Onwards and ... onwards

...cos this is what seems to be happening lately.  Seems I don't have time to blog more than once a week *even though I have PLENTY of  time to Tweet and Facebook and other distractionally things of course* and  although the housework (which is a four-letter word) NEVER gets done anyway, time still seems to be slipping through my ever-ageing fingers.  Nice image.  Wrinkly, papery old lady fingers and... as usual I am digressing.

Anyway... nice stuff  happened this week:
Even though I felt crappy - maybe even because I felt crappy on Tuesday, I started subbing 'Grounded', and...
(apart from the lovely telephone call from Ann Agent, which I don't want to reveal too much about in case it *jinxes* anything.  Not that I'm superstitious or owt.. never have been, touch-wood) I  received a total of 11 requests for sample chapters.  Of course some have already got back saying 'not for us' but still, a  request is a request - I must be doing something right, right?!

I was also told that I'd been chosen by the Chris Evans BBC2/Hay Festival organisers to help judge the entries for childrens (13 and under) 500 words short story competition, and my bundle of stories will be arriving this week... AND...

I had the pleasure of receiving and reading a new book by Sophie Page called 'To Marry a Prince' which was a lovely, light read and did what it said on the cover.  Then I was told I'd won two - yes TWO books... one of which is 'The Hating Game' by lovely writerly friend, Talli Roland - whose blog is FABULOUSO (as is she) and also a book given away BY Talli - such Karma! And winning a book is so thrilling even though it means my piles are getting bigger (of TBR's I mean).

And today, after the momumental kerfuffle in Specsavers with my newly (mis) prescribed varifocals - just don't ask.... I was  delighted to come home to a book sent by Publishers Choc Lit, - we do guest spots on Strictly Writing for some of their authors.  Only this one came with the added bonus of.... a bar of chocolate... (dark with ginger pieces - which,  next to dark with chilli, is my absolute favouritest although I don't know how they could possibly have known... Karma again).

BUT...the cherry on the cake  this week  HAS to be the 'quick e-mail' from Agent 1 (who is still deliberating on Double History) saying that she's started reading Grounded and said that my writing "as usual is like a breath of fresh air".... WHOOOOOOOP!


I can't tell you how many metres I soared on reading and re-and re- and re-reading that!


I have this rare feeling of things beginning to shift slightly and in a good direction... although knowing my luck it could just as easily be indigestion!

I'm going to be published!

...Okay, not in a whole book kinda way, but in a proper, print-on-paper - in a proper National glossy magazine.... and not until the June issue (which is out 5 May if you'd like to add it to that week's grocery list) but enough of the *although*s - this IS FAB NEWS!  My first ever feature and I'm going to be PAID for it and everything!
*Unless you count the years I spent writing features for Trade magazines about Shrink Wrapping and packaging machinery...and I never got this excited about those.  Oh, apart from the one I wrote about the Cadbury's Creme Egg line we installed - which I was VERY proud of - entitled  "Eggs-pertise by *name of company*". 

The piece is going to appear in IT'S FATE! Magazine and I couldn't have done it without my on-line spirit-sister, Deborah Durbin.

It's about the time my Dad predicted the date.. yes DATE - he'd die when he was reading my cards - without knowing what it meant.  And not only that, but he kind of popped back the day before his funeral and gave me a sign - which I'd asked him to do the night we said our farewells.

And I don't want to spoil the excitement for you, so that's all I'm saying.  I'm very encouraged.  The Editor said it was a "lovely account" and I'm delighted!

Plus, the subbing for GROUNDED starts here.....well, Tuesday to be precise.  As previously reported, I have finished, slept on and now, after my ever-supportive little soul-sister, Keris Stainton who kindly read, said she thinks this is going to be "the One" and that she "loved"  this, my 2nd Teenage book, I have the confidence to start making enquiries to Agents. 

So in all, a pretty good place to be, I'd say.

Having a Lovely Time - makes a change!

This week I've had some lovely things happen to me.  Apart from ageing 12 months I mean... which has to happen to have a Birthday, so I guess one cancels out the other.  A bit of Yin-Yang.

