The buzz of writing was unlike anything else. Beyond my simple one-paragraph plot, I didn’t know what would happen to my characters – at least not until I was half-way through – and the excitement of finding out kept me glued to my screen.

It took no time for me to finish my first draft and I found myself caught in an unexpected dilemma.

On the one hand, I had learnt from every expert that the bulk of the work comes after the first draft and even (somewhat extreme advice in my opinion) that the trick was to actually burn the first draft and write it all again.

But, on the other hand, in two short months, I had produced a coherent novel with a plot and characters that worked; a beginning, middle and end; joy, laughter and tears; anger, bitterness and deception. I had even managed a sex scene.

I couldn’t help thinking that The Old Orchard was ready, largely because that was what I wanted to believe, but also because, for me, the most difficult thing of all is to look at your own work and to know how to make it better.

It was 62,000 words and, eight months later, the final draft is 86,000. I will talk elsewhere about the editing process, which still remains a mystery to me, but the main lesson was that, on this occasion, I should have listened to what everyone was saying.

A first draft is just that. It is an important step on the way to the finished novel. Nothing more.

I shouldn’t have deluded myself and, above all, I shouldn’t have sent out letters to ten of the agents who were top of my list. And, when one of them asked to see the whole manuscript, I should have realised my mistake and asked for a few months to get the book into better shape.

I have (almost) learnt this lesson, but it is still hard.