'Shed'-ding a tear

Haven't posted here for a little while. Got my latest novel back from the printer through the week - my fifteen complimentary author copies, that is. So I drank champagne and waltzed my six year old son around the kitchen as I sang, 'Mack the Knife'. This would have been traumatic for my child as I couldn't hit a note even with the assistance of a trained sniper. Am in the process of organsing the official launch, and have organised a few signings. On Saturday, my husband sat in his shed with a copy. Presently I called out, 'How's it going?'

He replied, 'Well, I don't want to stop reading.'

That's good, for a writer. For a wife, it's not so good because it means the shed isn't getting tidied, which was his allocated weekend chore.

He eventually emerged from the squalid hovel that he calls his shed, with tears in his eyes. He said, 'It's brilliant. I loved it. I'm so proud of you.'

So maybe 'Abernethy' (Zeus Publications, www.zeus-publications.com) will be the making of me, and the paying off of the mortgage, and the university education of my children, who knows? I guess it depends on how many people like coming of age with a touch of the supernatural (a talking beagle).

The shed remains a fright, however.