Dear Great Pumpkin;

Another harvest season has come and gone, rich with tricks, treats, and unexplained disappearances in the haunted cornfield. I hope you have been well. Since my last letter to you, I have not wiped out mankind with a genetically engineered pandemic, or challenged any major religious figures to duels to the death in the public square. I have loved my friends and refrained from destroying my enemies. I have given out hugs, cupcakes, and cuddles with kittens freely and without hesitation. I have offered support when I could, and comfort when it was needed. I have not unleashed my scarecrow army to devastate North America. I have continued to make all my deadlines, even the ones I most wanted to avoid. I have not "accidentally" put tapeworm eggs in anyone's food. So as you can see, I've pretty much been a saint, by our somewhat lax local standards.

Today, Great Pumpkin, I am asking for the following gifts:

* A smooth and successful release for Late Eclipses, with books shipping when they're meant to ship, stores putting them out when they're supposed to put them out, and reviews that are accurate, insightful, and capable of steering people who will enjoy my book to read it. Please, Great Pumpkin, show mercy on your loving Pumpkin Princess of the West, and let it all be wonderful. I'm not asking you to make it easy, Great Pumpkin, but I'm asking you to make it good.

* Please let me make the revisions to One Salt Sea and Discount Armageddon smoothly, satisfyingly, and in a timely fashion, hopefully including a minimum of typographical and factual errors, plus a maximum level of awesome and win. If this request seems familiar, Great Pumpkin, it's because I make it just about every time I have a new book on the table, and this time is doubly important. One Salt Sea concludes a major arc in Toby's story, and Discount Armageddon kicks off a whole new series. I want them both to be amazing. Pretty please with candy corn on top?

* While I'm at it, please let the next books in their respective series be up to my admittedly nearly-impossible standards for myself. Let Ashes of Honor be exciting and worth the commitment, let Midnight Blue-Light Special be peppy and perfect in its insanity, and let Blackout seal the deal on the Newsflesh universe. It's wonderful to be working on three totally new books. It's also terrifying. There's a period at the start of a novel, where I'm trying to chip the shape of the story out of nothing, that's just scary as hell, and I'm there times three right now. Please show mercy, and let this work.

* I thank you for Alice's return to health, Great Pumpkin, and ask for your blessings as she continues her recovery. I thought I was going to lose her. I'm still shaky when I think about it. Please let her keep getting better, and please let her be exactly the same goofy, graceless cat that she's always been. While you're at it, please make sure Lilly and Thomas stay healthy, and that Thomas continues his incredible, faintly frightening growth. I think he doubles in size once a week. It's awesome. Look out for my cats, Great Pumpkin. They mean the world to me.

* As I approach the 2011 convention season, I ask for your blessings. Let things be smooth when they can, and let me take that which is not smooth with good humor, good grace, and a good sense of restraint. Let me be clever when I need to be, calm when I need to be, and a good guest for everyone who has been kind enough to invite me to their convention. Let me be the kind of guest that is remembered with joy, not the kind who is remembered with glum "and then there was the year of the great tragedy" stories.

* Thank you, thank you, thank you again for shining your holy candle upon the Campbell Award, Great Pumpkin. I hope only that I did you proud with my acceptance speech, and that you are pleased with my endeavors. It may be a little forward of me to point this out, but Feed is eligible for both the Nebula and Hugo Awards this year, and, well...any assistance you wanted to throw my way would be very much appreciated. I think my mother would catch fire if I came home with either award, and that would be fun to watch.

I remain your faithful Halloween girl,
Seanan.

PS: While you're at it, can you please make Oasis get back to me? I'd really like to be done with Wicked Girls before I'm done with 2010.

I try to answer all comments on this journal, because it just seems polite. But after spending the night worrying about my sick cat, and spending the morning medicating her (which she hates), I honestly can't bring myself to answer individual comments on my post about her illness. It's just going to make me start crying again. So...

Thank you all, so very much, for your kind wishes and concern. Alice is still sick, but seems to be on the mend—she felt well enough to glare at me this morning when I hauled her out from under the couch and pumped her full of sticky pink antibiotic goo. Thomas and Lilly are confused and clingy, since they don't understand what's going on, and everyone is thrilled by the sudden wide availability of tuna.

Medicating Alice is easier than it could be, because she is seriously one of the world's most civilized cats; she mostly just squirms and scowls at me, like her infection is my fault, and not the fault of rapidly-replicating bacteria. I cannot explain epidemiology to my cat. I know. I've tried.

I'll keep you posted, and thank you again. I really appreciate it.

So, as many of you have ascertained from this month's welcome post, I have a new member of my feline family: Thomas, a blue classic tabby and white Maine Coon. Like Alice, he hails from Seattle's fantastic Pinecoon Cattery, courtesy of Betsy Tinney. He and Alice actually share a mother, the sweet-natured and endlessly tolerant Arial (yes, like the font), although they have different fathers. Thomas joined the family on Sunday afternoon, heralded by a rather epic amount of hissing from my pre-existing cats, Lilly and Alice.

Thomas, it should be noted, has really not participated in the hissing. He's a goofy, sweet little blue boy, and he starts purring when I get within three feet of him. That is, when he's not racing through the house like a kitten possessed, sinuous blue tail flying out behind him like a flag, losing traction on the hardwood floor, and slamming into the nearest available wall. Yes. He does this a lot.

Lilly and Alice remain dubious of our new family member, but they're starting to warm to him. Lilly was grooming him yesterday (she is the lickingest cat alive), and he and Alice slept on my chest last night, together. Given that he's likely to weigh more than she does when he grows up, this may become a lot less endearing really, really soon. Then again, they eliminate the need for a space heater, so hey. All three of them spent last night's episode of Glee hanging out, purring loudly, and being cute. I have the cutest cats in the entire world. And all my cats are blue.

This brings me to two Maine Coons and one classic Siamese, which strikes me as a good place to stop, since going any further takes me into crazy cat lady territory. Besides, I'm already pretty sure that, if they wanted to, they could take me.

Kitten!

(No, there are not yet kitten pictures available. Yes, there will be kitten pictures...eventually. Making pictures uploadable is a long, manual process, and I'm getting ready for this weekend's Orycon Guest of Honor slot, integrating a new cat into my household, and trying to finish a book. Asking me for kitten pictures only reduces my desire to deal with formatting them. So please show mercy, and don't ask?)

So my "little cold" turned quickly into "my big cold," and from there turned into my "oh sweet Great Pumpkin, let me die" cold. Isn't the human body awesome? I have treated it, thus far, with chicken soup and television, including a multi-hour House marathon. No matter what I've got, they've got something worse!

The cats, self-centered beasts that they are, love-love-love it when I have a cold that requires me to stay at home, crumbled under fluffy blankets and yearning for death. Why? Because it means I don't move much, and am, instead, available for endless petting of the cats. This is exactly how the world is meant to be...at least if you're asking the cats. I do love my cats. That's why they are not yet mittens.

(I'm getting my revenge, actually. I'm making them eat their Science Diet. They hate Science Diet. Mwahahahahahaha.)

The nice thing about a cold, for me, is that I get to spend the night sleeping the deep sleep of the Q-dosed heart, with its attendant, incredibly vivid dreams. I went to the premiere of the Feed movie last night in my sleep, you guys, and it was totally awesome. So hey, there's something to be said for viral amplification, right? Right?

Okay, writing this has exhausted me. I'm going to go watch more House.

10. It's Friday! And that means that tomorrow is Saturday, which further means that it's finally time for me to have a book event at the Other Change of Hobbit! Conveniently located next to Ashby BART, spacious, and full of neat things, this is one of my favorite bookstores. You should totally come.

9. Karen Healey (I know, right?) has a poll for the best moment of WorldCon 2010/Aussiecon IV, and yes, my squeaky acceptance of the Campbell Award is currently in the lead. Which is the sort of thing that makes me blink and cry a little. But in the good way, I promise! Also, John Scalzi licking stuff.

