According to my big list* of holidays, today is a holiday that's very near and dear to my heart. Not quite as near and dear as Virus Appreciation Day (October 3rd), Waiting For The Barbarians Day (November 4th), or Cuckoo Warning Day (June 21st), but still both near and dear.

Today is Australia Day.

Today we celebrate the fact that Australia exists, the fact that Australia is full of things that want to make us all die, and the fact that Australia pretty much hates the human race. Specific things to celebrate about Australia include venomous snakes, spiders the size of dinner plates, marsupials, really interesting money, the koala (which will totally rip your face off if you poke at it), and the cone snail, which is the size of a man's thumb and can kill you extremely dead. This is why you do not fuck around with the native wildlife of Australia.

Tonight I will continue my celebration by watching several episodes of H2O: Just Add Water, an Australian teen sitcom about three girls who wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time and wind up getting turned into mermaids. It sounds incredibly twee, but even Chloe -- the wuss of the group -- would kick Hannah Montana's ass without so much as breaking a nail. In Australia, even the kiddie TV can kill you. And next year, I'll celebrate Australia Day by actually going to Melbourne, Australia, for the glory of WorldCon.

Thank you for existing, Australia! Today is your day. Your venomous, deadly, kicking-your-ass, being eaten by koalas day.

Hooray Australia!

(*I seriously have a holiday for every single day of the year, and sometimes more than one. Because the world needs more to celebrate.)

A clip of me speaking during my BayCon 2006 concert (the year I was Toastmistress) just came on my iTunes, which is eternally set to shuffle:

"To say that we're eclectic is a little bit of an over-statement...understatement...it's a statement. I'm wearing three-inch heels and I just ran through the whole hotel in them, so really, I get to make any statement I want."

Sometimes it's good to be a Halloweentown Disney Princess. In other news, word of my publication date is spreading like wildfire, and the response has been incredibly awesome. If book sales are anything near as healthy and enthusiastic as congratulations, I'm going to be writing book nine before I know it!

Glee.

I love my cats dearly, and spoil them whenever possible, largely because spoiled cats are much calmer about me deciding that they can't be in my lap while I'm trying to write. (Lilly has an excellent future as a face-hugger, should she ever decide to go that route. She's perfectly capable of starting on my knees, and then oozing slowly up the length of my body to wrap around my face like a fuzzy purring muff. This actually does nothing to reduce continuity errors in my novels, and may explain why so many of my characters seem to want to be claustrophobic.)

I tend to skim the various 'spoil your cats' sites in the week or so after Christmas, looking for deals and discounts. My cats really don't care if I'm paying full price for their crinkly mice, they just want the crinkly mice, dammit. Being sensible about my purchases allows me to buy them a lot more crinkly mice, and buy myself more uninterrupted writing at the same time. Everybody wins.

I wound up on the Armarkat website -- makers of excellent modular cat furniture, which I have purchased in the past, and which has met with enthusiastic feline approval -- and discovered that one of their smaller-base four-level trees was on deep, deep discount, due to people not really liking the color, which they described as 'red-orange.' I promptly had my housemate measure the available floor space in my room, declared it good, and ordered the cat tree. It arrived on Thursday; yesterday night, my mother came over to help me assemble it.

They lied about the color. It's not 'red-orange.' Certain citrus fruits are red-orange. Some birds are red-orange. This? This is not red-orange. This is a color never found in nature -- in fact, this is a color rarely found outside of Henson Studios, which makes sense, given that the surfaces not wrapped in scratching-post cord are upholstered in what feels for all the world like dead Muppet.

This thing is pumpkin-fucker orange. It's virulent. And impressive.

The cats are ecstatic. Nyssa has been in and out of the house on the second level all morning, while Lilly sits serenely on the post at level three -- low enough to box Nyssa's ears, high enough to be the highest cat -- and radiates Siamese, if you please. Best of all, they've been leaving me almost entirely alone.

Pumpkin-fucker orange: when you absolutely, positively need to be certain that nobody's ever going to break into your house and steal your cat tree.

ETA: Whoops, some birds flew by, and now Lilly's on the top level, chittering like mad. This thing is like kitty cable in HD.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my head
Were hitchhiking ghost-girls and hungry undead,
And dinosaurs dancing and pandemic flu --
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true --

And Chris in his wisdom has finished the notes
Containing Bill's art and the songs that I wrote
To go with the album we're printing with care
(Red Roses and Dead Things, a spooky affair).

