I sent the draft in about three weeks ago and the response was not at all bad. Since then, I’ve done a bit of broadcasting, a bit of reviewing and a lot of reading while waiting for detailed notes from my editor. I’ve done a little of this and a modicum of that; some tidying, some dabbling, some loose end tying. And quite a lot of staring into space.
For the best part of two years, the book has been constantly in my space, whining, stonewalling, refusing to play ball. I’ve been hating it, loving it, neglecting it; threatening, cajoling, pleading, throwing it out with the bath water, retrieving it; practicing tough love, bribery and suggesting it go play in traffic. Once I even told it I wasn’t its real mother.
But for just this few days or weeks, it’s gone. Not for good, just to…the editorial equivalent of pony camp. And for the duration, I’m not thinking of it one bit. After all, there’s plenty of time for the edit. I can’t start the next book because I don’t know what it is. And I’m meeting KM Peyton for lunch on Thursday.
Sure beats having a real job. For now, at least.