Hmmm. I have never in my life had my arse licked, not even for one second, and I would feel hugely uncomfortable if it all started now. For the last few years, I have done hideously bad jobs that don't usualy generate any kind of respect (cleaning mansions, for example; looking after the children of rich people while rich people had lunch or went shopping). Usually, if friends of the rich people came over and the kids were sleeping, I was banished to another room. Now and then, someone who saw themselves as kind to the poor would condescend to ask me a few sociable questions, and if I said I was writing a novel and had been taken on by an agent, I suddenly became worthwhile, or, for some reason, they got kind of angry. ('How dare a servant be literate? This goes against God's will.'
Anyway, I like to think it would take an awful lot of that 'Your book's so wondeful' crap for me to fall for it. But then again, I wouldn't mind being told it's alright, or at least, that someone has enjoyed it. I hope I do never begin to believe mine is the best book in the world. I never believed in Santa, despite being told ALL the time that he was real - it simply seemed impossible. But I do know how desperately we all cling to hope that the thing we've spent years creating is what we wanted it to be - ie utterly brilliant. But I generally do find compliments about my work hard to take, which then makes me look like a dickhead cos I say, 'Oh, don't be so silly. It's a load of crap.' And then they all think that's
false modesty and that I'm an arogant arsehole.
And once again, I'm leaping ahead of myself. I haven't even got a deal.
Sarah