Have you been wondering what is happening with book? No? Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.
Nothing.
Nothing from my end, that is. Our editor is doing her level best to make sense of our work. She says she’ll get back to us soon. And I don’t think of her as a liar. Mind you, I don’t think of myself as a liar either, and yet I have been known to claim that I am only a few days, or blocks, or boxes away, when I know it’ll take longer to finish the draft, get to the party, or pack up my stuff.
I’m not complaining. She’ll get to us when she does. Meanwhile, I have other projects to worry about. Two finished books sitting on other editors’ desks (ahem), and a new book I can safely claim to have well begun. Actually, it’s kind of cool. I’ll get back to it as soon as I finish this.
So if your sense of the writer is someone who finishes their draft, sends it off, and sits by the phone waiting, waiting, waiting, like an actor or a lovesick teenager, you’re only partly right.
Nothing to do with the rest of this post -- and not really my beat -- and who cares what someone like me thinks about stuff like this --but I have never been less pleased to be Canadian. News from Kamloops and London is hard to hear. Knowing you need a shower is one thing, but stripping off and seeing the dirt, realizing just how deeply it is ground in ....
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