THE EDINBURGH BOOK FESTIVAL IS NIGHISH

This must either be the height of laziness or else a supreme example of good time-management skills. I am linking to a post of my own, over on my other blog, Ghostlygalleon, which is where I go to say things that have no bearing at all on the art/skill/desperation of becoming published. Yes, I do occasionally say things that fall into this category. I know you think I live and breathe only to satisfy you, but I occasionally don't.

I do, in fact, have a life.

Not that you'd know it from that particular Ghostlygalleon post. But it explains why over the next month I will be less than usually coherent or pointful. I will regularly be full of chocolate, more than occasionally displaying signs of having had a glass or two, frequently not know what on earth I'm doing, often pretending to recognise the person who is speaking to me, but mostly having a stimulating and glorious time in the eternal sunshine of the Edinburgh Book Festival. Sometimes my feet will be silently sore from having been squeezed into gorgeous shoes. Sometimes I will wish I hadn't walked into the Yurt. (See the afore-mentioned post if you don't know what the Yurt is.) Sometimes my self-esteem will be bruised from having had someone say something crap to me. Or mollified by someone saying something unreasonably flattering. Sometimes, I will be buoyed up by seeing someone buy one of my books (because I will be hiding behind a pillar waiting for this to happen, and will then leap on them and threaten to sign it quickly in case they are thinking of changing their minds.)

Please come. Please speak to me. Please, if possible, say something nice. You don't have to give me chocolate - I'm much cheaper than that.