Christina, poor soul, is reading the manuscript of “Paradise” for the gazillionth time. Well, that’s a slight exaggeration, I suppose. It’s changed a lot since she last read it, and the last two sections she hasn’t read before. But it’s tremendously helpful – I glanced at the big block of paper this morning and she’s picked up all sorts of …
Finally.
I finally got off the fence and sent the manuscript to Bruce the Agent. Rather unromantically, he asked me to send it to him via email as a single word document, single-line spacing. He didn’t want it wrapped up in ribbon and delivered by carrier pigeon. In the event that we hoodwink some unsuspecting publishing house into buying the thing, …
Deer, Meet Headlights
Still haven’t sent the manuscript off to Bruce the Agent. I made the mistake of idly flicking through it again this morning. I spotted a mistake, then something I wanted to change, then something else… by the time the children woke up there were pen marks all over the first few chapters and I was wondering whether I’d ever send …
OK, so now what?
It’s an obvious enough question. I still woke up at 5 o’clock this morning, even though I’ve no more book to write. Here I am, twiddling my thumbs, and finally doing some blogging. (Whether that’s a good thing or not is open to debate.) Well, here’s what going to happen next: I’m going to spend the long weekend with my …
This is What a Finished Novel Looks like
Boy oh boy. Don’t quite know whether to laugh or cry. Or blog.
Harry Potter, Book One, Day Four
That’s that, then. He starts Book Two tomorrow morning.
What, no Pott?
No Potter update today since the wife went out with the camera. Anyway, Hallam’s going gangbusters on the book and is loving every word of it. Book Two waits in the wings. Meanwhile, I am zipping through my book, tweaking and polishing, readying my baby for the trip overseas to visit my agent Bruce in London. The biggest change is …
All right, then.
The French poet Paul Valery once said, “Poems are never finished, merely abandoned.” The same, I would venture to suggest, could be said of novels. On the rare occasions when I am foolish enough to pick up one of my earlier books, I find myself cringing, constantly editing, revising, and wishing for a chance to do over. But you can’t, …
152,531…
… is a big number. It’s the number of words, as of right this instant, that are in my book. If memory serves, this is more than double the number of words in my first novel, Working It Out. (Of course, whether that is a good or a bad thing is open to debate.) Anyway, I am inching slowly towards …
OK, then.
Thanks, JB, for the tip. Technical gremlins now removed, the opening salvo of “Paradise” will be on its way shortly. Bet y’all can’t wait.