Fell over the new St. Martin’s Press catalogue thing today. How odd to see someone else writing a synopsis to the book. The weird things that stick in other people’s head from those four hundred and twenty pages, rather than my own, pretty fuzzy recollections. (For some unfathomable reason, Fiona has started looking at me, grinning, saying: “Watson was in her bra and pants!” and dissolving into fits of the giggles. Previous to this, her favourite quote from my work was “Bottoms, bottoms, tee-hee-hee…” Classy stuff, no?) I suppose this is what happens when the book finally starts to get out there. Until now it’s felt like a pretty personal thing, but this finally makes me appreciate that as soon as it leaves my head, goes down on paper and ventures out into the big, bad world, it acquires a life of its own.
And the catalogue has a photo as well, where I look like a myopic walrus. Ah… the joys of taking your own photo in the garden with a borrowed digital camera. Gotta love it.
Labels: Cold Granite