So it’s not everyday that the first copies of your novel arrive by courier in a package from your publisher. When you’ve dreamed of that moment for a long time, you somehow expect champagne corks, orchestras, double air kisses from the neighbours. The reality is, however, that it’s just another in a long line of milestones that inevitably get overtaken by dinnertime, or homework, or a scraped knee; each a little anti-climax that go towards building a career in writing novels.
But I’ll take them. They’re MY anti-climaxes after all.
So here’s the latest one.
Now I’m off to tackle the ironing.