The signing

I occupied 2001 and 2002 writing it and a couple more years tinkering with it whilst querying without success most of the usual publishing / agenting suspects. Then I dropped it whilst writing my next. But now, finally, I can hold the brand new, bright and shiny covered thing in my hands. I can fondle my new baby. 'It's a boy' says the midwife. It's a book, say I.
Tomorrow's the day my novel More Deaths Than One is cast to the four winds and the big wide world, starting with a four hour signing session at the little bookshop in our local village of Gairloch.
You can drink a hell of a lot of cappuchinos whilst sitting by a pile of your books trying to seem unconcerned / inconspicuous as the punters come in and walk out with barely a glance. That's the nightmare.
The reality is that at least some of the folk in this isolated outpost of the Scottish Highlands will come in and chat (we all do chatting, big time, around here) and a few will actually pay over £8.99 of their hard earned money and will read of the epic adventures of one Thomas Thornton. Ah, Thomas! How many very early mornings have I pondered over you, felt your responses to that which I have made happen, deliberated long and hard over your past and your present and your future.

Anyway, tomorrow ... I'll let you know

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