I had a very unexpected delivery in the shape of an Amazon-gift-wrapped DVD set of Fawlty Towers  from my oldest (and gayest) friend in the world.  I don't mean he's the oldest person I know (although he IS the gayest, as I don't know any others, apart from his husband... oh, you know what I mean) anyway, we've  known each other since we were 5.  Isn't that lovely?  I think it is.  And so is the fact that we can go for months without any form of contact whatsoever (sometimes years, in fact) and then he can call - a proper telephone call, a little worse the wear for beer and have what HE thinks is a laugh (at my expense).  Which makes me realise that ours is a proper Forever Friends friendship. And even though we're officially grown-ups, I still want to stick my tongue out at him and pour a pint of beer over his head because he manages brings out the petulant child in me.

I also took delivery of a book for review by Dorothy Koomson 'The Woman He Loved Before' and although I felt slightly sorry for it (see last post) having to follow in the wake of the FANTABULOUS 'You Don't Have To Say You Love Me' by Sarra Manning, I was delighted to receive it. 
In fact it filled up the following three days, it was so darned good.  EVEN THOUGH it contained three of my Deadliest Sins in a Book:
* a Prologue - which is the work of the Devil
* Flashbacks (the Devils' spawn)  and
* Diary entries (which formed the flashbacks - so double *aaargh* for me)

But I had my head turned.  Not only was I hooked after the first chapter, I actually couldn't put it down... it gave me right-wrist-sprain trying to keep it up in bed (no sniggering at the back, thank you) and even though I desperately wanted to find out how it ended, I wouldn't let myself.  It was a thoroughly gripping read and if I didn't know the meaning of the word 'page-turner' before, I do now.  Fab book.

For my Birthday on Tuesday, my darling, beautiful daughter presented me with the latest 'Writers and Artists Yearbook' and inscribed inside "THIS will be your year, Mummy" (as she has always insisted and inscribed every year for the past 4) and my beloved husband bought me some lovely CD's (Rumer, Paloma Faith, Bach) and then we double-dated on a trip to the cinema to see 'Paul'.

Which was lovely, and British and funny.  Just how I like it.

I also got a surprise present through the post from my lovely writing 'sister' Deborah Durbin which also made me squeak with delight, belying my advancing years!

I had so many Birthday Wishes on Facebook I could have spent all day sobbing with happiness at people's niceness... and

This morning I met someone from work for a coffee and a bun.  Something trivial to anybody else, but the fact I haven't socialised properly since the accident last April, for me, it meant the world - even though I know I was nervous, twitchy and itching to get back home.  I kept repeating in my head "Dolly Steps".

And now, after a fortnight (and 18 months of writing) of simmering and stirring and seasoning the latest book, I've finally managed to pluck up courage to send the first few chapters and synopsis of 'Grounded' off to The Agent who was interested in the last teenage book.... thinking maybe she'd forgotten about me.  A couple of minutes later she e-mailed back saying how she's looking forward to reading this one, and that the other one is still with the other person she passed it to, to read and comment on.

And the sun's out.

It don't get much better, do it?

It's about time I gave myself a Damned Good Talking To

See that up there?  The blog-banner?  It clearly says "WRITING STUFF" doesn't it?  So why am I not doing what it says on the packet and just getting on with it?  I've given myself so many 'excuses/reasons' that I've actually NOW run out of them...

"I'm waiting for those Agents to get back to me" - what, so you're just going to sit about with your hands under your arse until one of them gives you the Nod are you?  And what if neither of them get back to you this side of June, what then?  Or what if they both get back to you and say 'NO' - are you just going to fling your arms up (from under the arse, obvs) and cave in or are you going to shift some butt RIGHT NOW and get on with your works-in-progress *snort* so that at least you actually HAVE something else to show them?

"It's too late.  I'm too old for all of this, I should have started taking it seriously aged 26 instead of getting drunk and partying at every opportunity" - You had your first story published at 18 and an invitation from a magazine to discuss future commissions at 20... you blew it, kid. But you also KNEW it back then too.  And actually what all that partying did was give you WAY more material to use for when you DID start taking it seriously.  Remember that time you hit a guy so hard at a night club you sent him flying down three flights of stairs and you got banned for three months?  THAT's what I'm talking about.  Now write it!

"There's no space for me out there in publishing land.  It's all been done before, by writers who have far more pizazz,  nouce and spunk than I'm ever likely to have"  Everyone has something different to say - maybe about the same thing but a different WAY of saying it, telling it.  You're right, you're no different or more special than any of the other published writers Out There, but there's no other Debs Riccio that I can see (or Google) so why shouldn't there be a space?  Isn't there space enough for everybody who has something to say?

