At the request of Mr S, this post is not about gin. He pointed out that gin has been mentioned quite regularly in my last missives, and was concerned that you, my gentle readers, may start to become concerned. So, do not fear, I shall not mention gin, not even once.
We decamped to London for a few days, which was rather nice for a change. We’ve been busily writing away for weeks down in Darkest Dorset and it was lovely to see some friends, wash our hair, put on matching socks and venture into the outside world. I had breakfast with the charming Henry, publicist, columnist and breakfast expert at Sceptre. I believe every publisher has a sales team, marketing, editorial staff and a breakfast guru. We discussed various routes for publicity; they mostly revolve around book groups and cake. I believe there is to be lots of cake. But, then Mr R is definitely a book to eat cake to. I love eating cake while reading. Biscuits can be more tricky. Those hard crumbs get lodged in the page folds.
Jocasta is completing the final nudges on the edit. It’s down to odd word changes here and there. A bigger break between scenes. She’s spotted another repetition. A reader has queried the use of the word ‘whiteout’ in 1952. (Fine, J. checked in the Big Dictionary (kept next to the breakfast expert in publishing houses) and ‘whiteout’ was first used in 1946). Hopefully, next week it will be really and truly and finally finished. Though probably not.