Crossing the Line
Yes. I did it. Three hundred pages of The Liar’s Daughter now sit on my editor’s desk, awaiting her blue pencil. I’ve told her I don’t want to hear from her until after my holiday. This is a nail-biting time for any writer – will they like it, will they hate it, will they go so far as to sack me? (it has been known)
But all said and done it beats any other job I’ve ever had. Here I sit, it’s 10.15 in the morning, I’m wearing my gardening shoes and I haven’t yet brushed my hair, but I’m working. Well, blogging. No-one noted what time I punched in (07.40) and no-one will complain when I clock off at 12 noon today.
And how have I spent my time since I wrote THE END? Well, the first thing I did was run down to the supermarket to buy a bottle of bubbly. When I saw the prices I almost had to sit down with my head between my knees. Holey-moley, am I that out of touch? I settled for a half bottle and a bag of kettle chips.
Day 1 of my holiday was spent excavating the piles of filing, reference books and things I’ve kept because they seemed interesting but I’ve forgotten why. Progress has been made. I can now see the rug on my office floor. Day 2 was spent doing a little light journalism, a teensy bit of research for what I hope will be my next book, and skype-chatting with my grandchildren. Today the sun is shining. I can go for a walk. Who’s going to stop me? I may not know where the next pay cheque is coming from but my time is my own.
Meanwhile Mr F is reading first draft. He says he likes it. But would he dare say otherwise?
Laurie Graham is now leaving the building.
How unspeakably thrilling. Go back in your gardening shoes and get that full bot of bubbles. Immediately.
You’ve put me in a quandry. Many years ago, after a few bad experiences, I vowed never again to read any book with the title “The (Occupation or Characteristic)’s (Relative)”… and now, oh lordy! I can’t NOT read something by you. My only hope is that they change the title for the U.S. version, as they sometimes (annoyingly, inappropriately) do with your books. Sigh.
Funnily enough I kind of agree with you but it was one of those rare occasions when my publishers liked my suggestion. Having said that they may yet ask me to change it. They love moving the furniture.