8. After our horrible "oh crap the house is full of fleas" experience this summer, everything seems to have settled down. Alice's belly-fur is growing back, no one's trying to claw their own flesh off, and our strict regimen of flea powdering the carpets and pouring poison on the cats is keeping the blood-suckers away. Thank the Great Pumpkin.

7. SHARKTOPUS! Tomorrow night on SyFy! Because Coyote loves me and wants me to be happy.

6. By the same measure, have you seen Jane Austin's Fight Club? Because seriously, this video is love. (Technically safe for work, if you're allowed to watch videos at work and feel like doing some potentially awkward explaining about why all those girls are smacking the crap out of each other.)

5. Resident Evil: Afterlife actually doesn't suck. I know, I'm as surprised as you are. Sort of tickled, too, but mostly just surprised. It's not as good as Resident Evil: Apocalypse, but then, what is?

4. Jean Grey is still dead.

3. Things that are back on the air: Glee, Fringe, Big Bang Theory, Bones, and America's Next Top Model. Things that have managed to stick the landing in their season finales: Rizzoli and Isles, Leverage, Unnatural History, and Warehouse 13. Things that make me happy: watching too much television.

2. Despite my currently perennially delayed posting schedule (curse you, Australia, and your lack of Internet), the latest iteration of the Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show went well, and we all had a fantastic time. Plus, the bookstore now has signed books, and that makes everything wonderful.

...and the best thing about today...

1. Welcome to fall.

What's awesome about your Friday?

So recently, I had an unwelcome house guest: an elderly black cat spent about a week and a half in the laundry room, waiting to be removed to its new home. There were a lot of very good reasons for the cat's presence, most of which I don't really want to go into. Lilly and Alice were fascinated by the interloper; Lilly wanted to kill it, while Alice wanted to PLAY PLAY PLAY. Behold the difference between "manic" and "temperamental," ladies and gentlemen. The cat was eventually removed, returning the house to its normal state...but a host's gift was kindly left behind.

We have fleas again.

This was discovered when I took Alice to the groomer on Saturday (she'd managed to develop belly mats, thanks to all my recent traveling, and I just wanted them gone so we could return to non-painful grooming). "Did you know you have fleas? Oh, the poor baby, she's just crawling with them."

As I'm sure you can imagine, I was...displeased. I fought a long, hard battle to get rid of the fleas last time this happened. Since Alice is a longhair and Lilly has a very dense, plush coat, it's possible for them to have fleas without my actually being able to see the signs. And since I brush both of them really regularly, they don't get as itchy as they might otherwise, so I don't get as much visible scratching. I went straight out and got flea medication, along with carpet powder and bedding spray. Then I came home and checked the calendar.

See, most flea treatments are given at one-month intervals, and I needed to be sure the second dose would come due after I got back from Australia. Today turned out to be the magical day. The day I poured poison on the cats.

Alice took it with good grace, because Alice sweats sedatives. Lilly was substantially more offended, and slunk off to glare at me for about twenty minutes. I don't care. THE FLEAS WILL DIE. Thus I swear.

Stupid fleas.

Now is the time on Sprockets where I take my suitcase, my passport, my train tickets, and my mother, and head to the San Francisco International Airport. From there, we will fly to Los Angeles, and I will spend the weekend as ConChord's Guest of Honor/Westercon's Music Guest of Honor. Yay!

Since I'm about to leave you to your own devices for the entire weekend, I thought I should bribe you to play nicely with, well, the world. Here's Lilly, being...dignified:



The Siamese, ladies and gentlemen. Nature's most dignified feline.

Yeah. Right. Have fun!

1. Only four hours remain to enter my random drawing for an ARC of An Artificial Night! It's probably the simplest contest I'm going to have, so what have you got to lose, right? Besides, they're pretty. I like pretty things. I am a simple soul.

2. Speaking of pretty things, remember that the ALH pendant sale will be starting today at Chimera Fancies. I cannot possibly overstate how much I love Mia's pendants. If I were a wealthy woman, I'd just pay her to sit around and make them all day, and keep the bulk of her output for myself. Again, simple soul. Also, occasional magpie.

3. Leverage comes back this weekend! So You Think You Can Dance is back on the air! Cartoon Network has Unnatural History and Total Drama World Tour! Oh, I love you, summertime television. I love you so much, forever.

4. Tomorrow is my last pre-Westercon rehearsal with the fabulous Paul Kwinn, renowned in song and story, master of the meaningful look while wearing a gaudily-patterned shirt, husband of Beckett, whom I love beyond all reason. I'm very excited, despite the fact that I'm still occasionally coughing like I'm on the verge of actual death. It's gonna be awesome.

5. I have my editorial notes for Late Eclipses, and I'm busily incorporating them into the finished manuscript...while, possibly, fixing a few little language issues at the same time. It's been long enough since I touched this book that it appears to have been written by an alien, which is the best time for doing editorial. It's still my baby. It's just my weird alien baby, and that makes it more fun to autopsy.

6. Zombies are still love.

7. It's June already. That means we're getting closer and closer every day to my departure for Australia, LAND OF POISON AND FLAME, which I have only been dreaming about for most of my life. I'm so excited it's scary, and not just because I'm on the ballot for the Campbell (although that remains a constant GOTO loop at the back of my brain). I get to go to Australia! I get to breathe Australian air! My life is awesome sometimes.

8. We've entered the final stages of recording Wicked Girls, and it should, I hope, I pray, be able to make the October release date that I so optimistically set for myself. I'll be announcing the pre-orders soon, since that's how I finance mixing and mastering, and I'm really, really happy with this album, as a whole. It's just...it's what I wanted. And that's incredible.

9. I think the cats are stealing my will to leave the house. I just want to sleep.

10. I need more ARC contests! Suggest something. Be silly, be serious, request that I do your favorite all over again, whatever. I need ideas, and so I turn to you, the glorious Internet, to give them to me.

It's Friday!

1. I am almost ready for Marcon! If by "almost" you mean "a packing list has been made, although no actual packing has been done, and hey, look, I have a set list." I'll pack tonight when I get home; tomorrow, I'll decamp to Kate's, since we need to get up at four o'clock Thursday morning if we want to catch our flight. Oh, the things I do for the love of conventions.

2. Last night was one of those "sleep so hard you wake up feeling hung-over" nights. I appreciate this. I don't get many of those nights anymore, and after I get over hating the universe, I tend to be refreshed and peppy. This sometimes creeps people out, as they aren't accustomed to seeing me peppy. Full of pep! There is nothing more dangerous than a truly cheerful blonde.

3. I'm currently cleaning and indexing my room, as part of an ongoing attempt to get my possessions under something resembling control. In the process of so doing, I found three copies of my 2009 chapbook. Now, I was under the impression that I had sold all the copies of my 2009 chapbook, which means either a) I can't count, or b) three people didn't get their chapbooks. If you requested a chapbook and never got it, please let me know, so that we can sort out what happened (and you can finally get your poetry).

4. I've finally updated my Upcoming Appearances page to include appearances through June, as well as the two stops on the Murder and Mayhem Tour that I'm doing with jennifer_brozek. I'll be adding more information to the June/July appearances, but at least now people will basically know where I'm going to be.

5. An Artificial Night is now on Amazon! What's more, it's on Amazon with a release date (September 7th), and actually relevant-to-the-book information (rather than the carry-over description of A Local Habitation that appeared there initially). The cover isn't up yet, but I'll totally scream when it appears, because every time one of my books is actually fully on Amazon, an angel gets its wings. I want my own CELESTIAL HOST, dammit.

6. I've rewritten the first six chapters of The Brightest Fell, and suddenly, without warning, this book has started to actually WORK. It's not uncommon for me to spend a hundred pages or so wandering lost in the wilderness, but The Brightest Fell is a particularly hard book. It's the last of the Toby books that was started pre-publication, which means it's been shelved several times while I worked on more urgent projects. To make matters worse, it's complicated, and changes a lot of things about Toby's world. So it's been kicking my ass, and I have finally started kicking back.

