smokingboot

Well, there it is, my little book. Today I have gone over the proofs; only one serious amendment needed, lots of typos though. How I am supposed to add my changes when the thing's been sent to me as a pdf I've no clue. Guess I'll just email the list across.

It has been edited very gently indeed.

Many months have passed since I looked at the manuscript. Now I see with fresh eyes its weaknesses and flaws, glitches I cannot remove without major rewriting, and I wouldn't want to do that. It is what it is, and I am astonished by it.

What a pretty filigree it is, cold and delicate and intense.

I read on someone's lj recently a quote from Chesterton about how a bad book tells you about its author. By such criteria, The Spider's Bride must be a very good book,* because no climate could be further from me than this snowflake construct. This is not me, the lacemaker who put this together should be a part reptile girl with fragile features and luminous eyes. Her hair should be black, her body consumptively thin, and her room full of dolls and spiders with a decapitated My Little Pony in the corner. She shouldn't make it past her teens - the brat is clearly mad and will be dangerous by then. We'll know it's happening when her eyebrows meet in the middle and she renames herself after a poisonous plant.

Tomorrow I will send the proofs back with corrections. Today, I wonder who this woman is I see in the mirror, who wrote a strange little story with a lot of help from friends, seen and unseen. Cos for all my love of The Spider's Bride, I just don't recognise her.

*Or perhaps Chesterton was just talking more unmitigated rubbish than usual.