One step forwards, half a dozen back

Ah yes, just when I thought it was safe to go back into the water, the sinister notes of a double bass sound and everyone fills their swimming trunks with dread. And other less-wholesome things. For today the page proofs for BROKEN SKIN have been delivered to Casa MacBride, by a rather frightened looking delivery man. It might have been because I was still in my jammies and dressing gown, or it might have been the suspiciously lobotomy-like patch of white bandage on my forehead, but something had him spooked.

Now I come to think of it, I think he crossed himself on the sprint back to his big white van, vowing never to touch another drop again.

So, rather than forging ahead, I'm forging behind (which sounds rude, but isn't), trying to make sure that I've not screwed anything up in the book before it hits the printers. Mind you, going on past experience I'll miss something -- I always do.

But I suppose it'll give the back of my head some time to work on the things I've been thinking up in my more lucid periods this week. I enjoyed embroiling PC John 'Spanky' Rickards in the third book and I'm thinking of doing the same thing to someone(s) else in the fourth. Only trouble is that I know this kind of thing can rapidly degenerate into an in joke that's funny for about three people and makes no sodding sense to anyone else. Which is fine, only as long as it doesn't distract from the story.

Anyway, in other news I see that the great V McD's GRAVE TATTOO has won the <b>Portico Prize for Fiction</b>! Which is a strange coincidence, as I just finished reading that very book not half an hour ago: very inventive and different and damn that rotten Fifer if she doesn't come up with some bloody clever stuff. Who says coming from a long line of people who live underground in t'mines, breathing linoleum fumes and reading the Sunday Post is bad for you?

Congratulations to Val on yet another trophy to dust ;}#