7. Who found a copy of Kelley Armstrong's out-of-print Eve novella, Angelic, while she was at Dark Carnival in Berkeley? Would that be me? Why, yes, I do believe it would be. I'll be doing more book gloating later, but I needed to offer this little snippet now. Because dude.

8. The cats come running when they hear the opening theme from The West Wing, because they know it means I'll be sitting still for at least forty-five minutes. Possibly longer, if the power of their purring is enough to make me start a second episode. Yes, I have managed to train my cats into taking an interest in the democratic process. When Lilly takes the state to court for the right to vote, you have permission to blame me.

9. It's cherry season. You do not want to know how many pounds of cherries I've consumed in the last week and a half...but as a hint, I could probably reforest Utah with my cherry pips, and I am now capable of telling fortunes for the whole of Oregon.

10. Zombies are love.

Friday, I was wearing my trench coat, running the space heater, and shivering a lot. Saturday, I walked to the store in my trench coat, and damn near overheated. Yesterday, I wandered around without a coat for the majority of the day, and even ran the air conditioner a bit in the evening. This morning, I put on my denim jacket.

We have had the changing of the coats. Spring has officially sprung.

I find that perfume is also a good indicator of the spring, as all the women on my morning commute begin competing with the newly-blooming flowers by attempting to smother me to death with their artificially floral scents. I like perfume as much as the next girl—my ungodly-large collection of bottles of BPAL testifies to that—but there's a difference between "wearing perfume" and "committing an act of chemical warfare." When I'm breathing through my mouth and turning green, you have crossed that line.

(My latest scent from the BPAL collection, by the way: Giant Squid. The description says it's "cannabis blossom, tonka bean, tobacco, frankincense, galangal, juniper berry, lantana, spiky aloe, green and white teas, and salty sea spray." I just like being able to answer "what's that perfume you're wearing?" with "RELEASE THE KRAKEN!" Sometimes I am a simple soul.)

The cats are responding to the spring by attempting to lose their winter coats in one fell swoop, resulting in hairballs of epic proportions springing up on my bedroom rug. Seriously, I brush Alice every day, and I still scraped an entire third cat's-worth of hair off the rug Saturday morning. I dread to think what may happen when I go to Australia for two weeks, since Alice is less willing to let Mom use the feline seam-ripper (ie, "the mat-catching brush") on her flanks and hindquarters. I'm going to come home to a house consisting of nothing but hair.

Amy arrived from Wisconsin yesterday, and brought a cheese hat for my sister-in-law. The world is occasionally very strange, as my mother's insistence on prancing about San Francisco International Airport with a giant wedge of cheese on her head clearly illustrates.

Happy spring!

1) I find it really interesting how many people, when presented with a time travel thought experiment, will proceed to do things that result in their original timeline being immediately and irrevocably destroyed. Time paradox is not a cuddly kitten that you want to bring home and play with! Time paradox is bad! Remember, kids, friends don't let friends mess around with the laws of time.

2) Books I have read and loved lately: I Am Not A Serial Killer. Saltation. Freaks: Alive On the Inside (which I found at the used bookstore, signed!). Unshelved: Volume I.

3) Books I have written and loved lately: Deadline. The Brightest Fell. This is a much shorter list, and that's a good thing, because it means I probably haven't actually sold my soul to the devil. Much.

4) I love superheroes. I love Disney. I love these Disney heroines presented in glorious super-heroic style. I especially love the zombified Snow White. This is because I am, in many ways, predictable, and I am not ashamed of that fact. Not in the slightest. Nor do I think I should be, really, as my predictability makes me easy to shop for.

5) Lilly and Alice have figured out that, together, they now possess sufficient mass and surface area to prevent me from moving when they don't want me to move. This is fine when I have a book with me and nothing in the oven, but other times...not so fine. In other news, the house did not burn down, although it was a somewhat close thing. And it wasn't my fault.

6) What he said.

7) This looks like it's going to be an amazing season for movies. My favorite so far this year are How to Train Your Dragon and Kick-Ass, with The Crazies coming in as a close third, but oh! The glories ahead! Nightmare on Elm Street, Iron Man 2, Prince of Persia, Shrek Forever After, and Letters to Juliet! Splice! Even Resident Evil: Afterlife, because my love for the franchise outweighs my scars from the third movie. What a wonderful thing a movie ticket can be.

8) I appear to be thinking in almost purely short fiction terms right now, as I recover from finishing Deadline and tackle the trickier bits of The Brightest Fell. So far this week, I've finished two Toby shorts, started a third, finished an InCryptid short, and started my story for an invite-only anthology. I'm hoping I can even get a Vel piece shoved in somewhere, before the steam runs out.

9) Guess what I get tomorrow. I get a Vixy. Do you get a Vixy? No, you do not. I am not much of a gloater, but right now? Right now, oh, I'm gonna gloat. Because I get a Vixy. Of my very own.

10) Jean Grey is dead, James Gunn needs to call me, and zombies are love.

One year ago today, I flew home from Seattle with a tiny, traumatized, rather pissed-off bundle of fuzzy blue and white puff stuffed into a bright pink soft-sided cat carrier.

One year ago today, I released the piece of puff into my bedroom, where it looked around, jumped onto the bed, curled itself into a comfortable ball of puffiness, and essentially said "This will do, monkey."

One year ago today, Alice Price-Healy Little Liddel Abernathy McGuire officially joined my family. And it seems like she's been with us forever, and it seems like she's been with us for five minutes, tops. I remember when her name was longer than she was! Now she's the length of Amy's leg, and making great strides toward being the length of my leg. She's like one of those magical grow-critters—the ones that swell to a hundred times their original size when submerged in water (and maybe this explains her passionate love for hanging out in the bathtub, water bowl, and toilet). She's immensely puffy, and sweet, and cuddly, and funny, and wonderful.

She's just wonderful.

I remain so grateful to Betsy for letting me have her, because she is one of the best cats I have ever owned. She and Lilly are a joy both together and apart, and Alice is a constant ball of playful, prim, perfect delight.

The Maine Coon. Because sometimes, you just need more to love.

My beloved Amy, savior of tired blondes, fiddler to the very gods themselves, arrived last night on a plane from Alabama, where she'd been visiting her sister and staying with my Halloween Family (the Crowells). Amy is key to my survival during Release Week Madness, being a very focused and centered individual whose primary purpose in life sometimes seems to be keeping the various members of her extended campana from self-destructing in a variety of exciting ways. I love Amy very much.

In preparation for her visit, I placed an order with my favorite cupcakery, Cups and Cakes, which is located conveniently close to my office. Specifically, I ordered an assorted dozen cupcakes, to please please please include the Mudslide (slightly bitter dark chocolate cake with Bailey's and Kahlua buttercream icing). After a long day spent dreaming of cupcakes and fiddlers, I left the office and went to make the pickup, only to learn to my delight that my personal favorite flavor, the Peanut Butter and Jelly, had also been included in the assortment. (Sweet grape cake with peanut butter buttercream. Basically, these cupcakes are felony-level delicious.) Victory!

As Amy's flight was not for several hours, I also grabbed a couple of spare Mudslide cupcakes with which to bribe Jude, who was on-duty at Borderlands Books, where I intended to kill some time. Borderlands is an excellent place to sit and work, at least if you're me, and find the smells and sounds of a well-maintained bookstore endlessly soothing.

The cupcakes and I reached the bookstore without incident, and I promptly plied Jude with her delicious cupcake-y treats, thus convincing her to allow me to sit and work. (It didn't take much convincing, or really, any convincing; Borderlands is very pro-authors actually finishing books, providing we're not breaking anything while we do it.) Alas, it turned out that Ripley and Ash, the store's hairless cats, were less well-inclined toward my literary aspirations. The afternoon went something like this...

"Mow."
"No, Ripley, you can't have my lap. I'm working."
"Wow."
"Okay, you can have half my lap. But I'm still working."
"Yow."
"Just let me shut down my laptop, and I'll pet you."
"Now."
"...stop speaking English, it's creepy."

