I have promised Flora (my editor) that she will have the final, edited draft of Island of Bones at the end of August. So I’ve got a week. Damn.
I am pleased with the work I’ve done on Bones and I like deadlines, but the thing is when I hand over the manuscript this time, unless Flora really, really hates something, that’s my last chance to make any real changes gone. I shall go through the copy edit of course, and my copy editor is brilliant and will stop me embarrassing myself in various ways, but this’ll be the last time I get to say, ‘no dammit, I think I can just make that bit better,’ and do something about it. So Flora could say take all the time in the world, and I’d still end up in this position. That’s why I like deadlines, it means someone’s going to take the MS out of my hands and say, very gently, stop now. You are done.
The house is clean, coffee to the left of me, notepad to the right. Blog blogged. Now is there anything else I can do to avoid getting on with this? (short pause). Apparently not.