My new, cool editor contacted me yesterday wondering why I hadn’t responded to his questions about The Buccaneer’s Apprentice. The short answer? I hadn’t actually received his questions about the manuscript. In fact, I’d kind of wondered yesterday morning why I hadn’t heard from him yet.
A tense few minutes followed my response, in which I imagined everything that might be happening in the near future. Things like, Sorry, this isn’t working out, we’re canceling your contract, to Listen, this book sucks. Could you write another by the end of May?, to We like your concept and characters, but could you change the plot and setting and theme in your next draft? All bad things naturally, because lately my imagination has no room for anything else.
But no. New Cool Editor merely wanted to say that the manuscript was spot on, and that he wanted to know if I intended to insert epigraphs from imaginary books at the start of every chapter, the way that I ended up doing for The Glass Maker’s Daughter. And if I could draft up a map, of course. The only change he wanted, in fact, was a slight revamp of the first page. Other than that, he thought it was great.
Which means, of course, that I get to keep the scene in the brothel. And that the hero is essentially the adopted son of a same-sex couple. I like to think of myself as subversive in tiny little ways.
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