My tickets are purchased, my plans are all set,
I'm wracking my brain to guess what I'll forget,
And Vixy and Tony are waiting with glee
For the holiday gift that I'm giving them -- me.

Two thousand and eight is a year nearly done,
But we spent it quite well, and we had lots of fun.
I signed with an agent who knows that I'm mad,
And isn't disturbed -- no, I think that she's glad

For madness compells me to write constantly,
And I didn't sell one book this year -- I sold three!
Rosemary and Rue is the first of the lot,
And is the third book where it ends? I think not!

Next Newsflesh! Then Clady! On Velma and Corey!
Then on to InCryptid, where Price girls get gory!
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady --
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
Perhaps the pandemic will find us at last!
(If that happens, I'll see you all up in Grants Pass.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

Lilly -- my crazy little bluepoint princess -- got to share an experience with human children the world over today: she went and got the crap scared out of her by Santa Claus. (I did have the owner of a small puffy dog ask me if I didn't think bringing my cat to the pet store was stressful and cruel. I did not respond by asking if she didn't think her dog's haircut was cruel. Be proud of me.)

Lilly was amazingly well-behaved, despite howling down the moon while we were in the car, and did not geld the big man. She even let herself be placed on a cushion in his lap, and stayed there calmly while the photographer made much of her. The wreath around her neck, yeah, also not a problem. This is a cat I could dress up like a pumpkin without really doing anything to piss her off.

The proof:



Lilly did get agitated after her picture was taken, when technical difficulties kept us standing around for another fifteen minutes or so. She stuck her claws into my shoulder several times as she scrambled for better footing, and my back looks like hamburger now. But that's okay, because she got to meet Santa.

I just hope she didn't ask for a pony.

Hello! Would you like to take a trip to Writerland, where all the writers are? You can see them frolic in the Fields of Verb, boldly venture into the Adjective Woods, and sink like stones in the infamous Editorial Swamp (home of the deadly White-Out Anaconda, capable of swallowing both man and manuscript in a single gulp). In an effort to help you survive your visit, we here at the Writerland Tourist Bureau have prepared this handy phrasebook, designed to help you understand our natives a little better.

You Say: "How much do you get paid?"
We Hear: "Did you know that being a writer means it's not rude to ask you about money?"

You Say: "How big was your advance?"
We Hear: "My use of industry jargon means you'll tell me."

You Say: "So when are you going to quit your day job?"
We Hear: "Since you're obviously making pots of money JUST TELL ME ALREADY."

You Say: "Where do you get your ideas?"
We Hear: "I would like it if you would punch me in the face."

You Say: "I always wanted to be a writer."
We Hear: "How hard can it be?"

You Say: "Why do you waste your talent on that trash?"
We Hear: "It's been too long since the last time you punched me in the face."

You Say: "Why do you need an editor? Aren't you good at this yet?"
We Hear: "Punching isn't good enough. Get the cobras."

You Say: "How long are you going to just sit there?"
We Hear: "I've come to distract you! Thank me later."

You Say: "Is it really that hard to be published?"
We Hear: "I would like a double order of cobras, and maybe some scorpions."

You Say: "Did you publish this yourself?"
We Hear: "Make those scorpions radioactive, if you would be so kind."

You Say: "How much writing do you have to do?"
We Hear: "I know you're just screwing around and being anti-social."

You Say: "Will you read my story?"
We Hear: "Litigation is fun!"

Please submit any further suggestions for our phrasebook to the Bureau, and have a nice day!

First, pick your genre. What, you thought you already had? Oh, no. There are four major types of horror movie:

1. The Psycho. A killer hunts and slaughters people -- usually attractive teens, although some killers have been known to branch out along other specialized lines. Usually difficult or impossible to kill, sometimes ironic in method of death, prone to sequels.
2. The Creature. This genre divides into 'big' and 'lots': either your creature is ginormous for some reason, or there's a swarm. Sometimes, the over-ambitious combine the two, and have a swarm of giant whatever-it-is trying to eat mankind. This is generally a winning approach.
3. The Supernatural. Ghosts, witches, warlocks, a killer Santa Claus taking back all the toys he's distributed over the generations, it all gets filed under the generic catch-all of 'supernatural'. Sometimes, your psycho or your creature is supernatural, too.
4. The Outsider. Aliens and extra-dimensional entities go here. Sometimes, your psycho or your creature is from outside, in addition to being, y'know, bad for your health. Mostly, though, aliens get their own designation.