"The stairs need hoovering, the family need feeding and there's beds to be made." Yeah, right.
 

"I don't believe in myself" That's more like it.  This is fine.  It's understandable.  It's scary, freaky and it's not exactly the simplest of ambitions to pursue and succeed in, is it? It means a lot of dedication, hard work and discipline.  Things that don't come easy to you - especially since God invented Facebook and Twitter and all other manner of distractions.  These are tests of your mettle. And the confidence thing is universal.  Show me an entertainer who doesn't doubt themselves at times and I'll show you a  bit of a Fibber.

"But the hoovering....." See above, girl.   Now just get on with it, you're starting to bore me now.

Captain's Blog: Stardate Eight Twelve Ten

So I’ve been a bit quiet around these parts lately.  I’ve been quiet around most parts actually, don’t take it personally, will you?

I’ve started posts and deleted them, I’ve commented on other Blogger’s posts and deleted them and, like Mr Sinatra, I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried etc... but not found much about anything very amusing, to be honest.

I’ve cancelled my Counselling sessions.  I should be off there now, but last week was my last.  I didn’t feel it was making any difference – it’s not much fun having to drive with shredded nerves, to sit and talk for 50 minutes, leaving in tears,  £20 poorer and having to face mad traffic on the way home again. Not relaxing.  Not at all. In fact stressy I’d say.

Oh, I’ve heard from an Agent - let’s call her Agent#2, shall we?  a couple of weeks ago.  Someone I’d forgotten I’d subbed anything to because it was back in the summer.  She said she liked the partial of the time travelly thing I sent her and wanted to read the rest.  She also told me she remembered the last book I sent her being a “close call”. (This throwaway comment will probably keep me going for the next 12 months… how about having a “close call” and not knowing about it?  To me it had been a simple Rejection, like all the others.)

Anyway, I sent her the rest of the manuscript and cheekily also snuck in the opening chapters of the current teenage thing I’ve nearly finished.  And she mailed back saying thanks and she loved the cheeky opening; she’d get back to me when she’d read the requested book.

And so begins the wait.

Then I heard back from Agent#1 who’d been interested at the beginning of the year; apologising profusely for not getting back to me about the 2^nd rewrite I’d done following her suggestions and comments, and offering more suggestions and comments, and asking if the ending could be changed for a third time.

I commented on her comments and made my own suggestions and she came back telling me they sounded great.

So I’m re-writing the re-written re-write.  Again.

And I thought I’d hate it.  Having to re-arrange plots, character personalities, sub-plots and settings – oh and the tricksy little matter of another different ending!  No mean feat, let me tell you.

But it’s actually put me firmly back in the writing seat.  It’s not plain sailing, but I’m enjoying writing again and I don’t feel like I’m spitting into the wind.

I wonder where this will lead?

It’s the farthest I’ve ever got to on the road to literary representation and I think it’s made of cobblestones; a bit dodgy underfoot and I’m not sure which direction it might make me veer onto.  I may crash and burn (enough already…) or this may be the open road that finally lets me breathe and relax with the joy of a beautiful ride and fantastic scenery.

Oh Analogies how I’ve missed you.

I’ll keep you posted.

If you like.

