I’m trying to focus on writing a short romance for an anthology, but at the back of my mind, all I can think about is: ‘Did Maureen skip to the end to find out the answer to a particular question?’ (she’s been critiquing my work, so she’s had a head start), ‘What do they think?’, ‘Do they like it?’, ‘How much?’ and ‘Are there any typos?’
It’s a mix of unsettling, excruciating (okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit), exciting, nail-biting (my nails are rather ragged) and edge-of-the-seat feelings all at once. Can you relate?
I’ve been in their position before. I’ve been a beta reader for Lily Malone and Louise Allan. I’ll bet they felt like I do now. For a beta reader, it’s a giant privilege to be asked to read someone’s manuscript, but you also have to fit reading that manuscript in with the rest of your life.
I get it. It’s not all about my book.
My patient impatience reminded me of a song my sister and I used to listen to when we were kids (don’t blame us, Mum bought the record). I can sing it word for word … well, the chorus, anyway:
I’m going to sing this every time I wonder where Maureen’s up to, if Teena liked the goose part and if Lily thinks the story needs more love scenes. Obviously, I’ll sing it in my head. Obviously.