Sunday, 21 October 2007
I've bitched and moaned ad nauseum on this blog about the (to me) interminable wait for the contract for my first novel to arrive. Moments ago I checked mail and found that my agent has forwarded the draft.
It hasn't even registered yet. I've had a strong feeling all week that the time was at hand, but since I've been struggling and floundering around in a state of emotional soup since the offer six months ago, my premonitions probably count for naught.
Now I've got to read it, all seven pages of it, and send the agent my comments. I should receive the signature copies within the week, she says.