Now, pick your setting. Your options are:

1. Rural. Small towns are great for zombie invasions, crash landings of carnivorous alien lifeforms, and anything involving a meteorite.
2. Urban. The big city is good if your zombies are viral, or if you want a serial killer. No cornfields, though, which kinda sucks.
3. Wilderness. If it makes you happy to have crazed killers chasing co-eds through the woods, this is the place for you.
4. Transit vehicle of some sort. Big boats, RVs, trains, spaceships, and orbiting space stations, those get filed here.

Every category contains a multitude of options, from 'houseboat' to 'swamp', but these are the basics. And, of course, you're going to need a hero:

1. Teenager. Cheerleader, jock, geek, hacker, whatever.
2. Authority figure. Local sheriff, local cop, President of the United States. However, don't cross into...
3. Military dude. This covers male and female members of all branches of the military.
4. That guy from 'Clerks'. There's a good chance your hero wasn't even supposed to be here today.

( Let's make a horror movie!Collapse )

Boredom does strange things. So does anxiety. Combine the two, and you're likely to end up with things like...

Limericks About Books Seanan Loves Dearly.

IT:
Poor Georgie ran after his boat;
The clown said 'down here, we all float'.
Now Stuttering Bill
Has a monster to kill,
Or It's certain to tear out his throat!

Fire and Hemlock:
Don't put a book down on its face,
Or trust men who come from That Place.
Gran tried hard to advise,
But our Pol wasn't wise,
And got caught in a fairy-time race.

The Stand:
A sniffle, a cough, and a sneeze,
And the whole world is brought to its knees.
God said 'no more rain,'
But why should he refrain
From deluging the world with disease?

The Dark Tower (full series):
No mortal hands this Tower rose
In the fields where the universe grows.
Now Roland must wander
From home to the yonder
To learn what he already knows.

Mirabile:
Don't tie DNA up in bows;
You can't control just where it goes,
And you will be vexed
When you're Kangaroo Rex'd.
Genetics should not be freak shows.

On Writing:
Slaughter your darlings, my friends;
Let adverbs seek swift, messy ends.
Whatever is uttered,
Use 'said' and not 'muttered,'
And follow the tale where it bends.

Limerick me! I want to see what the twisted minds of the rest of the world can produce. Also, I find this funny.

...I learned from Marilyn Munster.

There is nothing wrong with being a little bit unusual. * It doesn't matter what other people think about what you love; it's what you think that really matters. * It's okay to be the blonde one sometimes. * Monsters are people, too. * Being black and white doesn't mean you can't be pink inside. * Loyalty counts. * The people who really care about you will continue to care, no matter how much of a freak you are. * Start every day with a smile. * There is magic in the petulant head-tilt. * Always run towards the explosions. * If everyone is screaming, things are probably about to get interesting. * You can hide lots of knives in a ruffled gown. * No one gets to define what's normal for you. * Stereotypes are funny. * Life is good, so enjoy it while you can. * Other people's prejudices are not actually your problem. * Some people only see appearances. It's best to feel sorry for them. * When someone leads an angry mob to your doorstep, it's okay to scold them for carrying lit torches in a residential area. * Be comfortable with your surroundings. * It is perfectly possible to be a horror movie girl while wearing pastels. * White pancake makeup is totally optional. * Blood is actually good for hair; it strengthens the follicles. * Never underestimate the power of big blue eyes. * Or having a seven foot tall uncle who looks like he was raised from the dead. That doesn't hurt either. * Family counts for everything. * Running in high heels is a life skill. * Hydrogen peroxide gets blood out of almost anything but taffeta and white cotton. * A good wardrobe is key. * Be yourself. In the end, that's what actually matters.

What important lessons did you learn from your personal media icons?

Look! A meme. Be afraid, and blame dawn_metcalf, who thought it was funny to infect me with a memetic thought-virus. As I usually find infection funny, I am refusing the vaccine, and spreading the disease instead. The stated rules:

A) People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves.

B) Tag 8 people to do this quiz. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Continue this game by sending it to other people.

Because I believe that pandemics are a choice, not a requirement, I'm not actually tagging anyone. If you want to join the party, join the party. If you don't, stay home and watch television. Whatever makes you happy. Feel free to say I tagged you. I'm a vector.

And now...fun with the meme!

