The whole of the novel lies across my kitchen table in an inelegant sprawl reminiscent of a long-legged teenager just in from finals.
Held together with the aforementioned clips, the bulk of the manuscript rests in quite readable font on crisp and new paper.
The last three chapters, however, lie crammed in miniscule script on the back of earlier chapters, as my paper supply ran dry. Chapters 17, 18 and 19, therefore, will require a magnifying glass and possibly tweezers to edit. Well done, me.
Besides that tee-tiny glitch, the printing out of the first draft went remarkably well. Relieved to the point of shock, I followed my book’s lead and committed an inelegant sprawl myself across the couch.
Hard copy days are, well, hard… at least for someone with the mental stability of a spent dandelion in the wind.