It’s a strange feeling, waiting for my book to come out. For so long it’s been in my imagination and dreams — I’ve lived and breathed Tyneford for years, it seems. I feel like Tyneford has been existing in parallel to the real world, like Neverland or OZ. But, it’s almost time for the book to come out and live in other people’s imaginations. That’s the point when any book comes to life.
Yet, it’s also the time when I need to start thinking about the next book. As I start something new I need to build up all the paraphernalia on my desk. Piles of books in wobbling heaps: to be read, to be dipped into, finished reading etc. Then the photographs — sometimes of people (a smile that captures the temperament of a character), a view, a postcard of a painting that gives me a tingle and just catches the right mood.
First though, I have to clear away the books and pictures from ‘Viola’. It’s a melancholic task, rather like going through old albums of a wonderful holiday — remembered pleasures that already seem long, long ago.