Random Thoughts on the New Year

Ack. I'm blogging. I knew this day would come. I've dreaded it. And now that it's here, it's just as bad as I'd feared. I have nothing planned to say and yet the compulsion to ramble on and on and on and on and on and on and - where was I? Oh, yes. Rambling.

The thing is, the latest draft of my manuscript is with my editor now, and so, for a fleeting moment, I am free. But it won't last. Presently the phone will ring or an email will arrive, and I will not be free. I will have work to do. Maybe the sequel is boring. Maybe it is too creepy. Perhaps it will make grownups fretful. Perhaps it will give impressionable children dangerous ideas about the proper use of "free time". I will be asked to make changes, minor alterations, small - oh, infinitesimally tiny edits. And all for the good of the reader. Nay, for the safety and longevity of the reader. What if a child, reading my book, is inspired to mayhem? What if a girl, perhaps ten or twelve years old, decides to delve into history and see for herself what those pesky Fenians were up to in the late nineteenth century? What if a boy, 11, decides to create his own invisible ink, or send secret messages using a complicated cipher? The responsibilities of an author, a children's author are immense.

Or not. Maybe all I do is open a door. I hope it's an interesting door; I hope it leads to a world that children will enjoy visiting. I've worked hard and my fingers are crossed but I don't know. The editor is wonderful and kind and she will try to help me fix problems and make the manuscript better. But I won't truly know if I've succeeded until the book is published and readers find me and email me and tell me what they think.

Just wondering whether this sequel will work has set my teeth on edge. My brain hurts. I need tea.

Will post more later.