It’s Bournemouth, UK. We have a couple of millimetres of snow and the primary and senior schools have shut. Plus point: I don’t have to get out of bed yet. Negative: I’m going to have to take my two youngest to my hairdressing appointment.

I’m not sleeping well; I am too excited about Saturday. My writing mate Rachel and I are going up to London for the Writer’s Workshop ‘Getting Published’ Day.

There’s the going up to the Capital thing- on a train- without children. That would be quite thrilling enough for two mums usually sandwiched between school runs. But we’re going to meet with other people like us — obsessed by their novels and worried they’re delusional. And receive face-to-face objective advice on our work. And that’s before the seminars and insider tips.

I must be growing a thicker hide, looking forward to the critique. But the book doctor I’ve been assigned has an excellent reputation, for kindness as well as helpful comments. And our appointment is early on in the day. By 10 o’clock, I’ll know what she thinks is working and what is not. I can then enjoy the rest of the event.

As a bonus, I’ve discovered I’ve been selected for ‘Slushpile Live’. In my case, I read my synopsis aloud in front of an industry panel and listen to their reactions with the rest of the audience. I practised it last night in front of my husband, (along with listening graciously to criticism.) I’ll try to remember it’s only a synopsis. These things can be reworked much more easily than 80,000 words of a novel.

And if they don’t jump up and down demanding to see my full manuscript, I’m hoping they’ll like my hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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