Nine days until the novel is released, and seventeen until the official launch. It’s been a long journey to get here, one which has at times been fraught. Nothing special there, you might think, and you’d be right. Every published author has their troubles along the way.
This might sound resentful or bitter, but it’s not meant to: I’ll be glad when the book’s been out for a couple of months, and life can calm down a little. All the publicity, promotion, marketing etc. has taken me too far away from those precious and vital acts of writing, those moments which form the start of it all. I’m not complaining, of course: the work that comes with publishing a novel is part of the deal, and I’m happy to do it. It’s a cracking read, this book, and I’m very happy indeed with the way it’s turned out. The readings too will be fun, as I’ll get to say thank you in person to some of those who have helped me (and there are many).
Yet…yet…is this really who I am now?
There’s another deadline looming ahead. Three weeks to get that done. Not a big job, and it involves writing creatively.
What a novelty.