Approving the Typesetting: The Excited Child and the Drains of Adulthood

Heads up, contains a teeny teaser!

What a moment, being sent an electronic replica of the first few pages of your debut novel to approve (or disapprove of) the typesetting. You open the PDF, set the page view to display as if you had just peeled back the pristine, never-before-opened cover of your first paperback to roll off the print. That beautifully nostalgic aroma that takes you back to every good book you’ve ever read is missing, but we’ve all got something we can pull off the shelf to really set the scene, yes?

I imagined this to be the first butterfly-evoking triumphant moment in a long line of conquerings – post handing my manuscript baby to another’s arms – but the truth is, with the demands of real life buzzing like a hornet’s nest in my ears, the moment felt flat. Deflated. The lame bouncy castle that snidely laughs at all the disappointed partygoers with cheesy feet in grubby ankle socks. Hahaha, Jog on!

I know. Diddums. Poor me, right?

Bottom line is, I’m chuffed with what I see. My overactive imagination fabricated these phantoms from mere seedlings, nurturing them in the ecosystem of my mind until they proceeded to torment my thoughts with their own life events. I aided these developing characters, putting their stories into words, and now with the much-appreciated assistance of Grosvenor House Publishing Limited, those words are being etched into physical immortality.

To me, the typesetting is perfect, and as surly as the Earth’s mass keeps its parasites close to its loving bosom, my soles will free its rugged crust once I receive ‘Hell’s Mouth’ in its elegant and simplistic cuboidal glory, and indulgently fan its hydrogen peroxide, alkyl ketene dimer, and wood pulp scented pages under my nose. With this mammoth achievement my mood will undoubtedly brighten. But fear not, readers of a not so sweetness and light nature, the darkness in me will always prevail.