I don’t think I will ever get over that feeling of utter childlike delight when a parcel arrives from my publisher containing copies of my books. There is jumping up and down like a little girl, and there is grinning, and there is The Squee.
I make no apology for it: the day I become blasé about these things, the day being a writer stops being the most insane amount of fun I can have without the aid of a bucket of chocolate custard, you have my permission to shoot me.
Today’s parcel contained my author’s copies of the Spanish edition of Songs of the Earth: Bajo la Hiedra, or Under the Ivy, as they chose to title it.
Really attractive glossy cover, gold embossed – and it has flaps front and back like a hardback. Never seen that before.
Hats off to Minotauro; they’ve made me fall in love with the book all over again.
From time to time, I get emails out of the blue from people – complete strangers – who’ve read Songs of the Earth. So far, none of them have been complaints. Shocker, I know.