( We cut because we care, and because a great many people are heavily armed. I dislike being dismembered for scrolling screens.Collapse )

seanan_mcguire: Can I have bubonic plague?
jennifer_brozek: I don't care.
seanan_mcguire: Awesome.

Just in case you were wondering who gave me permission.

I'm off to Seattle for the weekend. Try not to break anything, and remember, Kate's in charge while I'm gone.

I'm sitting at my desk processing edits to Late Eclipses of the Sun -- and completely rewriting three early chapters, which is always fun -- when my housemate calls for me to come out to the kitchen for a minute. I go, grousing all the way, since I really want to finish the edits before I have to leave for the day.

There is a can of cat food sitting, perfectly centered, in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Him: "Did you put that there?"
Me: "No."
Him: "I didn't put that there."
Me: "I didn't think so."
Lilly: *suddenly appears next to my right leg, looking innocently towards the can*

Cue uproarious laughter from the humans, while the cat continues to look politely interested in the presence of a cat food can. My, what could that be? Might it be food.

Me: "Right, feed the cat."
Him: "You're rewarding her behavior, you know."
Me: "Yes. I'm rewarding her for not meowing until she gets fed."
Him: "...point."
Lilly: "NOM."

Life with a Siamese. It's never boring.

Me: I'm sadly tempted to -- once I have an announced release date -- make a set of icons that read, y'know, 'X weeks to Rosemary and Rue,' with a per-week 'have you...?' question.

Amy: I think you totally should. You're going to be practically vibrating while you wait for it to come out. It's not nearly as crazy (though totally awesome, I'll happily admit) as the essays on writing you've been doing.

Me: The essays were borderline accidental!

Amy: *tries not to laugh* *EPIC FAIL*
Amy: I love you, honey.

Me: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

Amy: Um. Let's just start with how you have to describe something that could well turn into your first nonfiction book as 'borderline accidental.' Emphasis on the 'borderline.'

Me: Are you implying that I did this to myself on purpose?

Amy: No! Absolutely not! Just that you're the sort of person who can do this by ACCIDENT.

Me: ...sadly, yes, I am.

Amy: Whoops, I slipped. Where'd those forty thousand words come from?

Number of people with 'Toby Daye' as an interest: 24
Number of people with Newsflesh as an interest: 7
Number of people with Lycanthropy and Other Issues as an interest: 3
Number of people with 'Price Girls' as an interest: 1 (me)

And, of course...

Number of people with 'Seanan McGuire' as an interest: 16

From this, I can determine that Toby is the most popular thing around these parts, and I really need to talk about Verity Price more, because she's way too awesome for me to be solo on adoring her and her family. Although I suppose it would probably help if I, y'know, finished writing her book.

Have I mentioned recently that I get very, very silly when I'm ass-deep in unending edits?

I have, in fact, discovered the single best reason for an author to have an agent. Namely:

Your agent won't think you're crazy.

I think a lot. I mean, no matter what else I'm doing at any given point in time, the odds are pretty good that I'm thinking. As I write this, I'm thinking about, well, writing this; I'm thinking about Discount Armageddon, which I've started outlining; I'm thinking about Lycanthropy and Other Personal Issues, which I'm planning to work on tonight; I'm thinking about the song that's stuck in my head; I'm thinking about processing edits in Newsflesh; I'm thinking about packing for the weekend. All these many, many trains of thought are running at the same time, and while the conductors in my head are pretty good about keeping to the timetable, there's always the chance that some switch is going to get thrown wrong, and the wrong train is going to hit the station.

For the most part, I've learned not to answer 'how are you?' with 'I think Moira married an incubus' or 'if viral amplification was underway when the body was put into cryogenic suspension, what would happen when you thawed the person out?'. Note the use of the words 'for the most part.' When Chris asked me what I thought of Hellboy II, I looked at him with deep and bone-searing sorrow, and replied "Evening* has the wrong hair color." That's just how it goes sometimes.

Conversations with my agent are different, because my agent understands that I, as a writer, am in some ways a little bit to the left of 'normally sane.' So when she says 'how are you?' and I reply 'you can totally apply ballroom dancing to demon hunting!', she says 'that's awesome!' instead of 'perhaps it's time to stop the Masters of Horror marathons.' Now, it's true that sometimes, she needs to summon me back to the world of linear thought long enough to answer serious questions, like 'when can you give me a manuscript?' or 'do you really think it's a good idea to start another series right now?', but it's not a judgment, it's a business need.

