So, you’ve found your way through the treacherous forests, transversed the scorching deserts and scaled the tallest mountains, and now, in the distance, you see a light.
It could be a wondrous and mysterious town of weirdly shaped logs in a constant state of burning down (or up as it might be). It’s more likely to be a campfire.
There is some argument over what kind of people would be camping all the way out here, on the outskirts of the explored lands, when someone in your party quips “well, we’re here, aren’t we?”
Hard to argue with that. I can’t guarantee who, or what, you’ll find sharing that warm light in the darkness, but one thing you can be certain of … whoever they were, they won’t be burning books.
The authors at DQ, without whom there would be no DQ. They’d be an eclectic bunch, if it weren’t for the fact that, atm, they consists of a number smaller than, let’s say two.
Of course, that isn’t counting the muses in question – or, in my case, muse – singular. Trust me, one is plenty. They’re tricksy little blighters, your average muse.
Our brave and skilled editors hunt fearlessly the errant commas, grammarsites and common bookworms with equal aplomb. Their expertise in understanding the curious chronological time-jumps, external universes of ‘might have beens’ and the general confusion that is a manuscript at any stage before it is published, should not be underestimated.
On par with a master editor comes the artist. Someone who can take the excited ramblings of a thousand and one words that the writer say they’re looking for and, with a wave of a magical brush (honestly, all artists carry these … no, really) turn their words into the images that the writer ‘wanted’ but didn’t know how to describe and certainly didn’t know how to paint.