Four hours working on the new book this morning. Not all writing. Quite a lot of fiddling and mapping, sketching out characters, plot and sub-plot; all a bit hazy. A school yard imagined - scenes taken from then and now. New people. A slightly different way of working for me and in between time delving into Scrivener for target word-count features; things I pretend will make me write to a deadline.
And then this afternoon, I turn my attentions towards agents. A new honed-down synopsis. One side of A4. A simpler autobiography. An email of introduction. (I love me, I love me not).
Three times I revise the package; three times I send it off. It's going so well, I send a fourth. Never get carried away by the moment!
The fourth email with attachments (Version Two) wings its way to a charming, unsuspecting person I have sent version one to four weeks before! I end up flustered (like the numbers in the previous sentence) and send an apology hard on the heels of my first email. "Just ignore me!" it says. Red faced. Hot under the collar.
Why do I feel like Adrian Mole trying to seduce Pandora?
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