From the useless heap of chapters, scenes and scribbled notes, it seems as if book 2 is sorting itself out. I work by cutting and pasting a chapter I know works into a new document, then select chapters to go after it, making notes of plot lines that have been missed or odd coincidences, problems or time issues as I go. I edit each chapter as I go, letting it expand if I need to (I'm much better at cutting than expanding) and adding descriptions, epigraphs where I was putting them in, and solving issues as I go. Add a chapter, edit, make notes. It's a quick process, I've done twenty-five thousand words in three days, and should finish in time for the first editor and agent read in May. It's very satisfying, but a bit terrifying as well. Each time I hit a plot twist that doesn't work, an unfinished strand, I panic a bit, but a few hours thinking (or gardening, or painting, or chatting to the chickens) and the answer pops up. Sadly, an ending hasn't yet, not that the action doesn't end, it's just that book 2 is leaking into book three and I can't see where to cut.
Book 1 is now going to be proof-read by someone else, and the pages also come to me on hard copy for me to read through and correct. It seems OK, I was sent a Word document to look at and all seemed basically good. It's down to typos and grammar now, which means I can't correct a plot or dialogue problem. It's kind of done now, any mistakes are going to be immortalised in the printed book. Sobering thought.
It's been nice to sit in the sun and write and potter and wander around the garden. Lovely job, even though I am raring to go on book 3 and 4!