I've just bundled up my collection of short stories in manuscript, for a fresh, new outing to the publisher. I've put flame trees on the cover. I know, you're not supposed to send covers. But I've sent flame trees for good luck.The cat seems positive about the whole process. He brought me an extra mouse tonight to celebrate.
Checking, re-ordering and primping the collection has kept me busy for the past week. I experienced that odd feeling, when you read work you've written from a remove, so that it's as if someone else has written it. "Aah, so that's what happens to that character! Nice." That's when a story works, perhaps; when I'm not distracted by how I can change it, or make it better, but instead I'm pulled into its world.
So, the short stories are off in the morning, off to find their way in the world, and I'll get my head back into the novel.
