I’ve survived my festival summer. It was good, if occasionally damp: I’ve heard some great bands, met some interesting people, drunk far too much cider and generally had fun. Nearly everything I own got muddy at some point.
On the last day of the last festival I also met up with my editor for tea. I only managed this because I was commuting to that festival from home and she happened to be down in Hampshire on other business. Although not camping meant I had access to facilities such as a proper bed and a shower, this was day five of the third consecutive festival, so I was not at my best.
She turned out to be very sympathetic to my less-than-sparkling state, confessing that she is actually a second generation folkie and fellow survivor of the ‘Morris pit’ (like a mosh pit only with fiddles and bells). Cakes were consumed (I’ve also eaten far too much cake over the last few weeks), and then the discussion turned to Guardians of Paradise.
I’m delighted to report that she is, overall, very pleased with the book. Changes are required, but from our initial discussion it became obvious they aren’t on the scale of those needed to whip Consorts of Heaven into shape. This may be partly because Guardians is far more of a traditional space opera. When we I started talking about the cover art (I’m lucky enough to get a lot of input into my covers), and I mentioned a spaceship over-flying the city where some of the action takes place (not one of the Three Cities, in case you’re wondering) she said, ‘Oh good! Finally, a spaceship!’
I’ve now got her notes (one and a half pages as compared to the 14 pages I had for Consorts), and today I’ll start to work through them and plan the rewrites. After, that is, I’ve put on another load of washing.