Blimey. A miniature Hinks has arrived. My world suddenly revolves around a tiny, fractious, humanoid shrimp. Any thoughts of writing have gone out of the window as I spend my (completely nocturnal) existence fawning over his pouting little face and dodging his bodily fluids. We’ve named him Arthur and he’s taken on the mantle of kingship quite happily – issuing royal decrees with a haughty expression and a tiny clenched fist. A friend of mine said parenthood felt like being taken apart, atom by atom, then reassembled as something completely new. I’m only a week in, but I can already see what he means. I feel a bit like Darius v.2.
I’ve haggled with my editor, the infamous Nick Kyme, for a writing break while I focus on cooing, but in a few weeks, Arthur-willing, I’ll crack on with the second Orion novel, The Tears of Isha. The first part of the trilogy is only just going to print and won’t hit the shops for a few months yet, so I’m starting book two without any idea what people thought of the first one. That feels a bit odd but it’s probably for the best as reviews – good or bad – tend to throw me right off track. I’ve dedicated The Vaults of Winter to the boy Hinks, so it should be guaranteed at least one good review – even if it is in 15 years’ time.