Let it not be said that I treated myself to any kind of well-earned rest, having finished the proof-read of The Adamantine Palace and the first draft of King of the Crags all in the same month. No indeed, for I have hereby this day commenced on The Order of the Scales, despite stringent vows not to until at least January.

Bah.

Although there’s something to be said for getting on to the last book of the three. A ‘book one’s job is to loudly kick the door to the party down and shout stuff along the lines of “Hey! Y’all! Look at me!” and other such subtlties. A ‘book three’ gets to run out into the back garden with a fistful of fireworks a go “Hey! Look at what I brought!” and generally make as big an arse of itself as it likes on the grounds that by that stage everyone has either gone home or is so drunk they really don’t care. Poor old ‘book two’ is stuck in the middle and has to mingle its way around the party, introducing itself and getting to know people, making friends and being vaguely apologetic for the mess it made of the door on the way in, while all the time having to be extra careful about the bucket of fireworks it brought with it in case one catches a spark from someone’s cigarette and goes off accidentally in a crowded hall.

I now have this deep dread that none of the above makes any sense at all.

<synopsis>Middle books. Tricky buggers.</synopsis>

<sigh>

Maybe I should just go to bed.