Ash, meanwhile, rode the Kitty Crazytrain around the store until it became time to groom herself, at which point she perched on my arm and licked her naked arms with blithe abandon. I think, perhaps, that I spend too much time at Borderlands, as the cats have now started to regard me as furniture.

In the "spending too much time at Borderlands" category, local folks please remember that I'll be at the store on March 9th for the A Local Habitation release party. We'll have live music from SJ Tucker, Betsy Tinney, Amy McNally, and potentially more; a raffle with some awesome, awesome prizes; a reading from A Local Habitation; and the Great Pumpkin only knows what else. It's gonna be an awesome time, and I'd love to see lots and lots of you there.

Borderlands Books. Because sometimes, we like our cats with a side-order of Nair.

Last night when I got home from a trip to Borderlands Books (where I was roundly snuggled and nose-licked by Ripley the Sphynx), I found a box on my front porch. The box, when opened, proved to contain twenty copies of A Local Habitation. Not ARCs—actual, finished books, suitable for fondling, screaming over, and putting on bookshelves. Alice promptly started trying to eat them. Not to be outdone, Lilly promptly started trying to eat the box that they came in. I have emailed my publisher to thank them for the cat toys.

I called my mother, whose usual response to "Mom, I just got _______" is to show up at my house and refuse to leave until she's managed to acquire a copy for herself. "Mom, I got my author's copies of A Local Habitation," I said.

"Wow!"

"So are you coming over?"

"Not tonight."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. (There are plenty of feathers to be had in my house because, again, cats.) "What? Why not?"

"Idol starts in half an hour."

So now we know where I rank in my mother's eyes. Not second, as I always feared, but third, behind Jim Hines and American Idol. As I cannot swear eternal vengeance against American Idol, I'm going to have to swear it against Jim Hines. He has a lot less in the way of professionally-trained security guards and hungry lawyers. I mean, sure, he's got goblins and all, and to this I say, again, cats.

It's a little freaky to be able to look at A Local Habitation and see it all book-shaped and real, with a bar code and a price tag and an ISBN and everything. I don't think it's ever going to get less freaky. Sometimes I still wake up and wonder "did I really sell the books? If I turn on the light, will they really be sitting on the shelf?" Thus far, they always have been, but my dreams have fooled me before. Although I'd like to think that if I'd dreamt the last few years, there would have been more candy corn and semi-appropriate nudity.

Thirteen days. That's all that remains before A Local Habitation is available on store shelves, waiting to be taken down, read, and enjoyed. Hopefully, lots of people will find and adore it, and hopefully, some of them won't have read Rosemary and Rue, creating a beautiful synergy through which many, many copies of both books will be sold. (Crass commercialism? Well, yeah. But I'd like this series to last for a long, long time, so I think this desire makes perfect sense. Anyone who looks noble and says "I don't care if my book sells well, I just care if it's loved" is either independently wealthy, insane, or messing with you.)

Thirteen days. That's all that remains before the second of Toby's stories is out there for anyone to read. That may be the weirdest part of all this. I mean, I'm used to my friends reading drafts and telling me what they did or didn't like, and I'm used to my publishers (all of whom I know) reading things and telling me what to fix, but there's no possible way for me to know every single person who reads my books personally. It just isn't going to happen. So there are all these strangers out there choosing me to tell them stories, and it's just...it's amazing. There was even a four-star review in the new issue of Romantic Times, a glossy, awesome, nationally-published magazine:

"McGuire's second October Daye novel is a gripping, well-paced read. Toby continues to be an enjoyable, if complex and strong-willed protagonist who recognizes no authority but her own. The plot is solid and moves along at a not-quite-breakneck pace. McGuire has more than a few surprises up her sleeve for the reader."

This is all very real, and very wonderful, and Great Pumpkin, I just hope it goes spectacularly, and that I don't catch fire.

Thirteen days. Wow.

"You talk about your cats a lot."
"You talk about your kids a lot."
"It's not the same thing."
"My Maine Coon flushed a seven inch long alligator lizard down the front hall toilet."
"..."
"It's exactly the same thing."

As most people know, I live with cats. One Siamese and one Maine Coon, to be precise. They are blazingly intelligent, easily bored, and utterly spoiled in the way that only blazingly intelligent cats with indulgent owners can ever get (since dumb cats never realize how much they can actually get away with). This means that my life is never boring, although I do occasionally have to tell people I can't go out, the cats are requiring me to stay in. This is not an ironic statement. The cats are fully capable of hiding my keys, my glasses, and—on one impressive occasion—the contents of my underwear drawer. Contrary to popular belief, I am not going to walk to Safeway without a bra, socks, or panties. Just no. Also, the cats like to unplug my alarm clock when they feel that I've been out of the house too much. They dislike the alarm, they like me sleeping in, problem solved!

Smart cats are their own problem. Smart cats with extremely clever paws are occasionally a circle of hell.

Yesterday morning, I was in such a hurry to get out of the house that I forgot to check the level of food in the cat bowls. Now, my girls each have their own bowl, although they're fed side-by-side, to prevent Lilly eating Alice's food to show dominance. (They still occasionally trade food, but it's just that: a trade. It's like watching kids swap pudding cups.) Alice gets Royal Canin Maine Coon blend; Lilly gets Royal Canin Picky Bitch, which is technically named something like "sensitive feline," but let's get real. When you have to feed this stuff to your cat, your cat is picky. Very, very picky. Royal Canin makes Siamese blend, but Lilly doesn't like it. When given Royal Canin Siamese, Lilly eats all of Alice's food, and since Alice prefers Royal Canin Maine Coon, Alice proceeds to harass me until I feed her the right stuff...which Lilly then proceeds to eat. So it's Maine Coon and Picky Bitch blends for my girls.

Anyway, upon arriving home yesterday evening, I was met at the door by two very angry cats who wanted to lecture me on my failure to feed them. They told me I was a bad pet owner. They told me I had Done Them Wrong. They kept telling me as I filled their dishes...and they then did not eat, as they were too busy telling me what a horrible person I was. Seriously. Alice even took some kibble from the dish and dropped it on my foot to illustrate the point that I Had Failed Them, and I Needed To Apologize. I apologized. I stroked them. I made soothing noises. I brushed Alice. I let Lilly have my purse (which she promptly began to chew on). I hung my head in shame. Satisfied, they finally ate.

I woke up this morning with kibble on my pillow. I am not yet forgiven.

"Alice, why don't you let me use the remote?"
"Mrrrrrrr."

Last night, while watching Bones, I got a lapful of Lilly. This is normal. Lilly proceeded to flop onto her back, stretch out, and cross her ankles, looking like a coney prepped for roasting. Also normal. Alice, meanwhile, hopped up onto the empty couch cushion, sat on her rump with her tail sticking out to one side, and started grooming. Still normal. Then she leaned over, took the remote off the couch, and cuddled it like a teddy bear. And refused to give it back to me. No matter how nicely I asked her.

Tragically, this is still normal. The only way to get the remote back was to give her the DVD remote instead...and that's why the DVD tray was sliding in and out and in and out for the next twenty minutes, as the cat happily played with the "eject" button.

There is a reason I talk about my cats as much as I do. Because if I didn't, none of you would have any warning on the day when they finally decided to conquer your puny planet.

Run while you can.

I called jimhines the other night to talk about some writing stuff and reviewing stuff and other such fun things we have in common. As is pretty normal when a parent is on the phone, his kids found multiple reasons to interject themselves on his side. As is pretty normal around my house, my cats found multiple reasons to interject themselves on my side—more, in fact, than his kids did. They came up to "tell" me things, either in a Siamese bray or in that odd Maine Coon half-trill half-gasp. They brought me toys and demanded I throw them or wave them in the air for cats to bat at. They were, in short, damn nuisances, and they're lucky they didn't get drop-kicked across the house. (To be very clear: I would never do that. Not unless one of them had contracted a zombie virus and was going for the other, and even then, zombie cats is probably the fastest way to take me out during the inevitable zombie apocalypse.)

