Island Life, Word Birds & Process #11
In the absence of any other ideas for a blog post, I may as well. (The editing is the editing is the editing – a process and so forth and going okay, thank you kindly.)
Ask anyone who knows me – blowing my own trumpet isn’t what I do best. It has nothing to do with false modesty – I simply prefer a low profile. Fatal for a writer, or so many of my writer friends insist.
So, here we go.
I know – it’s a tuba – I like the swimming motif and in any case, if I’m going to do this, I may as well make a proper noise.
There are some truly lovely reviews around for Ghostbird. Not only on Amazon – I keep finding them in other places. (I don’t do Goodreads but people tell me so I know they’re there.) Each and everyone of them delights and amazes me. Not least because this whole review thing is, in addition to being gratifying, necessary. (Particularly on Amazon, who it seems has a power Judge Dredd can only aspire to…)
The latest one was written by a close friend – a beloved. He is no sycophant and had he not enjoyed my book, he would have politely moved on. He’s also smart and witty and young – so I often don’t have a clue – for instance – what his FB status means. (Probably for the best, frankly.) I do know his understanding of my world – the world of magical possibility and uncompromising feminism – never fails to please and impress me.
I shan’t post the entire review – you can read all of them here if you choose. (See? I can do self-promotion!) This is the bit I like best:
Carol Lovekin’s superb prose evokes a peculiar melancholy and at times I found myself re-reading a line several times in order to savour a particularly choice cut of language.
When I read a really good book I often do this, but the idea that someone would go back and reread a line I’ve written genuinely astounds me. And I am oddly content and charmed by ‘melancholy…’