My agent is the person who, at the end of the day, doesn't mind the fact that I don't need a segue to start explaining the mating habits of the North American Yeti (messy), the rules of succession in fae politics (messier), or the patterns of Kellis-Amberlee incubation in a closed population (messiest). She throws herself on that conversational grenade daily, for the good of all the rest of you.

How I adore her.

(*A character in Rosemary and Rue. You'll all get to meet her when you read my book. So much will make sense when you read my book. Like why I twitch so much.)

Remember our horror movie trivia challenge? Well, the most challenging trivia is useless without a functional key. So I give you...

...the answers.

( Click here to find out whether you were right! Also to get a glimpse at just how strange my brain can be. Fun for the whole family!Collapse )

So last night, I attended a Kelley Armstrong/Melissa Marr signing at Borderlands Books here in San Francisco. And I'll talk more about that later, I'm sure. But for right now, I have something far more enthralling to talk about (at least, it's more enthralling when I'm not entirely awake):

Evil-looking naked alien suede kitty!

Yes! The store has a resident Sphinx. No, I have no idea why the store has a resident Sphinx, but let's be serious here: I really don't care. They have a NAKED ALIEN SUEDE KITTY. That is, really, justification enough. Her name is 'Ripley,' after the character in Alien ('cause she looks like one) as much as the television show ('cause nobody believes what they're seeing). And she's awesome. She came out and graced the signing with her glorious presence, at which point, the famous people really lost the bulk of my attention, as there was a NAKED ALIEN SUEDE KITTY in my lap. My needs in life are simple but well-defined. They include cuddling with anything that looks like it would like to nest inside my ribcage.

Now, the store is aware that NAKED ALIEN SUEDE KITTY pretty much = awesome, and so they have come up with what may well be the Best Marketing Scheme ever: they've made attractive postcards with Ripley on them. You can buy them. For a dollar. Yes: you can pay a dollar for a picture of their cat. Being me -- have you met me? -- I, of course, bought one. Now I have NAKED ALIEN SUEDE KITTY to look at any time I want to. I'm going to add her to my corkboard. I'm just thinking, why should NAKED ALIEN SUEDE KITTY get all the action? I have a hyper-intelligent tail-free Siamese cat and friends with cameras.

Lilly Kane: camwhore.

Just sayin'.

Let's have fun with horror movie trivia, perverted to my own demented sense of 'trivia.' Also, because I am rarely a timely blondeheadgirl, I'm not going to wait for Halloween.

The game:

Hollywood is a busy place, especially when it comes to producing horror movies. Can you figure out the movie from the synopses provided below by bored and underpaid copy writers who never actually saw the film?

Example: Following a chance encounter, a spoiled daughter of nobility chooses to abandon the traditions of her native land in order to pursue a relationship with a member of another ethnic group, although doing so may lead to her early demise.

Answer: The Little Mermaid.

Ready? Twenty questions, no asking -- rock yourselves hard! Answers are not screened.

( We cut because otherwise, you're drowning in horror movies. Literally drowning. Very bad.Collapse )

Quoth gardnerhill:

"Seanan is brilliant, hilarious, a great filksinger, and an amazing writer. And she cartoons.

Yes, I'm planning to go Salieri on her Mozart ass one of these days."

Just so y'all know, if I show up in a powdered wig with an orchestra and a grin? I was dared. Also, hee.

Saturday, I stopped in at the Other Change of Hobbit to pick up copies of the July issue of Locus Magazine and chatter with the staff, since they're all super-interested in the whole process, which means I can talk about it without feeling like I'm being a weird obsessive. (Seriously, right now, I could talk about the publishing process for about three days without stopping, and since new things keep happening, I keep getting more things to talk about. I am a faintly neurotic soul who likes to talk things to death. Having people who are actively interested and ask me questions spares all the rest of my friends from a death worse than fate.) Being as I was in the store and already spending money, I decided to browse around and see whether I could find anything I particularly wanted to read.

Now, I am a reader of urban fantasy. That's probably part of why I became a writer of urban fantasy. (My lifelong obsession with folklore probably explains the rest.) I've watched the growth of the genre with delight shading into bewilderment -- delight because there are so many awesome titles out there these days, bewilderment because about half the covers show women crouching in black vinyl catsuits and wearing impractical heels. None of my urban fantasy heroines would be caught dead in a black vinyl catsuit, wearing impractical heels. And they don't, as a rule, crouch. All the other covers show half-naked women or carefully chosen bits of women, usually accessorized with some sort of weapon. That's actually a little more understandable. There are lots of way to get a character naked.