I apologized, because that is what you do, and the conversation continued. A bit later Jim said, quite reasonably, "I've noticed you take your cats very seriously."

You know what? I do. My cats are cossetted and cared for, cuddled and cursed at, spoiled and sheltered, and I'm proud of that fact. Lilly and Alice are some of the sweetest, friendliest, most social cats you could ever hope to meet. When you come to my house, the cats are there, ready to greet you, ask you about yourself, and demand as much attention as they feel they can get away with. They're the WalMart greeters of the cat world. Anyone who thinks cats don't care about their people only needs to spend a little time with my cats to learn that this doesn't have to be true, and part of why they are the way they are is how seriously I take them. They are some of the most important people in my life, and it's not their fault that they don't have thumbs or speak English.

I periodically get flack over the fact that my cats are pedigreed, rather than being shelter rescues. I've actually learned to recognize that particular lecture as it gets started, since it always seems to begin with one of three or four mostly-harmless statements. My answer stays the same from lecture to lecture: I donate to the SPCA, I do shelter outreach and volunteer work when I can, and I give to private no-kill shelters. I do my part. But I lost a lot of cats when I was a kid to health conditions that are genetic, are passed through family lines, and can be anticipated if you know the cat's family history. In short, I get pedigreed cats so I can meet their grandparents and ask their breeders about the possible health problems within the line. I take my cats too seriously to deal with losing them more than once a decade. Lilly is six. With her health, and her breed profile, she'll probably be around for another ten to fifteen years. Still not enough time, but at least it's long enough that I'll probably be over Nyssa when she goes.

Mostly.

(Not everyone has had my bad luck with cats. I also grew up way below the poverty line, which made veterinary care difficult as hell to afford. That doesn't change the degree of comfort I take from saying "This is Alice, and this big puffy guy here? That's her great-grandfather, who is fat and healthy and happy and beautiful and could probably bench-press Godzilla if he had to.")

My cats are intelligent and friendly; well-behaved because it never really occurs to them that they shouldn't be; stand-offish on occasion, but far more inclined to be right up in your business, checking out whatever it is you think you're doing. Alice will follow you around the house, tail down and eyes wild, watching you for signs of mischief. Lilly will stay between you and me whenever possible, waiting for you to do something she doesn't approve. In short, my cats are individuals, and I take them as seriously as they take me.

So I'm past the hangovers and sugar-crashes and travel and oddly excessive number of cookies, and it is now time to begin assessing my current status. Beyond "awake," I mean. It's 2010! It's a whole new year! Sadly, the old year did not do all the dishes before it left, but hey.

Books. I have three coming out in 2010: A Local Habitation [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] and An Artificial Night as me, and Feed [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] as Mira Grant. I have one currently due in 2010, Blackout (the sequel to Feed).

In addition to the books that are already sold/slated for publication, I have one finished October Daye book, Late Eclipses, and one finished InCryptid book, Discount Armageddon. I am currently working on The Brightest Fell (Toby five), Midnight Blue-Light Special (InCryptid two), and Sit, Stay, I Hate You (Coyote Girls two). In 2010, I'm planning to finish all three of these, start on Deadline (Newsflesh three), start on Ashes of Honor (Toby six), and start on Hunting Grounds (InCryptid three). I am not planning on a particularly large quantity of sleep.

Short Stories. I'm one of the 2010 universe authors for The Edge of Propinquity, which will be running my Sparrow Hill Road series from January through December. The first story, "Good Girls Go To Heaven," has been turned in, and I'm about two-thirds of the way through the second story, "Dead Man's Party," which should be finished by this weekend. After that comes "Tell Laura I Love Her," which should be a lot of fun. This is a series heavily influenced by the mythology of the American highway, and with a very strong soundtrack accompanying every story. There will be playlists! Much fun.

I have various other short stories out on secret missions, including two Fighting Pumpkins adventures ("Dying With Her Cheer Pants On" and "Gimme a 'Z'!"), my first-ever steampunk piece ("Alchemy and Alcohol," which comes complete with cocktail recipes), and an actual Mira Grant short story ("Everglades"). I'm noticing a high level of dead stuff in my recent short story output. Somehow, this is not striking me as terribly surprising.

Non-fiction. My essay in Chicks Dig Time Lords [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] will be available in March, along with, y'know, the rest of the book. So if you've ever wondered why I love math and have trouble with linear time, you should probably pick up a copy of this book. (You should do that anyway, because the book is awesome, but that's beside the point.) My introduction for jennifer_brozek's In A Gilded Light will also be available with the rest of the book, sometime in mid-2010.

Albums. Work on Wicked Girls is proceeding apace, and beginning to pick up speed as we get deeper into the process of mixing and arranging songs. I'm scheduling my various instrumentalists to come into the studio and get their parts recorded, and some of the arrangements are just going to be incredible. I still need to confirm the covers for this album, and start thinking about graphic design, but I'm still really, really pleased. There's no confirmed release date yet, and there's not going to be one until we're a lot closer to done: as I've said a few times, as soon as there's a deadline, this ceases to be fun and relaxing, and right now, we're too far from finished for that to be a good idea.

I'm within a hundred copies of being entirely out of Stars Fall Home (my first studio album), and right now, I couldn't tell you if or when there's going to be another printing. I'm doing a little better for Pretty Little Dead Girl, but at the current rate, I'd estimate that I'll be out (or very close to out) by this time next year. Red Roses and Dead Things, being my most recent release, is also the one with the most remaining stock (paradoxically, it's also my fastest seller, since a lot of folks don't have it yet). In summary, if you're missing any of my first three albums, you may want to consider whether you're going to want them, because when they're gone, they're gone.

Cats. Thanks to Susan's lovely gift of triple-strength catnip mice, I have discovered Alice's response to catnip. Basically, she goes batshit moonmonkey pumpkinfuckers INSANE for about half an hour, before singing arias to the invisible bug-people for the rest of the night. Lilly, on the other hand, takes advantage of Alice's, ahem, "delicate condition," and spends several hours gently shoving her off things.

And that's the local weather report. Back to you, Ken.

Some of you may remember how last year I took my crazy little bluepoint princess, Lilly, to enjoy a memorable meeting with Santa Claus. (She was the first cat this particular pet store Santa had ever encountered "on the job." Interestingly, he declined to return to the store this year, forcing us to go elsewhere for our Yuletide cheer. I can't swear that this is because of my pointy little princess, but when the red velvet hat fits...)

Because I am an equal-opportunity torturer of my cats, I decided that this year, it was Alice's turn to go out and meet the big man. So I called my mother, slapped a temporary harness on my normally collar-free cat, and went haring off for a date with destiny...or at least, a date with the local pet store Santa who hadn't retired due to cat.

The proof is in the picture:



Alice was very well-behaved. She didn't claw, hiss, spit, bite, or try to get away, although she did sing opera to express her displeasure with the time spent in the carrier. (Much like Lilly, she calmed immediately once I got her out of the box and just held her.) This Santa was definitely happier about having a cat in his lap, and admired her at great length.

It occurs to me that last year, I took Lilly to see Santa, said jokingly that I hoped she hadn't wished for a pony, and wound up bringing home a Maine Coon.

I'm scared now.

I love Thanksgiving. I love the excuse to gather people in a teeming locust-mass, turning life into a potluck adventure of giant birds and pumpkin pies. I love the way the house smells once the first bird gets underway, and the sound of chopping, and the random things folks do to innocent asparagus. Most of all, I love the fact that it's a day where people are expected to stop, look at their lives, and really see what they're thankful for. Not what they're supposed to be thankful for; what they are.

Two years ago today, I was still struggling to finish the book that would become Feed, and still wondering if I was being silly in my refusal to abandon my dreams of being a novelist. Now I have one book on the shelves and five more coming out. All four of the covers that I've seen so far have just been amazing. I have an agent I love (and who puts up with my crazy like a real trooper). I have two editors who make me better than I could ever be on my own. I have two publishers who support me. I have anthologies with my name on the table of contents. I am so thankful for all these things that there are barely words.

