Upon returning to my humble abode, I discovered that a) my room looked like it had been hit by a small explosive device, b) my cats missed me, c) I get a lot of mail in the course of a week, all of which was cascading off my desk and enhancing the appearance of being under siege, d) my cats missed me, e) it is possible to be too damn tired to feel like getting online, f) my cats missed me, and g) Morpheus has a mean right hook. Half of Sunday was lost to the blessed, blessed mists of sleep, where I enjoyed the wonders of not being awake, and my cats enjoyed the wonders of knowing exactly where I was at all times. It's good to be easily satisfied.

Since returning home, I have turned in Rosemary and Rue* with all editorial notes incorporated, started processing the editorial notes on A Local Habitation, processed a bunch of edits on An Artificial Night, and chewed through another twenty pages of Late Eclipses of the Sun. The universe has thus decided to reward me by revealing the identity of my cover artist. Moreover, the universe has decided to reward me by confirming that he's contracted for the first three books, meaning that we'll have an ultra-consistent look and feel to the volumes. (This is the part where I faint from joy.) Best of all, I don't have to try keeping it a secret, which might cause me to actually explode -- I have permission from DAW to share the glory. I think this is probably because they don't want me to try holding my breath for however long. Are you curious? Do you wanna knoooooooow?

Well, click here, and you can find out for yourself.

Yes.

YES.

THAT IS THE MAN WHO GETS TO DRAW TOBY.

I realize that I'm supposed to be cool and professional and above dancing around waving my hands in the air and screaming. I am sorry to say that I have not yet achieved that level of zen, and am, instead, dancing around waving my hands in the air and screaming. It's fun! You should give it a try. And seriously, look around the galleries, and just marvel at how insanely lucky I am to be working with this publisher. I have total faith that my cover art is going to be the kind that gets it right, and that's just amazing.

Best. Monday. Ever.

(*I know I keep saying that, but dude, you have no idea how nice it is to know that it's not pending anything anymore -- it's gone -- and I can now treat the text as canon, rather than some sort of weird Schrodinger's canon. 'The book is neither alive nor dead until your editor opens the file.' The file has been opened. The book is alive. We can begin sending out invitations to the birthday party.)

Ahem.

I have just -- I mean, within the past fifteen minutes 'just' -- finished the first pass revisions on Late Eclipses of the Sun, the fourth book* in the Chronicles of October Daye. That's several hundred pages of text that I have now pummeled to within an inch of its text-y little life. Since I haven't closed the proofing pool on An Artificial Night yet, this book gets to go to bed and mellow for about a week, like fine wine. Tomorrow, I'll start processing Brooke's truly epic edits on Newsflesh. For right now, however...

For right now, I shall CELEBRATE MY TRIUMPH by opening a can of peas, getting a Diet Dr Pepper, finding my art supplies, and going into the back of the house to watch crappy horror movies and ink. Because that's just how we roll around these parts.

Tomorrow, there will be zombies. Tomorrow, poor Clady may actually get my attention focused her way again. Tomorrow, I will consider -- seriously consider -- turning my attention back towards Grace, Chastity, and their little homovore problem. But that's all tomorrow. Tonight, I bask in the glow of my success. Tonight, I consume legumes.

Tonight, I watch TV.

(*This is the first book not covered by my current contract. Just FYI.)