As I sifted through stack after stack of urban fantasies I'd never heard of before, I realized one horrible, irritating thing: I couldn't tell the porn-with-plot from the plot-with-porn. I've already read most of the 'sure things' -- the books I know meet my specific preferences in terms of the balance of 'sex' to 'not sex' -- and what I was left with was a whole lotta books where their back cover blurbs could have made them anything from the next Anita Blake to, well, the next any heroine who can keep her pants on for more than six pages at a stretch.

It's not that I dislike porn-with-plot. I read romance novels -- hell, I write romance novels -- and sometimes there's a very good reason to get everybody hot and bothered. It's just that I really prefer to choose my erotica, rather than accidentally tripping over it and falling into a puddle of unexplainable fluid. This isn't the fault of the authors. This is just, well, packaging combining with genre trends to leave me deeply perplexed. But there is a solution!

The pie chart.

I say we start stamping all urban fantasies somewhere discrete with little pie chart symbols detailing the ratio of 'plot' to 'porn.' If that sounds too judgmental, we could go with the ratio of 'naked' to 'clothed,' or even 'sexual tension,' 'action,' and 'actual pay-off.' I'd wind up following series where they started with a lot of the sexual tension pie and moved on to the actual pay-off pie after I was already invested in the relationship, while other people could go straight to the 'lots of kinky sex' pie, and everybody would win! Also, I wouldn't accidentally stumble across sex scenes that would make a porn star blush. Again, everybody wins.

Now to sell it to marketing...

A is for...AMMO. Make sure you've got plenty, or you'll have plenty of problems.
B is for...BLAST RADIUS. Know it, love it, try not to stand inside it.
C is for...CHAINSAW. Screw diamonds. This is a girl's best friend.
D is for...DISTRACTION. Let the chirpy little twirp who keeps screaming provide one, and run.
E is for...ESCAPE. Better hope you can make one.
F is for...FIRE. Most of the things that want you dead dislike it.
G is for...GRENADE. Come to momma, little pineapple of death.
H is for...HOUSE. It wants you dead. Live with it.
I is for...ICHOR. It's gonna get in your hair. That's how this works.
J is for...JUMPER CABLES. Learn how to use them or you're probably toast.
K is for...KNIFE. It won't run out of ammo, and it's fun to stick in things. Size does matter.
L is for...LASER. If you have it, use it; if someone else has it, avoid it at all costs.
M is for...MONSTER. Do I even need to explain?
N is for...NIGHT. That's when they're likely to attack.
O is for...OCTOBER. Just stay in bed for this entire month. Seriously.
P is for...PISTOL. I recommend learning to shoot one as soon as possible.
Q is for...QUICK. People come in two flavors: the quick and the dead. Pick one.
R is for...RABIES. That's probably not what you're dealing with, here.
S is for...SNAKE. They come in 'giant' and 'poisonous,' and neither is very good for you.
T is for...TANK. If you have one, keep it. If you don't, get one. Mmmmmmm, tank.
U is for...UNSPEAKABLE. Half the things you'll deal with will be unspeakable. Therapy is your friend.
V is for...VICTIM. If you can't cope, this is what goes on your name tag.
W is for...WEREWOLF. Once the moon comes up, that's not Johnny anymore.
X is for...XENOMORPH. Because apparently our Earth monsters just weren't dangerous enough. Space assholes.
Y is for...YESTERDAY. Remember when reanimated rats weren't gnawing your ankles? Good times, man.
Z is for...ZOMBIE. Oh, you knew that was coming.

It was surprisingly easy to do this, and I had to reject a lot of good alphabet entries because their letters were already filled. (T is for Terror: give in and you get a second 'T' for 'Toast.'; G is for Gun: for the love of God, get one..., etc.) As it has made me giggle without cease for about an hour, I proclaim it a rousing success.

Got any suggestions?

I'm in the middle of revisions on A Local Habitation, the second Toby Daye book and the sequel to Rosemary and Rue. The following bit of nuttiness was the result:

Me: "Tybalt has just shown up. Wackiness is sure to follow."
Brooke: "Yay Tybalt! He'll know what to do."
Me: "Injury may be on his list."
Brooke: "Tybalt's to-do list: Items 1 through 7: INJURY. Item 8: INSULT. Items 9, 10: INJURY."

Two observations arise from this. One: it's good to be the King of Cats. And two...I love my proofreaders.