done, not done, undone

A few days ago I submitted my biography of Dorothy L. Sayers to my editors at Oxford University Press. I always find this stage of the book-writing process emotionally complicated. At the moment, while I feel gratified that I have told my story, that I have taken this person in words from the cradle to the grave, I also know that I’m not done. Indeed, just a few hours after I sent the file I got files back: an Author Questionnaire for marketing, the assignment to summarize each chapter of the book for the Oxford Scholarship website.

Later I will get suggestions from my editors, and probably suggestions from peer reviewers, and then later still there will be rounds of copy-editing with many queries, at least some of which I won’t know how to answer. All of this will take months, and I doubt that the book will appear until 2027. The one thing I know for certain is that at the end of the process I will be heartily sick of the book and will never want to think about it again — but I will have to, because there will be interview requests to respond to.

It hasn’t always been like this, at least not for every writer. Consider:

20 September 1935 (approx.): Sayers sends the complete typescript of Gaudy Night to Gollancz.

4 November 1935: Gaudy Night is published.

And remember, this was in the days of mechanical printing: no digital editing or typesetting. All the editing was done by people with pencils, and the typesetting and printing done on a Monotype machine.

The speed and efficiency of the operation meant that Sayers could then immediately turn to whatever she wanted to write next. What a beautiful dream.