It all seems suddenly very real now. The publishing contract came today and I've spent the morning carefully reading it, forcing my eyes not to glaze over and trying not to let my mind wander. My instinct is to just sign the flipping thing and speed up the next part of the process but I can hear my mother's voice telling me to read the small print.
I can scarcely believe it and am still not entirely convinced that something still won't go wrong. Things like this don't happen to me. I have always written; poems, stories when I was a child and steamy romances when I was a teenager. When I was at university I loved writing essays, the research was a source of joy and the construcion of the final essay, the longer the better, gave me a real sense of satisfaction. It was just a small step to progress to my first novel. Friends and family raised eyebrows but to me it was a perfectly natural thing to do. My first two attempts leave a lot to be desired but almost as soon as I began to write Peaceweaver, I felt a sense of 'rightness'. It is as if she (EAdgyth)spoke to me and the story developed beneath her guidance. But that is just me being fanciful, writers are like that :D
My next novel is set in the new forest just after the norman conquest and tells the story of a community evicted from their homes to make way for the King's new hunting grounds. The adventure begins with an attempted rape, progresses through murder and exile and culminates in regicide. I hope I can do justice to the story of Aelf's family.
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