Something Novel

I spent several exciting hours this week going over proofs of my novel. Ignatius Press will send me the typeset proofs in early November. Apparently Ceremony of Innocence will come out in early 2013. You read it here first, troops!

How can I describe this novel? Well, it is a thriller. It has strife, politics, philosophy, romance, riots, rivalry, liturgical dance, a Polish priest and the Deutscher Fussball-Bund.

It is not autobiographical. I'm telling you now so you can tell your friends.

By the way, you aren't going to lend your copies to your friends this time, because instead you are going to clutch your many-times-read copies to your bosoms and shout, "No! Buy your own!"

And then you will say, "It's not autobiographical. She said. I read it on her blog."

I cannot stress the importance of this because, ahem, I wrote the first draft before I got married, and the surname of the protagonist is uncomfortably close to my married name. I realized this only while going through the proofs, and had a silent conversation with the protagonist.

Me: Can we change your name?

Protagonist: No.

Me: But now everyone will think you are me.

Protagonist: How stupid. I'm a lot younger than you.

Me: All the same, there will be snickers.

Protagonist: Let them snicker. What do I care?

Me: I'm not thinking of you, for once, but of me.

Protagonist: I thought you were worried people would think I was Hilary.

Me: Yes, but I decided that was far-fetched. It is much more likely people will think you are me.

Protagonist: Well, that could be good. I am cleverer and much more glamorous than you are.

Me: You are much more troubled than I am.

Protagonist: Well, nobody thinks Steven King is The Shining. Incidentally who will play me in the film? If there is a film.

Me: Oh goodie! My favourite game. Hee hee hee! Someone very thin and British. Who is thin and British?

Protagonist: Kate Middleton.

Me: She smiles too much, and she's not an actor anyway.

Protagonist: Tilda Swinton.

Me: Too old.

Protagonist: Helena Bonham Carter.

Me: Oooh! Oooh! She's my favourite but... Hmm... Maybe a weeny bit too... She's older than me, so she's much older than you.

Protagonist: This is all very shallow, Mother.

Me: How old is Keira Knightley?

Protagonist: I haven't the slightest.

Me: I wonder if Keira would do it... Maybe she is too beautiful to be you.

Protagonist: Oh, ta very much.

Eventually someone will discover that the line between creativity and insanity is non-existent, and that when writers have (and lose) arguments with their own creations it is not because we are sensitive, artistic people but because we are insane. If we were sane, we would creatively work on math problems instead and make huge salaries at MIT, etc.