When I decided to open an independent bookshop in a small market town, almost everyone I knew told me I was making a terrible mistake. Online retailers had already driven most independent bookshops out of business, and the few that remained seemed to be surviving on stubbornness alone. I understood their concerns, but I went ahead anyway.
I had worked in publishing for fifteen years and had grown increasingly frustrated by the gap between the books I believed in and the ones that received the most attention. I wanted to create a space where readers could discover titles they would never have encountered in a chain store or through an algorithm.
The first year was brutally difficult. Sales were modest, costs were higher than I had anticipated, and there were weeks when I genuinely wondered whether I would have to close the doors. What kept me afloat during those early months was not the sale of bestsellers but the loyalty of a small group of regular customers who valued what I was trying to do.
I began hosting author readings, book clubs, and poetry evenings. I set up a children's corner with weekly storytelling sessions. I offered a personal recommendation service, where customers could describe their tastes and I would hand-pick a selection of books for them. Slowly, these initiatives began to attract a wider audience.
People started coming not just to buy books but to spend time in a place that felt welcoming and unhurried. Regulars would bring friends, friends would become customers, and customers would become advocates who spread the word without being asked. The bookshop had become something larger than a retail business — it had become a gathering point for the community.
I now employ three part-time staff, host events almost every week, and have built an online presence that extends our reach beyond the town. We are not competing with the major retailers on price or convenience — we could never win that battle — but we offer something they cannot: a personal, human connection to the world of books.
Every week, someone walks through the door and tells me they had no idea we existed, only to leave an hour later carrying a pile of books and a membership to our reading club. Those moments remind me why I ignored all the sensible advice and opened the shop in the first place.