Oh fellow writers, having sent off a manuscript for perusal, how I feel for you and for myself now the torturous waiting game has begun. Paradoxically, liberation has come too in its wake. Day in, day out, I slogged over my fictional book that occupied me for years, sat at my computer and let my three characters speak for themselves. They were my life, my world, my companions; my everything. With one tap of the send button they’ve travelled into cyberspace and hopefully to the top of a slush pile in central London.
Finding myself free to read, to swim, to listen to the silence of my empty days, I ponder how easy it could be to get used to this non-writing life….