I tend to worry. As a novelist, I have a good imagination, and readily imagine what could go wrong in any given situation. You can imagine I've had lots of scope for that in the past sixteen months.
I find this bit from Winnie the Pooh encouraging:
“Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?"
"Supposing it didn't," said Pooh after careful thought.
Good, huh? But my inner editor, entrenched after editing my ten novels, sticks his hand up. 'Wouldn't it be better like this:
