It’s December, and we had the work Christmas lunch today. (And a rather subdued afternoon afterwards, with a lot of coffee to assist attempts to stay awake . . .)
The Lost Plot comes out in the UK in (checks calendar) five days. (It’s the 9th now in the UK. Don’t judge me for staying up late.) I am in the usual state of delight that a book I’ve written is going to be published – I mean, wow! – and also terror that nobody will like it and I’ll be a dismal failure, etcetera. As ever, impostor syndrome and author paranoia don’t respond very well to common sense and logic and reassurances, however kind they are.
For people in the UK, Goodreads is currently doing a giveaway for copies of The Lost Plot, running up to December 14th.
Other than that, I’m working on edits of book five (and I may be able to share the title and UK cover for that soon – trust me, it’s a beauty), panicking about Christmas stuff, writing cards and organising presents, dealing with the day job, trying to control an unhealthy fascination with bolts of kimono silk on ebay, eyeing my flat and trying not to think about how it needs hoovering, and so on. In other words, the usual.
And playing/singing Christmas carols. Because one of my personal rules is that I don’t indulge in them till we actually hit December and/or Advent. It makes it more fun that way. But now that we are thoroughly into both December and Advent, let’s turn up the volume and put the old favourites on –
Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!
Nowell, sing we loud!
God to-day hath poor folk raised
And cast a-down the proud…