I am thankful to the unpaid coal miners who labor on the tropical island where my private reality show is filmed. They scold me when I'm heavy-handed, cut out my sloppy adjectives and wishy-washy modifiers, and generally make me strive to become a better writer. These are the people who sometimes get asked to flip around revisions on a short story six times in sixteen hours. I love them so.

I am thankful for the health and happiness of my cats. Losing Nyssa was even harder on Lilly than it was on me, because Lilly just didn't understand. The fact that she has been able to bond with Alice the way she has is just such a huge relief. Alice herself is a revelation every day, as she grows into all her puffy glory, and Lilly remains the cat I've been praying to have since I was seven years old. I'm so lucky to have them.

I am thankful for the reception that Rosemary and Rue has gotten out there in the big wide world. I had faith in my book, I loved my book, but there's nothing like getting that first positive review and realizing that your faith was at least a little justified. Thank you, thank you, to everyone who's read it, who's liked it, who's encouraged me, and who's said they're excited about the next one. It means everything to me.

Finally, I'm thankful for all of you. I don't know many of you very well, if at all, but that doesn't matter; knowing you exist, participate, read, and care? That makes all the effort worthwhile.

Thank you.

There has once again been a massive influx of people, due to the fact that Alice is adorable—welcome, massive influx of people; it's nice to meet you, although I realize half of you will leave again as you realize that this isn't the all-kitten-doing-weird-stuff, all-the-time channel, and that's fine—I have decided to once again do the abbreviated "here are ten things you might want to know" version of the periodic welcome post. So here it is. Ta-da! (As a footnote, Alice is aware of your worship, and was puffy all over my face at 2AM last night.)

***

1. My name is Seanan McGuire; I'm an author, musician, poet, cartoonist, and amiable nutcase, presently living in Northern California, planning to relocate to Washington at some point in the next few years. I am a very chatty person, whether you're talking literally "we're in the same place" chattiness, or more abstract "someone has left Seanan alone with a keyboard, run for the hills" chattiness. This does not, paradoxically, make me terribly good about keeping up with email or answering comments in anything that resembles a reasonable fashion. We all have our flaws. Luckily for my agent's sanity, I am very good about making my deadlines.

2. My name is pronounced "SHAWN-in", although a great many people elect to pronounce it "SHAWN-anne" instead. Either is fine with me. I went to an event where we all got name tags once, and the person making the name tags was a "SHAWN-anne" person, who proceeded to label me as "Shawn Anne McGuire". I choose to believe that Shawn Anne is my alter-ego from a universe where, instead of becoming an author, I chose to become a country superstar. She wears a great many rhinestones, because they're sparkly, and she can get away with it. Just don't call me "See-an-an" and we'll be fine.

3. I write: urban fantasy, horror, young adult, supernatural romance, and straight chick-lit romance. I occasionally threaten to write medical thrillers, but everyone knows that's just so I'd have an excuse to take more epidemiology courses. I love me a good plague. I believe that editing is a full-contact sport, complete with penalty boxes, illegal checking, and team pennants. My editing team is the Fighting Pumpkins. We're going all the way to the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS this year, bay-bee!

4. I find it useful to keep a record of the status of my various projects, both because it warms the little Type-A cockles of my heart, and because it helps people who need to know what's going on know, well, what's going on. So you'll see word counts and editing updates go rolling by if you stick around, as well as more generalized complaining about the behavior of fictional people. I am told this is entertaining. I am also told that this is possibly a sign of madness. I don't know.

5. I currently publish both as myself, and as my own evil twin, Mira Grant. My first book under my own name, Rosemary and Rue [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy], came out from DAW in September 2009. The sequel, A Local Habitation [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy], is coming out in March 2010, also from DAW. Mira's first book, Feed [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy], will be out from Orbit in May 2010. I don't get very much sleep.

6. I am a musician! More specifically, I'm a filk musician. If you know filk, this statement makes total sense. If you don't know filk, think "the folk music of the science fiction and fantasy community"—or you can check out the music FAQ on my website. I have three CDs available: Pretty Little Dead Girl, Stars Fall Home, and Red Roses and Dead Things. I'm currently recording a fourth CD, Wicked Girls, which will be out sometime in 2010. I write mostly original material, and don't spend much time in ParodyLand. It just doesn't work out for me.

7. Things I find absolutely enthralling: giant squid. Plush dinosaurs. Siamese and Maine Coon cats. Zombies. The plague. Pandemic flu. Horror movies of all quality levels. Horror television. Science Fictional Channel Original Movies. Shopping for used books. Halloween. Marvel comics. Candy corn. Carnivorous plants. Pumpkin cake. Stephen King. The Black Death. Pandemic disease of all types. Learning how to say horrifying things in American Sign Language. Diet Dr Pepper.

8. Things I find absolutely horrifying: slugs. Big spiders dropping down from the ceiling and landing on me because ew. Bell peppers. Rice. Movies that consist largely of car chases and do not contain a satisfying amount of carnage. Animal cruelty. People who go hiking on mountain trails in Northern California and freak out over a little rattlesnake. Most sitcoms. A large percentage of modern advertising. Diet Chocolate Cherry Dr Pepper.

9. I am owned by two cats: a classic bluepoint Siamese named Lillian Kane Moskowitz Munster McGuire, and a blue classic tabby and white Maine Coon named Alice Price-Healy Little Liddel Abernathy McGuire. Yes, I call them that, usually when they've been naughty. The rest of the time, they're respectively "Lilly" or "Lil," and either "Alice" or "Ally." I'm planning to get a Sphynx, eventually, when the time comes to expand to having a third cat.

10. I frequently claim to be either a Disney Halloweentown princess or Marilyn Munster. These claims are more accurate than most people realize. Although I wasn't animated in Pasadena.

***

Welcome!

I am a professional. I am aware of what is and is not appropriate conversation for polite company (although I sometimes forget when the topics of "pandemic disease" or "zombies" come up; sadly, I can be goaded into gleeful explanations of latency and droplet-based transmission just about anywhere, including the dinner table). I wear real grown-up shoes when I have to take business meetings, and I have a calm, measured telephone voice.

All this being said, there's a reason I don't usually take phone calls in my house.

The Agent called to discuss my upcoming trip to New York, during which we're going to be doing several dinner-type things, some meeting-type things, and a lot of hanging out. During our forty-minute or so discussion, she was treated to...

"Ow! Ow ow OW! Goddammit, Alice, get your claws out of my fucking leg!"
"No. No, you can't have that. No, that isn't yours. No."
"Get off of there! Jesus, cat, I swear, I will skin you."
"I can get new cats, you know. Better cats. Smaller cats. Cats that don't do that."
"Alice, give back my bra."
"I'm serious, Alice. Give me back my damn bra."
"THAT'S MY FUCKING BRA, CAT!"
"Okay, I give up. Just do whatever the fuck you want."

...all while we were having a serious business discussion. I swear, the fact that she hasn't drowned me and put me out of her misery is something of a miracle.

Hey, guys. Sorry to have been so incredibly scarce recently. Between the Ohio Valley Filk Festival, going through the page proofs for Feed (which killed no fewer than four pads of Post-It notes), getting ready for World Fantasy, and trying to finish a variety of projects before deadline, it's been hectic squared around my place, resulting in a lot of things slipping. (Ironically, my viewing of America's Next Top Model and conquest of "Plants vs. Zombies" are not among the things which have slipped. This is because skinny crazy girls and plant-eating undead don't require all that much thought, while composing a coherent blog entry does.)

So what's been going on? Well, for starters, I have my Advance Review Copies of A Local Habitation, and they're flat-out gorgeous. I'd take a picture of Alice with the books, so you could get an idea of how big she's gotten, but unfortunately, she killed the camera a while ago, and it has yet to be replaced. Seriously, I love these books. I also blush a lot when I look at them, because the back cover and inside page are covered with quotes about Rosemary and Rue being awesome. I always sort of envied authors who got that much good press, and now I am that author. It's weirdly quantum. The Great Pumpkin loves me so.