So - I have Agent-related News

Remember that e-mail from Agent 2 (ignore the James Bond connotations, bear with me) asking me where I was based? And my reply of ‘rather too near the ceiling to catch my breath’?
Well as it’d been a good four weeks since he learnt of my proximity to Luton, I decided that the “No News is Good News” maxim was stretching it a bit and he was probably so unstuffed about letting me down gently that he couldn’t be arsed or else he was still trying to hone a cleverly-worded rejection.
Fledgling writers have rather less optimism than your average person. That’s why we’re fledgling. Like struggling baby birds who want the wings but haven’t quite got the strength behind them to take on the flight we desperately crave.
Although I did allow myself just one other last glimmer of hope and that was the London Book Fair (thank you, Deborah Durbin for once again showing me the end of your particularly encouraging wand, illuminating this fact and time spent being swallowed up by this annual event). Bide my time, my friendly witch calmed me. Bide. I’m good at biding.
Then lo and behold an e-mailed arrived not a few days later. (She’s GOOD).
Which should have come with with an oxygen mask attachment for all the breath I could draw. And I still never open my eyes for a few seconds if I see an Agent's name. I used to be like this with the National Lottery draw – and since we don’t’ do it anymore, we’ve ‘won’ £52.00 on it in the last 12 months (yeah?) I’m still like it with Deal or No Deal. But I’m digressing.
And if Digressing could secure me a book deal I’d be on par with Barbara Cartland by now.
I double clicked. I couldn’t even read it. Just scanned the reply.
Which was not brief by any means. And my first reaction was ‘great – not only does he not like it anymore, he’s going to tell me precisely why he doesn’t like it which will render me and “it” useless in the face of re-subbing in the future because it’s ALL WRONG and CRAP and other words associated with the word ‘Reject’.
*wail*
*inward wail but audible from where I’m sitting*
But... Agent 2 was saying that he still likes the book, it has “a brilliant voice” (not in a Katherine Jenkins way) and a “great concept” and said he'd asked his colleague to have a read who’d made a list of comments, observations, suggestions - who also said  it was “enjoyable, light-hearted and fun”.
I like her.
Woo hoo!
Then I read the list and thought my head would explode starting with a slow bleed from the eyeballs. And after being scraped off the virtual ceiling by my amazing friend, Keris, who is always the first person I turn to at times like... well, every time actually - I re-read it a thousand times and on the thousandth and one time, the magnitude felt less extreme and it all felt a lot less scary.
So, even though the work on it could amount to days - weeks perhaps, of re-writing and re-planning and undoing and unpicking and re-stitching and maybe even a load-bearing wall knocking through with the help of a literary JCB, it IS do-able.
Without affecting the storyline and without compromising the integrity and humour of my lovely lovely characters who I breathed life into and without whom my own life would be so much less fun.
And we all know what come to the Bear who Bides, don’t we?
Oh, and did I forget to mention that I finished my time-travelly book this week too? I did? Well, I did. As you can see from the word-count-ometer thingy over there. So now I have another baby who just needs a nice tidy up and a bit of adorning here and there before she, too, is allowed to see the light of the slushpile. Ah… I knew there was a Ma Walton in me somewhere – I just didn’t plan on the labour pains being quite so protracted!

The Great Wait

Being a bear is something I've aspired to become.  And I've also been known to rub my back up against a doorframe or two in my time so I must be halfway there.
Although not for bear-like qualities such as making excess bodyweight appear lithesome, graceful and appealing (chance would be a fine thing) rather than cumbersome, demoralising and depressing - this is a whole other issue, and one I need to address once all the Easter Eggs are well and truly out of sight and making their way towards their sewage outlets of choice - but rather more for Bear's other qualities such as perseverance, determination, realism, and currently... patience.
Because I've heard it's a virtue.  And virtues are a grand thing to have.  In fact the more you have the more points you get, and we all know what points make, right?
I'm trying not to confuse Anticipation (another virtue?) with Patience.  Because they have totally different rewards. And Anticipation sometimes brings it's worrying and irritating friend,  Excitement, along for the ride too.  Although without the Ex(citement) factor, the Anticipation could quite easily morph into the flip side of the coin and become a desperately morbid shade of Pessimism - which I've always been spectacularly great at.Such a delicate balance.
Patience, however,  brings no such overblown friends along, instead preferring to deliver such feats of normality as breathing steadily, performing back-flips and high-pitched "squeep!"'s at no occasion whatsoever and behaving responsibly and sensibly at all times.  Because that's what Patience is all about.  See that bear?  She's being Patient. Wanna be like Her?   Of course you do/don't.  Delete where applicable.

So it's been four weeks since the Agent asked "where are you based?" and further two or so hours since my reply of "wherever you like" (I didn't really say that but I would've if Id thought it'd make any real difference).  And I've experienced everything from dizzy delight, unabashed elation and self-belief seldom heard of around these parts, followed by a slow but sure descent back down to the place called Earth where it all began.  Perhaps this is another of those 'lessons' that I've heard life has you down for learning.  Maybe it's all a part of the process - the bigger picture - making the ultimate result that much more rewarding....?  I'd like to think so.
And for a kid who thought nothing of waking the entire house up at 3.30am on Christmas Day morning simply because it IS officially morning,  this Patience thing is a difficult candy to savour slowly, especially as the taste is so tempting.
But I'll do it.
I will.
You see, this is where bears get their sore heads from. - the eternal and internal convincing they have to go through to arrive at this picture of Patience.

