have a few anecdotes about all of this.
ANECDOTES — about writing, people, and expectations
One day, I went to the hairdresser — actually, to her assistant. I sat down, she was doing my hair, we chatted, as one does at the hairdresser’s. At one point, she looked at me through the mirror and asked:
“Katja, could you recommend something light to read?”
I was thrilled. We looked at each other and I said: “I can bring you one of my earlier novels, for example Placida Curatto. Light reading — a bit of sex, a bit of drugs, a bit of rock’n’roll… more in the crime genre.”
And she replied, completely calmly, casually, over the hairdryer:
“No need, thanks. I’ll write my own novel.”
I didn’t expect that. For days I thought about that sentence — about how people really believe writing a novel is like making instant soup. But it isn’t. And it can’t be.
Another situation. I have a friend who decided — as he charmingly put it — to “imitate me a little.” I found it adorable. One day he calls me and says:
“Kejt, I’m going to write a novel about my life. You inspired me. I’ll imitate you a bit.”
I told him: “Great honey. If it excites you — start. I’ll help however I can.”
A few days later, he called again. I asked how the writing was going.
“So-so. I wrote one page… but today I’m not in the mood. Maybe I should set aside two hours a day for writing — what do you think?”
I was shocked. Office hours for writing? You can’t order inspiration from four to six in the afternoon! When I write — I write day and night, for days, for hours. I don’t stop. But yes, I agree — we’re not all the same. And that’s perfectly fine.
Then there’s another friend who wanted me to write his book about love and sexual adventures — under his name, of course. He said many people would recognise themselves in it. It would help many who’d been in his position.
I agreed. Why not. I told him: “That’s called ghostwriting. I could do it. But I’d need at least three active months of research and writing.”
And he asked: “How much would that cost?”
I said: “I think it would be fair for it to equal three monthly salaries.”
Naturally — it was too expensive.
And as I think about all of this, I often remember our gardener, who charged no less than a thousand euros for trimming the hedge around the house. A company we contacted afterwards asked for two thousand euros — for just a few hours of work. And so it goes, in circles.
As I write this, I catch myself turning the same questions over in my head: do people read, do they have time, do they have the will? Then I smile. Maybe it’s actually much simpler. Those who love reading always find their way. Books, in the end, always find their people.
We all read differently. When I pick something up, for example, it has to grab me immediately — the first, second, third page. If it doesn’t, I can’t go on. The same applies to films. Music. People.
My sister reads everything, from beginning to end, regardless of her first impression. She says she wants a complete picture. I read quickly, diagonally, especially when deadlines are involved. But if I like something — then I simply devour it.
When I finished writing the first two novels of the trilogy — Gates of Redemption and The Secret Order — I was so high on adrenaline that I immediately had to write eight or nine short stories just to come back down to normal. That’s my drug — words, thoughts, sentences. I love them so much that if someone uses incorrect punctuation, I react instantly. It’s as if someone physically hits me. It hurts and cuts through my brain. All the sirens go off.
Have you ever thought about punctuation? About words? About the speed of everything rushing past us… about reading? About that quiet sport we’ve unconsciously pushed aside in our everyday rush? If you have — then you’re my kind of people, and I’m sure we’ll see each other soon, at our next coffee-to-go.
