I’ve been sent another positive review for Principles of Angels, this one from the Fantasy Book Critic website.
I should probably go surf for some less complimentary reviews to stop me getting ideas above my station, but I’m too busy, what with preparation for the Milford SF workshop week, making headway on the first draft of Guardians of Paradise, and re-reading Consorts of Heaven ahead of next week’s editorial lunch, where my editor’s request for changes should be cushioned by free grub.
Yesterday, it being a rare fine day, I took the mss of Consorts into the garden to read through it. I had just got settled at the table when a shadow overhead made me glance up – then down again as something zipped through my vision. And there, in the middle of page 15, was a large, slightly purplish splat of bird poo, probably Jackdaw.
I’ve referred before to the ‘shit-bird’ that sits on a writer’s shoulder and tells her what she’s writing is shit, but this is the first time I’ve actually had a story physically shat upon. It’s OK, I didn’t take it personally. To be honest I’m just glad it didn’t land on my head.