Tomorrow I will be handing my novel in progress over to my lovely reader. (But don't let flattery sway you, Helen!)
I know this is important, especially with a novel. So far, from the very first germ of the idea around the middle of February, it's taken me six months to get to this stage (which is actually the shortest time I've ever taken to write anything over 10,000 words, so I'm quietly impressed with myself). Because a novel is a huge investment of time and energy - there are so many drafts and read-throughs still to complete - I need a reader to make sure I'm on the right track.
I know this is important, but I hate it. And I have no idea why. It really is like passing your precious new-born baby to a friend. You know he's in safe hands, but you're edgy until he's back in your arms.
To distract myself, I've given myself an impossible deadline to have a collection of stories ready to submit for a competition at the beginning of September. I thought they were pretty much complete, but now I've decided to rewrite the majority of them. There might not be a lot of blogging going on for a couple of weeks - instead I'll be battling inner demons, talking to ghosts and committing the odd - literary - murder!