A Pretty Good Week

It can be a rare old thing, a Pretty Good Week - especially in these lean old Gordon Brown Times.  So I am thoroughly heartened if not a leeetle bit thrilled-to-pant-wetting proportions to announce that 'THIS IS A PRETTY DAMN GOOD WEEK' and it ain't over yet!
Shall I spill?
Okay then.
 I have a lovely friend called Fionnuala who I met on the writing website, WriteWords about 5 years ago.  And apart from being incredibly clever with words and very lovely with her time and an altogether Good Egg, she is also a resident writer at another writing site called Strictly Writing  which I've been following and commenting on for ages.  And this week she e-mailed me to ask me if I'd like to join the Team - of resident Writers!  WRITERS! D'you see what that makes me, people?  A Writer.  A. Writer. And because of this (and the other Pretty Good thing, which follows shortly) I have felt more a Proper Writer this week than I have in my entire life.
I could burst with pride at the nice folks on Strictly inviting me to become a part of their wonderful world.  Seriously - burst at the seams.  Yup, all of 'em.

And the Other Thing?
Well, this afternoon I was e-mailed by the very nice Agent person who is currently reading the full manuscript of "Double History" (have I mentioned this is coming to a bookshop near you soon?  I have?  Well, I'm even more convinced of it now) because he said they're still really enjoying reading the book and where am I based?  Where am I based? WHERE AM I BASED!
Of course I could have told him the truth and said I was jolly close to the rafters in the roof because of the Pretty Good Week I'm having and his mail was the Royal Icing ( none of that water and icing sugar nonsense for a situation like this) on my already damn near perfect cake - but I didn't. I stuck to the geographical description and said I was very glad that he was still liking my baby.  I mean my book.
So, all in all.  A pretty Good Week I'd say.
And I don't say that very often.
At the risk of sounding like a Muppet collecting a slightly previous globe or equivalent, I'd like to thank Keris Stainton, my bestest writerly friend who, over the course of the last 5 years has become more like my younger sister who slaps me occasionally and virtually when I feel like giving up.  And who helped me shape the opening chapters into the exciting frenzy the Agent has clearly already read and enjoyed.
Also, the Overseer of the Cosmic Order I put in about two weeks ago to which I was guided by another lovely writer friend, Deborah Durbin and also to the sender of the Notes from the Universe which keep my head above water and even manage sometimes to make me *squeep* with delight.
I've never been *Here* before and I like it.

This is what I feel like doing!

Major Rewrite reporting for duty...Sir!

So I’ve decided to go for the re-write. At an age where I should be opting for safer, easier, calmer, less-stressful alternatives, I have decided, with the help of some pretty cool writer-friends that instead of just flinging the latest Teenage Thing, ‘Double History’ into the file marked ‘Written, Unwanted but Not Forgotten”) I shall be re-working, re-jigging, re-casting, deleting, introducing and pretty much giving the whole thing a makeover of the highest order.

No mean feat for a gal of indeterminate years.
And I don’t do Mean Feat lightly.
Meat feast, maybe. Mean feat - not so much.

But it will prove things. And I’m all for proving things.
1. I am not a flake (they’re crumbly. I’m not)
2. I can be organised.
3. I can be disciplined.
4. I can deliver.
5. I will invent a 28 hour day.

And, above all, when I was re-reading it and wondering how the heck I could possibly re-route approximately three quarters of it, I felt the original excitement, the warmth and the sheer fun of the whole thing returning to me. It deserves to have some time spent and work done on it.

It’s too easy to just wave it goodbye and put it down to experience. I believe in this book and I’ve never had *wholehearted* belief in anything I’ve written before. But this one calls to me. It reaches out its hand to me and it begs me to take it to the park and push it higher and higher on the swings…
(sound of needle scratching across vinyl)

Watch this space.

Just Like “Dating in the Dark”, only… not.

We caught the tail end of this new delight of viewing pleasure the other night. As if we need even more display of public humiliation and degradation invading our living rooms – wasn’t “Living Like Animals” enough mortification for any viewer?
I like the premise though –I think it says a helluva lot about the way we have these preconceived notions of what levels we aspire to in the search for our perfect mate.

We must all carry around in our heads this incredible idea of perfection and so not only must the personality be amazing, but the face must match the amazingness of the character. And nothing less is actually going to hit the mark. And then you appear on Dating in the Dark.
Those poor fools.

