This is something that comes and goes at the moment: the fear that the book the second won’t be anything like as well received as Cold Granite. This is partly because I’ve never actually read Cold Granite and partly because I can’t believe the thing is anywhere near as good as everyone keeps saying. Well, it can’t be can it: I wrote it. (Maybe they’ve all gone mad?)
The trouble with all this enthusiasm for book one is that while I’m writing book two, there’s a fair amount of pressure to make sure it’s as least as good as a book I’ve never read and can’t figure out why everyone likes. OK the pressure is all of my own making, no one from HC is breathing down my neck – far from it. They’ve not even demanded a synopsis or a treatment. I sort of gave them a rough idea of what it was going to be about while quaffing fizzy wine at their offices, and they seem happy with that. Godblessem. So the problem isn’t them, it’s not Agent Phil (Double-Oh-Four-Foot-Three-Inches) and it certainly isn’t the cat. It’s just me.
I suppose most people out there writing books feel the same way. What if it’s a steaming sack of poo? And can I fix it, before anyone else finds out?
Worry, worry, worry, worry, worry, worry, worry.Maybe I’m just being paranoid… Or maybe I’m not being paranoid enough?
Labels: Dying Light