Notes on a new book and self belief

Rejection is a killer. But so is a lack of faith

The salt dust hits the back of my throat and it’s all I can do to stop myself from descending into a long coughing fit. The scent of frankincense is in the air and the temperature is edging close to 100ºC. Beneath my felt hat my face is awash with sweat and I can hear the pop and roar of wood in the stove.

“This is a traditional ritual,” says Bella. “It’ll get rid of the illness that’s lingering in no time.” She tips the salt, mixed with essential oils, from one metal bowl into another, right in front of my face. This comes after she’s spent five minutes circulating the loyly from the stove, whisking a wet towel over her head to create a punishingly hot and restorative space. By now I’m in an absolute daze with it all, focused solely on my breathing, trying to stay here now.

Stanmer Sauna Garden, April 2025 © Joe Minihane

When the salt stops, Bella kindly asks if she can cool me down and promptly pours cold water over my head. There’s less of a shock to it when the heat continues to rise, rather than being outside in the plunge, a bizarre feeling of being freezing and hot simultaneously. After 20 minutes in the heat, it’s time to get outside, where I promptly clear my lungs (I’ll go no further than that) and sip bay tea in the sun.

I’m back at Stanmer Sauna Garden, once again at Bella’s invitation, after an event at Kemptown Books to promote my new Swim London book. It’s a glorious spring morning, all early greens and still muddy undergrowth, the sound of black caps and chiffchaffs on the air. This place has become something of a spiritual lodestar for me over the past year, even though I no longer live close by. That Bella is so open and generous with her time is what takes it from special to downright magical. She drove me north of the city in her fabulously dishevelled car (or ‘my moving shed’ as she calls it), inside which was the pop up sauna we took to Devil’s Dyke in March, a copy of Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend on the dashboard and a plethora of crumbs from the pain au chocolats we had just eaten. The Velvet Underground were on the CD player, the drone of All Tomorrow’s Parties soundtracking our ride.

I had sacked off work for the morning after the offer of an hour-long ritual, which went on to include a salt scrub and full body whisk with recently dried birch. As always, adventures here threw up more things to discuss. A pair of local mental health workers shared the space and spoke of how they wanted to learn about bringing their patients here to discover how the power of hot and cold could ease their symptoms. This after Bella had effused about her new work with a local surgery and how they were looking to socially prescribe sauna.

I write this from a place of passion for both what traditional sauna and sweat bathing is and the power of what it can do. I speak from personal experience. Coming to these spaces has changed me in ways I don’t fully understand. They make me calmer, they bring me back towards something I consider to be my authentic self. I genuinely believe that a thriving sauna culture can improve the wellbeing of society, and not just for the worried middle classes. For everyone. It’s something Bella believes too. It’s why I like her and her amazing space so much.

I’ve been talking about it every chance I can get. Events for my new swimming book have turned into me evangelising for adding a bit of heat to the mix after a dip. I’ve also been writing about it. A lot. As some of you know, I’ve been writing and researching a book about the subject since the start of 2025.

The premise is simple. It’s part travelogue, part journalistic endeavour, part memoir about whether sauna can help me ease my SSRI dose (and whether it even needs to). It’s still early stages. A house move has slowed progress. But I remain determined to write it and to get it out there.

I say this because doing so isn’t easy and I don’t want to make it seem like it is. Writing can be hard, but for me the process of producing something big is every bit as powerful as time spent in a traditional sauna. That said, rejection comes. A lot. In fact, this idea has just been kicked back, and my agent and I have agreed to part ways. There are valid reasons for it being turned down. It’s too personal. The market is tough. I don’t use social media. Those that need to give it their backing just don’t think it’s got legs. And, as much as that pains me, I respect those positions, even if I don’t agree with them.

As a freelancer, and especially as a writer working in the creative non-fiction space, getting knocked back is part of the daily grind. And let me tell you, it gets you down. For every idea for a book, magazine piece or online article that comes off there must be 20 or more that don’t. Getting back in the saddle can feel pointless. You need a colossal amount of self-belief. This is not a quality with which I have been bestowed. Yet, somehow, after 16 years of flying solo, I feel as if I finally have it at last.

In the past decade, since I finished writing my first book, I’ve come up with half a dozen book ideas. Not a single one of them has been completed, through a combination of lowball offers from publishers, a general feeling that the idea won’t sell well and my own lack of gumption to see them through without the comfort of a book deal.

But then I remember that I wrote Floating without a deal. It came to be published through a fortuitous meeting with my now former agent, time spent with an incredible editor at a major publishing house and the belief of a wild and fascinating New Yorker who wanted to get it into print. It didn’t really sell and the excitement of its release was over in short order. But I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again now.

I think that, whatever this book becomes, it has legs. I believe in it and the idea so much. I don’t want to self publish it. I value the input of brilliant creative people, especially editors, who have spent their careers dedicated to making words pop off of the page. As a journalist I have always and will always value the power of editorial skill and prowess. Call them gatekeepers. But when done right, their work is of such incredible value.

That said, I am tired of the old model of book publishing, something which a kind, well known and highly respected author with whom I exchange occasional emails described as ‘morons chasing last year’s trend’. The industry itself is an insane mess, with thousands of new titles, authors (including me) being paid risible amounts and a love of the ephemeral and fatuous bollocks that is social media, something that is the absolute antithesis of books, print and intellect, driving most deals.

I believe in this idea, in this book and in myself too. Going out there and doing it alone, finding new representation and an independent and brilliant publisher doesn’t daunt me. It excites me. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t bother. This will happen, because I believe it will. I have faith. It comes from the deep, spiritual power of a horsebox sauna in some woods north of Brighton.