This time last year I was deep into the novel, working with my line editor in London…
An example of a photo you’d take while waiting to receive your editor’s daily notes – how could anyone question the literary output of one who would wear such socks? Now you see exactly why I need an editor, a little governing is always a good idea faced with baffling sartorial license — not to mention the liberties I take with the English language — I know I’ve mentioned this before, but my poetic license? Revoked.
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