Yesterday I finished the round of edits I’ve been working on since mid-October and sent them over to my agent. (If there comes a time when it feels less exciting to use the words ‘my agent’, please know that I haven’t yet reached it.) These past six weeks I’ve been sitting at my desk each morning as endless rain comes down outside, moving between the years 1944, 1953 and 2002. I’ve been working on strengthening intentions, deepening emotion and creating suspense, all with the hope of building an intangible sense of ‘unputdownability’.
On Building a Novel, Layer by Layer
On Building a Novel, Layer by Layer
On Building a Novel, Layer by Layer
Yesterday I finished the round of edits I’ve been working on since mid-October and sent them over to my agent. (If there comes a time when it feels less exciting to use the words ‘my agent’, please know that I haven’t yet reached it.) These past six weeks I’ve been sitting at my desk each morning as endless rain comes down outside, moving between the years 1944, 1953 and 2002. I’ve been working on strengthening intentions, deepening emotion and creating suspense, all with the hope of building an intangible sense of ‘unputdownability’.