Had a terrific conversation with my agent on Monday about Baby Grand.
One of my most favorite things in the world is hearing her talk about my book — listening to what she got out of it, what she enjoyed, her impressions of the characters, how she feels she knows these people in the same way that I feel I know Mikael Blomkvist and Gregory House, how she defends them, understands them, her excitement at the prospect of a sequel (which there will be). I could stay on the phone with her forever, discussing the make-believe world that I created and that, so far, only a select few of us know about. It makes it all seem so real. In some ways, it reminds me of a parent-teacher conference, a clandestine little meeting where two people, the ones who presumably know her best, discuss a child’s triumphs and trouble spots. And in some ways it reminds me of being in grad school and all the talk of point of view and character development, although there’s no guessing what the author’s motivations are this time.
I’ve got a few more little things (and one big thing that’s giving me agita) to address in the manuscript, and then, my agent says, I should be good to go. (Holy crap!) My deadline for this final round of revisions is Monday, February 7, and, as usual, I’m procrastinating like nobody’s business — scared to death to open the manuscript, scared that I’ll muck it up somehow, scared that I’ve forgotten how to write in the last six weeks. I’ve been cleaning out my desk and doing laundry and doing all the things I hate doing so I don’t have to write. But I know once I’m in there, back in that world, the butterflies will settle and things will begin to make sense again.
What can I say? This is my process. And so far it seems to be working for me.