I am sitting with a mug of white wine on the deck. It’s 30C, and thunder storms are coming. It’s humid, and the wind grows a little with each passing sip of wine. The clouds are a steady pale blue-grey wash. I can see the new elms are doing well. I am no longer worried about the elms.
Today there are just 85 days until the new book is born into the world. It has been born into me for substantially longer than that. I will be in the bath tonight, reading with a copy editor’s eyes, looking for inconsistencies. I will make a good cup of strong tea – the King Cole, and read carefully.
Eighty-five days doesn’t seem like a long time. Under three months and then these people I have grown to love will be out of my hands. They will be in the world. It’s a nervous thing, this sending a book into the world. I am anxious and excited for you to meet them.
Okay. Talk soon.
