Reflections on a Debut Year From Niamh Ní Mhaoileoin, Author of Ordinary Saints

Late in the evening of 26 March 2025, a fuse blew in my apartment and took the

entire power supply down with it.

Of course, there’s no good time for something like that to happen – but this was a really bad time. I was less than three weeks out from the publication of my debut novel, Ordinary Saints. And at seven the next morning, I was booked on a train to London to record an episode of the BBC Radio 2 Book Club with Sara Cox.

So what else could I do? I switched off every socket except the one for the fridge, turned the power back on at the mains and hoped it would hold until I got back to Edinburgh late the following evening. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

When I look back on my year as a debut novelist, that day trip to the BBC stands out as the moment when everything shifted gear. Before then, I had dedicated myself single-mindedly to managing my expectations for the novel, as every writer must in the agonising wait between finishing edits and the book’s publication.

The important thing was getting published at all, I told myself. It was a nice bonus that the early reviews were positive – even a tiny handful of readers loving the book would be enough, would justify the years of work. I prepared a brief flurry of activity around publication, which I would enjoy as much as I possibly could, and then life would gently drift back to normal.

As it turned out, I was on a different journey. It has been, in so many respects, a dream debut year. A few weeks after recording for the Book Club, I learned that Ordinary Saints had been shortlisted for the Waterstones Debut Prize. Invitations to events and festivals started rolling in and they didn’t really stop: I spoke at Edinburgh and Cheltenham, at iconic bookshops like Foyles and Hodges Figgis, and at a more than dozen other festivals and bookshops across Ireland and the UK. The book was nominated for two Books Are My Bag Awards by independent booksellers and has been longlisted for the Dublin Literary Award.

And yet, in those first few weeks, when it felt like many of my dreams for the book were coming true, I was still dealing with that blown fuse. I didn’t have a functioning fridge or washing machine and, every few days, was lugging baskets of dirty clothes to a friend’s house. The cost of the eventual fix all but wiped out my publication advance payment.

Every writer experiences this dichotomy, between the image you project publicly and the reality. Publishing is perceived as glamorous and we all feed the beast – posting online about the most exciting elements of being an author, leaving out the embarrassing outtakes, the money worries, the never-entirely-unpacked suitcase, the days when you’re sick to death of both your book and the sound of your own voice.

Still, a few weeks ago someone asked me what advice I would give my pre- publication self and I realised that I wouldn’t do very much differently. Getting to meet and talk to so many readers of Ordinary Saints has been one of the greatest privileges of my life. But I would emphasise a few things, whether to my past self or to future debuts.

First, remember that your main job is already done. You’ve written the best book that you could and, while you can give it the best shot possible through events, social media and PR, what happens next is ultimately out of your control.

Second, find other writers and be their friend. One of the greatest joys of my year was meeting other debuts. In part because we could support each other through the rocky and confusing parts of publishing a novel. But more importantly, because all of our successes have been enriched by being shared.

Finally, remember that you only get to be a debut once. The publicity might last a week, it might last a year, but eventually it will wind down. Enjoy the victory lap as much as you can and then, when the time comes, let it go. Go back to your desk, stare down that difficult second novel, and remember that the writing is what it’s all about.