Still no noise from Agent Phil (double Oh three feet four inches) regarding the first draft of ‘A-Book-Without-A-Name’ which is probably because the poor bugger has been up to his ears moving house. And his ears are a lot closer to the ground than yours or mine (because he’s only little). So I’m still in limbo: is it any good? Is it a steaming pile of cattle poo? Who knows?
JamesO has offered to read it, in a ‘I’m-just-back-from-a-flashy-holiday-so-nyah’ kind of way, so I’ll have to fire a copy in his direction too. Though he generally considers himself ‘too bright to read crime fiction’, I dare say he’ll lower himself on this occasion ;}#
Don’t remember being so worried about Cold Granite, but then I didn’t have the whole international publication thing to get worked up about. I’ve got a LOT more people to disappoint this time.
Still, mustn’t grumble: at least I’m getting published!