Oh now she’s completely intolerable to live with. Who needs someone bouncing round the house with excitement? I for one don’t. I’m off to find a corner to sulk in. You might think I’m jealous and I guess the truth is that you’d be right. Well it isn’t fair is it? The world is such a dogist place. Why should we both have been able to submit something?
There’s this scheme called You Write On, which lets writers critique each others work. Anyway, they’ve come up with this scheme where they are going to publish 5,000 books and it worked that the first five thousand who sent them something suitable would be published. Well she’s only managed to send in one of our books. When I say ‘our’, I like to think of all the books we do as being shared responsibility. She’s trying to help me to get my diary published and I in some small way am trying to help her with the ones she writes.
The one she sent in is one she wrote on her own. In fact most of it was written before I was born. Coming back to the point, they’ve accepted it and it’s going to be published in time for Christmas. If panic is the best way of working, she should be very productive indeed. She keeps going round flapping her arms saying “I’ve got to read the contract,” “I’ve got to do a final edit,” “I’ve got to send it in the right format.”
How is a dog to get any rest round here? Now if she’d sent my diary then it would have been an altogether different matter. I can flap my paws and legs around as well as the next dog, but no she still insists we’re going to find a mainstream publisher for that. And if we don’t? Is she just going to be happy that her book’s published and mine isn’t? I’m off to carry on sulking.