Good news!
I’ve heard from my publisher and all systems are go! My novel is now ready, copies are winging their way to me in the post and it should show up on Amazon – and no doubt other booksellers – this evening. Hoorah! It’s superb news, and after the shitty year I’ve had so far it is more than welcome. I’m glad, but feel I should actually be more excited than I am.
My happiness is nowhere near cartwheel proportions, I haven’t sung or whistled with glee. In fact I haven’t even told anyone yet.
I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’ve become a colder person over time, perhaps the various worries I have in my life have robbed me of the ability to really derive joy from anything. I feel like I should be bouncing up and down – isn’t that what normal people do when they have a book published? – but although I feel somewhat uplifted, that sense of joy seems to be lacking to me. I’m happy, but want to feel happier and yet somehow that feeling eludes me.
No dreams last night, thank god! Although I can’t believe the universe has started to take pity on me.
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