It could be worse...

Now the due date seemed to be approaching faster than the end of the novel. I started working evenings and weekends, struggling to accommodate the mass of material in my mental hard drive. And finally I reached the punch drunk stage where you think ‘I have no idea if I like any of this any more – maybe I should completely start again with that idea of the gay Viking.’ Somebody once said ‘You don’t finish a novel, you abandon it’ and so it is at the end of such a project that you slip into a sort of numb stupor in which you become vaguely aware that the paramedics from the publisher’s have taken over. You look down and see yourself nodding weakly as the copy-editor points out that one of your characters has changed gender half way through. I don’t think I awoke from my trance until the book’s launch party. One of the top brass at my publishers wandered across and said ‘Congratulations, John. So can we have the next novel from you to publish this time next year?’

Ur
John O´Farells muntra (?) text på Bokboxen. Läs hela där. It´s worth it.