Letting Go.

So, yesterday I handed over my MS to Averill Buchanan, a highly recommended editor, who will use her fresh eyes to clean it up and get it ‘agent ready’ for me in the autumn. I told her there should be blood stains on it, cause that’s what it feels like to have written it. (I did actually say that. She looked suitably alarmed.) I do feel a fulfilling, pat-myself-on-the-back sense of achievement, but at the same time I feel panic. What if she thinks it’s crap? What if it doesn’t make sense? What if I have to go back to the drawing board? What if, what if…

And then, to be honest, amidst the panic I’ll look at this face and probably have a cuddle.

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Now, if that’s not a face of faith I don’t know what is! He’s been with me every word of the way for eight years and if he thinks I can do it… I might just pull it off.

N.B. I did warn you he’d feature a lot. It’s not right to have favourites but…

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