Last week I finished the first draft of About Time.
The pressure had been mounting for weeks.
At this point, it is worth bearing in mind that, everything being relative, our lives are comparatively stress-free. Right up there at the top of the Stress Scale is what to eat for breakfast, followed closely by when/where to go biking and whether I will get a flat tyre.
So I was totally unequipped for the extremes of anxiety leading up to The Deadline.
You will be glad to hear I epitomised grace under pressure. I was serene, confident and overflowing with gruntledness.
Regrettably – particularly for Husband – this physically manifested in an unpleasant shrillness of voice.
I am now waiting to hear back from my agent. Some might suggest that Peter does not pull his punches; others that he fights dirty.
I could not comment personally, since he might sue me for slander.
Also, see above.
I am, however, looking forward to his perspective (unfortunately, I misplaced mine). He will no doubt ask me to rewrite vast tracts of About Time – I’m guessing the last third, where I literally lost the plot – and it will be a better book for it.
I decided to take a week off and enjoy not having to write anything more creative than a shopping list. (Note: normally these are models of creativity with footnotes, appendices and surprising application of nouns. However, at the moment my shopping list consists of nothing more imaginative than mushrooms, ginger ale and scouring pads).
I am only just starting to feel half normal again.
Everything being relative.