I should begin by saying that my desk never looks likes this. When I started out with this writing lark I still had young children, so the table where I wrote was often littered with Lego and orphaned plimsolls as well as my own clutter. These days I have no such excuse but my desk is still a dumping ground for items that betray my flea-like mind. Things I’m going to do, things I should have done last week. The one pesky thing that’s gone from the heap this morning is The Book. It landed on my editor’s desk late last night.
Many, many thanks for all your excellent title suggestions. Sadly most of them fell foul of the taboo against anything that sounds old. Twilight, Senior… Lucy made a strong showing with the forward looking word Next, but anything with Homemakers of America in the title carries the real risk of the FHA organisation billing me (again) for using their name. It was during my final speed read of first draft that I realised my ageing characters were all fans of the early bird dinner. Me too. Who wants to eat at 8pm? I offered the idea to my publishers, more in desperation than in hope, and they jumped on it. Yes! It’s catchy, it’s upbeat, and the nuisance author will feel satisfied that we’ve made a nod in the direction of her oldsters and their geriatric habits.
So there it is. The Early Birds. With an editorial wash and brush up and a following wind it should be out next June.
I’m now going to assume a horizontal position and listen to the waves of Dublin Bay lapping outside my window.