When you decide to solo a really large book, you are giving a huge portion of your life to something. The only reason it isn’t daunting is because you carefully conspire with yourself not to notice what you are doing.
I’ve just finished The Gladstone Colony, other than a couple of hours of edits. In the time it’s taken me, my life has changed enormously. My tiny daughter was born, and learned words, and now she can walk if you lend her a single finger to hold onto for confidence. When I started The Gladstone Colony, I don’t think I even knew what her name was. In among all of that, my way of unwinding was by recording a book which, perhaps, no-one else will ever want to listen to. It’s a city history, and that means the thousands of Americans and British people who flood in to listen to my little parts in Shakespeare or my ghosts stories, they’ll just skip this and look for something else. Still, a solo can be a year, and you don’t really notice, until you choose another book, and think “What will my life be like when I’ve finished this?”
Time for my biggest solo yet: the last two volumes of Clausewitz’s opus On War.