(Before y'all ask, yes, we will be having a few ARC giveaways. Watch this space for further developments.)

The cats have greatly enjoyed my week off from work. This will not make them any more forgiving when I disappear for the entire weekend, but at least I don't feel quite so neglectful. Alice has been thoroughly brushed, and Lilly "helped" me kill zombies for about an hour last night, by sitting on my lap and occasionally attacking the mouse.

Hope y'all are having a fabulous Halloween season, and that all your bonfires are smoky, your jack-o-lanterns spooky, and your black cats sleek and strange.

1. We're over a month out from the publication of Rosemary and Rue [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy], and the book still seems to be going over generally well. It's selling briskly, it's received a lot of positive press, and people look excited about book two. This makes me happy, as I, like all authors, am highly neurotic. (Remember, urban fantasy novels set in San Francisco make the perfect gift for any occasion! Buy two, they're small!)

2. The cover for A Local Habitation [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] is now up on Amazon, displaying my awesome new front cover blurb from the lovely Ms. Charlaine Harris herself. Yes! She likes my book! I am basically on top of the world right now.

3. Since it gets asked with fair regularity these days: no, "Wicked Girls Saving Themselves" has not been recorded on any of my three currently available albums. It's the title song on Wicked Girls, which is going to be released in late 2010. I don't have a full finalized track list for the album yet, but it's definitely going to include "The Ghost of Lilly Kane," "Writing Again" (by Brian Gunderson of We're About 9), "The True Story Here," and "Counting Crows," among others. The theme for this album is, essentially, the strength to rise above your story.

4. All three of my currently extant albums remain available through CDBaby.com, but I can't promise how long that's going to be the case. My stock assessments are always a bit questionable, given my tendency to discover CDs under the bed, but I'm going to say that there are between 150 and 180 copies of Stars Fall Home remaining, and I'm not currently intending to reprint the album. Pretty Little Dead Girl is in slightly better shape, being the live album and hence a slower seller, but I still wouldn't malinger forever on placing an order, or that order may not be place-able.

5. The cats are reacting to my current illness by behaving like this is Kitty Christmas, and basically running the Blue Cat 500 all around the house. They know I can't do anything to stop them. Remind me again that I actually like my cats? Because I am so not getting that right now.

6. Paging silvertwi. I do not yet have a mailing address for you. You have forty-eight hours to supply me with same, or your prize will go to somebody else.

And now we must rinse.

So today is Tuesday—hooray!—but for me, it's essentially Monday, because I spent the real Monday in a haze of sedatives, painkillers, and other exciting pharmaceuticals associated with having lots and lots of dental work done. I now have two permanent crowns on my upper right rear molars, and can actually eat crunchy foods, like apples and carrots. This is very exciting for me. I'm living the dream, and in the dream, I can chew. (Years of poverty plus a pronounced phobia of dentists mean that I have a lot of work ahead of me. Fortunately, I have a very understanding dentist who specializes in working with the phobic, and who understands that I need to keep my iPod on at all times to keep from panicking when I hear them talking about what they're going to do. Oblivion is my anti-phobia buddy.)

In keeping with the week's established medical theme, I'm going to be spending the afternoon with my doctor, being poked and prodded and (one hopes) declared to be in as good of health as can be expected. This is a necessary first step in scheduling my next spinal epidural, IE, "those periodic injections which render Seanan capable of continuing to walk and interact like a normal human being." It's probably too much to hope that the procedure could happen before OVFF, but I'm guardedly hopeful of shoving it into the week between OVFF and World Fantasy, when I'm already going to be off from work and can thus spend the day in bed without any guilt.

Today is the book-day birthday for The Mermaid's Madness [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] by jimhines, a gentleman and a scholar if ever there was one. He's also a fellow member of the DAW Mafia, and just an awesome all-around guy...plus the book is amazing. My mother liked it better than she liked the first one, and we all remember how much she liked the first one. I highly recommend The Mermaid's Madness as a good investment of your book-buying dollars for this week. Join the Princess party now, and beat the rush!

I spent a good chunk of Sunday accidentally taking a six and a half mile walk through the cities of Concord and Clayton. I was trying to get to a friend's house for a barbecue, and I overshot by a little bit, assuming you consider four miles, much of it uphill, to be "a little bit." I had never walked some of that route before, so it was educational. I also hadn't walked all the skin off my heels in quite some time, so it was painful to boot. I am now wearing thick socks and bandages, and have no intention of taking that walk again any time soon. Still, it was a pleasant, if unexpected, little adventure in getting to know my home town a bit better. (Quoth a woman who saw me walking by with my iPod on, a Super Double-Gulp in one hand, and a book in my other hand, "Now that's multi-tasking.")

Autumn has arrived at last; I was forced to break out my duvet Sunday night, and woke this morning under a cascade of cats, since not even Alice's innate insulation robs her of the feline desire to snuggle up to the nearest human and leech as much heat as she possibly can. (They promptly stole the warm spot when I got up. This is because they're cats, not idiots.) Next up, umbrellas and the annual hunt for a pair of shoes that I haven't already worn past the point of being waterproof.

And that, for the moment, is that. What's new with the rest of the world?

Well, I survived the weekend, with the assistance of the Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show that descended upon my house and made my book release parties extra awesome. I'll be posting detailed recaps of the parties later, after I've finished catching up on all the sleep I didn't get over the course of the weekend. (Seriously, right now, my idea of a recap is something like "and then I ate candy corn, and then I signed some books, and look, a bunny," which leaves out rather a lot of important details.)

My cats also survived the weekend, which was rather more in question, since Lilly doesn't like having large crowds between her and me, and Alice is still young enough to get impressively over-stimulated. Lilly spent the first night of the invasion (when we had Betsy in my room, Mia and Ryan in the spare room, and Amy, Brooke, and I in the back room) sleeping on my chest and growling in the back of her throat, Just In Case someone decided to try slitting my throat in the night. When no one attacked me, she moved on to pissy Siamese stage two, Shunning The Human, and provided a great deal of amusement, since she shuns about as well as I drive (and I don't drive). Alice did me the immense favor of being well-behaved and fluffy in front of Betsy, who bred her, and who needed to see her being happy, healthy, and fluffy.

Today has been pretty cool so far. Everybody seems to be getting home safely (always a concern, if you happen to be me), and my house is gradually returning to normal. Since it's Tuesday, I'll be going to Kate's tonight, to eat tasty Indian food, sleep in the basement, and resume my normal existence. I'm very excited by this fact. I like things that are normal (normal to me, anyway). I'm also going to be swinging through the Other Change of Hobbit to see whether they need any additional stock signed, and to confirm the dates for the rescheduled book release party. More information as it becomes available.

Chicks Dig Time Lords is now available for pre-order! Here's a link to the Amazon page. The brain-child of the lovely taraoshea, Chicks Dig Time Lords is a book of essays about being female in Doctor Who fandom, and what the show has meant to more than a few generations of Gallifrey Girls. It was co-edited by rarelylynne. I really loved being a part of this project, and I'm super-excited about it. Doctor Who has been one of my favorite shows since I was three years old. You can get your own copy of Chicks Dig Time Lords on March 15th, 2010—two weeks after you can get your own copy of A Local Habitation!

I'm exhausted, but I seem to be over the horrible plague that hit me just before book release, which is a wonderful thing (as yes, I did fear a relapse). This weekend, I get to hang out with a huge, merry crew over at the Bohnhoff place, and then head into Berkeley to do the Solano Stroll. And oh, right, it's time to get to work on finishing Blackout.

Welcome to fall. Now the work begins.

Dear Great Pumpkin;

With Halloween fast approaching, I felt it important to write and let you know that I have continued to be a very good girl. I have offered advice to people who asked for it, and not offered advice to people who didn't want it. I have allowed others to sample my candy corn without removing their fingers. I have hugged my friends and told my loved ones that I love them. I have not invoked any ancient evils to rise from their graves in the great corn maze and destroy an unsuspecting populace. I have made all my deadlines, even the ones I wanted to miss. And the swine flu still isn't my fault. So you see, I have been a very good girl, especially by my standards.

