It was a small ping and a faint one at that, but at least I was at my desk to enjoy it, which was good because it has been one of those wrestling the wrong end of the elephant mornings. I have reached a point in the first draft, 3000 words from finishing, where I can already see what needs to be done in the second, but I don't want to stop before I reach an end. On the other hand do I just want to write on for the sake of it?
It won't come to that. I shall solve the problem that arisen for my plotting, while I am taken up with the diversion of the ping. Happy sound that even outshines the Robin singing in the garden. We are both two notes short of Spring!
The small ping? A request by email from an agent to see all of The Key to Finlac. A glimmer.
I have been printing off the manuscript; it was inevitable that I run out of ink.
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