I started Unbound with John Mitchinson and Justin Pollard back in 2011 to find a new way to publish books. Six years on and I'm finally using it for a book of my own.
It's called The Surfboard, and it's about a week I spent with James Otter in Cornwall building a seven foot surfboard even though I have never surfed in my life. Interspersed with the story of making the board I tell the story of what the last six years of my life have been like starting and then running a company.
I went to Cornwall to build the board at a point in the businesses evolution when I felt I had reached the edge of what I was capable of achieving within it. I had to find a way to push beyond the preconception I had of what I could do. And find a way to do it that was consistent with my personality and values.
It's the shortest book I have ever written, and I sincerely believe it's the best. I'm certainly proudest of this one.
So now I need your help to tell my story. Please pledge if you can, and if money is tight and you still want to help spreading the word is incredibly helpful too.
Thanks for reading. Dan
The evening kindled at the end of a long, speechless day. I had settled into myself as the miles fell on leaving London. Seven hours to ponder the week ahead. The car was now connected to me. We urged each other along. Humming together.
He lived in Cornwall on the North coast by the sea. I had a map drawn from memory after a gin-soaked evening of garrulous optimism in the depths of Wales. “I live there because the first time I saw the landscape it spoke to me. It’s real. That idea you spoke about. It’s real.”
We’d met at the Do Lectures on the edge of Cardigan Bay. A weekend of talks and workshops attended by people at an inflection point in their lives. I was invited to give a talk about an idea that had ‘had’ me. It led indirectly to the founding of the business I now run. When I finished speaking he and I queued for dinner and then sat next to each other to eat. We hit it off the way you do with strangers only rarely. He was a master of my own land who drew on the same well as me.
It was almost a year later to the day. The middle of June. Rain came down so heavily the windscreen wipers made little difference as I skirted the New Forest, turning the A27 into a river as I squinted my way. The flickering break lights kaleidoscoped by the water battering my windscreen. The torrent soon became too thick to see the woodland a thousand years before William the Conqueror had declared his hunting domain. The line of cars became a spent dribble as I headed West. The rain helped somehow. The car felt safe. Cosy.
I saw the sign for West Compton, waved to a friend I didn’t have time to stop and see, and then passed Long Bredy where the land would unfurl away from sight towards the sea. I’d stopped in Long and Little Bredy many years before without realising the church we parked outside was full of graves marked with the names of my distant family. I had sensed a connection to that place then. I could make out the landscape murmuring to me. I juddered up a steep short hill. Shifted down a gear and drifted over the top.
It was the day after my forty-first birthday. I was coming to terms with who I had become, which was not someone I ever expected to be. For the first time in a long time I was looking back. The previous decade had been a process of continuous change. After the financial crash of 2008 I lost my livelihood overnight as a writer and, with no qualifications or University degree, had to go back to working daily contracts for minimum wage. On my lunch hour while clearing out the rat-infested basement of an accountants in Bognor Regis I had an idea for what had, over the next eight years, grown into a multi-million-pound, global publishing company. But my marriage had collapsed in the process. Taking me away from my two beloved children and I was now engaged with another baby on the way. I caught my eye in the car rear-view mirror. How had a description like that ever come to describe me?
I started by cutting out the skeleton that would become the frame. This was the first of many cups of tea...
So it's coming up the end of the first 24 hours and we're closing in on 10%. Thanks to you. Don't doubt the difference your pledge has made. I've watched them all land and it's a great feeling. It's not just buying a book with Unbound. You are making something happen that wouldn't happen any other way. It's liberating as an author, but it's also an exercise in vulnerability too. I'm a big fan of vulnerability…
These people are helping to fund The Surfboard.