Gone To Print

There comes a stage in the process of writing a book when you can genuinely say “it is done”. Taking Flight has reached that stage.

You might think you’ve reached it when you’ve written the words ‘The End’. This is an illusion. I never actually write The End, so aware am I that The End is Nowhere Near The End – often it is in fact Just About The Beginning.

You send that draft – the result of hours of agonising, window-staring, procrastination, and even the occasional bout of writing – to the editors. Phew. Not your problem any more.

The editors are of course expert at seeing the possibility of what the book might be and guiding you towards realising that untouchable goal. A small but nevertheless essential part of their role is simply that they are Not You. It’s not that you haven’t been self-editing. You have, you really have. Even to start the process is to recognise the existence of your Internal Editor – that absolute bastard who sits on your shoulder, barking ‘NO! THAT’S SHIT! WRITE SOMETHING ELSE!’ every time your fingers so much as graze the keyboard. You must wrestle them to the floor and leave them bound and gagged in the basement before even attempting to start.