Which leads me nicely onto *this* poor fool (me).
When I submitted my enquiries, tentative synopsis and brightly polished first three chapters to my carefully selected hot hit list of nine agents (now ten actually, thanks Emily) I vowed that this (the third) time round, I would NOT be affected by the rejections that would inevitably come bouncing back. I wouldn’t. I’ve done it before, I was bruised – very nearly bled – but my hurt healed and scabbed over and hardened up my soft spots.

Eeew. But can you tell I *heart* analgoies? Ask anyone. Let’s see how many I can squeeze into this post, shall we?
Anyway, not only was I shocked, following a Friday night splurge of these agents, where I later realised I may very well end up at the bottom of the electronic slush pile over the weekend and my enquiries might never see light of day, to find responses, I was mightily encouraged* to see that three agents were displaying signs of liking what I wrote (sic).

One agent wrote:
“The novel sounds wonderful. By all means send me the first few chapters and a brief synopsis and I will read them and get back to you. Please mark for my attention and 'requested', and enclose a stamped, self addressed envelope it you'll want the pages back.”
Best wishes…”And her very own name! So the words WONDERFUL shine right out at me, followed by SEND ME THE CHAPTERS and MARK FOR MY ATTENTION followed by the lovely BEST WISHES and her FIRST NAME. First! Not Mrs Doodah or Mrs Zippity Doodah. Just Zippity. Like we meet every Tuesday and devour croissants and skinny lattes in Starbucks or something.
OMG!

I couldn’t have had a nicer response if I’d dreamt it, sprinkled fairy dust on it, left it in a warm place to rise for twenty minutes and then watched it turn all golden and glowy before my eager eyes.
I fairly floated on that response alone. And I scrabbled furiously, dizzily to get what she wanted into the post as soon as. I had to be held down from calling Starbucks and making a reservation for next Tuesday.
You see, for me that was the chat-up in the dark. Agent had liked my enquiry mail, my brief outline of the book, seen my writing credentials (all of two sentences) and had liked the whole idea I was “selling” her so much that she was eager to see more.
But then she opened up my Manilla A4 envelope (kissed at the seal by my personal Good Luck charm) and her lights turned on.
She saw something she wasn’t expecting.
Maybe my ears were too sticky-out.
Perhaps my eyes too close together?
Not enough wet-look gel on the ol’ mop.
To tall? Too short? Too wide (v. probably – after all, I’m the “solid” kid on the block, don’t ya know?) Too old (gulp)?
Because after the lights had come on and I was found to be lacking (in which department I’ll probably never know) Agent had packed her suitcase and headed off in the opposite direction and left the building.
The automated response for rejection said:

“Thank you very much for your enquiry regarding your work. We take on new clients very sparingly and in order to do so we have to feel that something is very special indeed. Having considered your enquiry we’re afraid we are not confident we could find you a publisher so we regret that we’re unable to take the matter further. We wish you the best of luck elsewhere.”
No Dear Me, no mention of the title, nothing in the body that explains what wasn’t ‘special’ about it, no encouraging comments on how it could be bettered, and certainly no Best Wishes. And not even from Zippity herself. From a machine.

It’s so hard to pretend this doesn’t have any effect.
I’m clearly wearing the right perfume but somewhere along the way either my fashion sense sucks or the words coming out of my head and landing on the paper are entirley in the wrong order.

Ah, analogies… you'll always be there for me, won't you?

OMG! Drink Me!

This feeling needs to be bottled so that in ‘leaner times’ I can pop back here, have a wee read and remember exactly how much my fingers are tingling, my heart is bubbling and my body is fizzing.
And I’m not even a character in a Chick Lit book although I am portraying some scarily familiar characteristics.
Why?
Because I’ve just got back from my paid job, opened my inbox and received replies from Two of my Top Nine Agents – one asking for a full (“what I’ve read already has made me laugh”), the other a partial (“sounds wonderful”).
In the words of my wonderful webwritingfriend, Keris, OMG! (don’t think that WTF! is warranted somehow though).
OMG!
OMG!
I’ve never had more than a cursory ‘not for us’ before and this, for me, is probably the BEST feeling I’ve had since I got the fuzzies for my gorgeous husband all those years ago.
I can’t go on (and on... like I do) because I have to print off the first three chapters and head over to the Post Office. I even have to mark it for the attention of a particular agent so it gets direct to HER!
OMG!
I want to remember how great this feels.
Even if I never feel the like of it again – even if it never comes to anything and they think the rest of the story is shite – this feeling is blimmin’ brilliant!

Um… did I say OMG!
!