Pop is the noise of the champagne corks popping, for yes, I have finished.

For the time being. I’m sure there’ll be edits and proof-reads and the checking of galleys somewhere along the line, and like poems, novels are probably only abandoned and never really finished. But I can’t see anywhere to make Cold Light better for the time being, which means it is time for me to stop. And be finished.

It’s a peculiar, deflating feeling. A bit blue and ‘is that it?’ when life everywhere else goes on the same.

It seems novels take me about three years. A Kind of Intimacy did, and this one, very roughly, did too. Three years. I should get some sort of certificate. It’s as long as my degree or a PhD or the hard bit of bringing up the Small Fry. And second ones are supposed to be the hardest, so that’s got to be worth something – maybe the posh organic satsumas and not the suspiciously vague supermarket brand ‘citrus’.

I’m done though. Whoop!

Going to spend this afternoon drinking tea and reading the latest issue of Bewilderbliss. I’ve a soft spot for the magazine – issue one and A Kind of Intimacy shared a launch party, I invited them to come and read from issue two at one of my Word Soups (video readings for your viewing pleasure here) and now they’ve asked me to pick a theme for issue three – which I did. Untruth. Fellow Prestonian Andrew Hurley is featured, which is excellent to see.

And then planning readings and workshops for two ‘appearances’ this month. First up, I’ll be reading and speaking at Edge Hill’s Rose Theatre this week – and may give a bit of Cold Light an airing. Seeing as it’s done, and all. And then later in the month on the 22nd together with Jen Hadfield – hosted by the Manchester Centre for New Writing. I’ll be hanging about after both these events, so if you’re a blog reader, come and say hello. 

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