Always a weird thing to print up a manuscript for the first time. This book was written over a year ago and very fortunately picked up a few months after that, but I'd never actually printed the dang thing up. Now that the time has come to embark on some rather serious edits, it seemed important to have an old-fashioned paper copy of the big bugger to work with. At 125k, it's the longest book I've ever written. That's peanuts for Steve King or George RR Martin, but for me it's pretty substantial. It won't make it to press at that shaggy length, though; there'll have to be some cuts and since I've had plenty of time to divorce myself from my delusions of grandeur, the sort every (or most?) writers feel upon completion of a book, I may prune the hell out of this until all that's left is a haiku. Let's hope not. Looking closely, you can see an empty bottle of wine and a trio of baby soothers on the table — these, I've found, are vital balms in the life of a new parent. The wasabi peanuts not so much, though they taste lovely.
All best, Craig.