Today, Great Pumpkin, I am asking for the following gifts:

* Wonderful, easy, successful book release parties during which no one sets anybody else on fire. Please, Great Pumpkin, grant me two glorious nights, filled with wonder and joy and lots and lots and lots of book sales, because it turns out that I'm very nervous about this whole thing. Please let me be a Halloweentown Cinderella at the October Ball, only without the glass slippers, and let it all be wonderful. Also, please let there be lots of cookies. I'm a big fan of cookies.

* An easy, or at least not insanely painful, editing process on The Brightest Fell, which is definitely going to need a lot of editing before I hand it over to The Agent, much less The Editor. My first drafts are always excitingly messy, so I'm not particularly worried—the fact that it's book five, and book one just came out, means I have some breathing room—but I really would like breeze through the rewrites, just this once, so that I can get on to Ashes of Honor, preferably before A Local Habitation hits shelves. I will find it much easier to sleep once books four through six are put safely down, and when I sleep, I'm not destroying the world. You like the world, don't you, Great Pumpkin?

* Once again, I must request continued health for my cats, without whom the entire universe would be at risk from my unstoppable wrath. Alice is growing up gloriously beautiful, Great Pumpkin, although I continue to suspect that you may be her actual father (it's either you or an otter, and I oddly find you substantially more plausible). Lilly is continuing to do well with her new "sibling," and seeing the two of them rampaging through my house, destroying things at random, fills my heart with joy.

* Clean, timely page proofs for A Local Habitation and Feed, since right now, I am a blonde without deadlines. I do remember that I promised you three short stories with the Fighting Pumpkins cheerleading squad, as well as the origin stories for Hailey and Scaredy, in exchange for the trilogy sale. I keep my promises. Watch this space for further developments, Great Pumpkin, and thank you again.

* A beautiful fall season. You like the autumn as much as I do, Great Pumpkin, because it is in the autumn that the world truly honors and appreciates your glory. So please, talk to the weather, and make sure that this autumn is one that we'll remember for years to come. And not because the entire state falls into the ocean, or catches fire, or is invaded by flesh-eating locusts from beyond the veil of time. Make this a beautiful, wonderful season, Great Pumpkin, and make it a treat without any tricks. Please.

* Please help me to finish Discount Armageddon in a satisfying, respectful, ass-kicking way, hopefully involving lots of explosions and snappy one-liners. I really want Verity and her family to find a home (and not just so Alice can finally find Thomas), and that means I need to get past the first chapter of their story. What I have so far is actually pretty solid. Please make it amazing.

I remain your faithful Halloween girl,
Seanan.

PS: You really did amazingly with the house for the Newsflesh trilogy. Thank you so much. You da squash.

Alice* is eight months old today. The world has been fortunate enough to experience eight months of Alice.

Alice takes after her big brother, Alligator—the cat who made me realize that I could fall in love with the Maine Coon—in that she is constantly in the water. Her favorite toy is a big metal baking bowl, filled with water. Her second favorite toy is the front hall closet. I come in a mere third...but she loves me, and that's enough.

Alice is a "with" kitty, rather than an "on" kitty. Siamese are almost universally "on" kitties, and I never thought I'd want a "with" kitty, but it's actually strangely soothing to know that whatever room I'm in, Alice is probably going to be in there, too. She sprawls behind my desk chair while I write, putting herself in grave danger, and doesn't seem to care. She just wants to hang out with her human, and be where I am.

Alice hates to have her claws clipped, but is very good about velveting her paws, and has been since the one time she accidentally scratched me hard enough to make me yell. Alice loves to be brushed. We had...issues...this morning, since last night, her brushing was delayed by the arrival of my author's copies, and she hid my glasses by way of revenge. The cats don't see any problem with me being several hours late to work. My day job does not actually agree with them.

Alice is wonderful. I can't imagine going back to living without her.

(*For those of you joining this program already in progress, Alice is my blue classic tabby and white Maine Coon. She joined the household on April 5th, and promptly made herself a fixture. Her full name is Alice Price-Healy Little Liddel Abernathy McGuire. Yes, I really call her that. Yes, she answers.)

* Pick up Canadian currency from my bank, where hopefully, no one will say "Canadians have money?" Once was funny. Twice may well be grounds for punching somebody in the nose. I like my bank. I don't want to get thrown out for assaulting a teller.

* Revise and process the editorial notes on the next thirty pages of Feed. I'm currently on page 251 of 544 (this includes the dedication page, but does not yet include the acknowledgment page); I need to hit page 281 before I can go to bed tonight. I like sleep. Sleep is my cuddly friend. I like zombies. The fact that zombies are a prerequisite for sleep around here probably says something about my psyche.

* Attempt to unearth my dresser from beneath the epic pile of crap that accompanied me home from San Diego. This may or may not be something I can accomplish without the use of a flamethrower.

* Fish the cat toys out from under the bed.

* Attempt to integrate the epic pile of crap that accompanied me home from San Diego into my bedroom without causing some sort of avalanche or otherwise hitting critical mass and opening a black hole into another dimension. Of course, if the objects responsible for opening the black hole influence the dimension on the other side, it will be a dimension filled with flesh-eating My Little Ponies and telepathic velociraptors. So that might be a nice place to have a vacation home.

* Trade the July pages in my planner for the shiny, new, relatively unmarked September pages. Immediately start filling the September pages with to-do lists, deadlines, goals, and the other unavoidable roadmaps of being me. I actually find this process quite soothing, in a nit-picky, obsessive sort of a way. Here is my month. I have scheduled panic attacks, showers, and laundry. Go me.

* Finish chapter four of The Brightest Fell, aka "the fifth Toby book," aka "well, at least she won't be done with the entire second trilogy before the first book comes out." (The Toby books aren't really trilogies. It's just that I tend to outline them three at a time, because it's an easy number to deal with, and people are less frightened by "oh, I'm working on the second trilogy." Apparently, math and logic are not always our friends.)

* Fish the cat toys out from under the bed.

* Inform Alice that I am not going to fish the cat toys out from under the bed a third time.

* Fish the cat toys out from under the bed.

* Pull my towering stacks of trade paperbacks into one mega-stack and put the damn things away before I lose a cat beneath a pile of Hack/Slash. Since Lilly eats comic books, this would be a fitting end, but it would make me sad, and I don't have time for that right now.

* Update three entries in the Toby continuity wiki. I'm getting close to being done with the data-entry from the original continuity guide, and that means soon, I'll be able to start updating things to match current continuity, as well as adding extra information on characters whose profiles are still just skeletons. If there's ever a fan wiki, we can have a race.

* Ignore the Maine Coon telling me that her toys have disappeared under the bed.

* Go to Dairy Queen.

* Sleep.

Today is Alice's six-month birthday. (She was born on December 19th, 2008.) Today is the day where she officially makes the switch from "my kitten is N weeks old" to "my kitten is N months old," which is always monumental, and a little bit sad. Her baby days are coming to an end. Bring on the slightly psychopathic teenage years!

...only probably not, because Alice remains incredibly mellow, for all that she's the feline equivalent of a college basketball player. She's long, lean, and equipped with miles and miles and miles of tail. Also, puffy. Very, very puffy. Her adult coat is coming in nicely, and while she requires a lot more brushing than she did when she was a tinycat, she's absolutely gorgeous. I'm thrilled.

Alice is my first non-Siamese since Sarah Jane died in 2002, and Sarah Jane was a primarily outside cat. Learning the body language and cues of a new breed has been interesting for the both of us. It helps that Alice and Lilly are both such sweet cats, which means they just sort of sit back and wait for the translation difficulties to be resolved whenever they arise. (They mostly have to do with Who Gets Mommy Right Now. The answer has turned out to be "both of us." It's a good thing I have a lot of lap, or I'd be in some pretty serious trouble.)

In honor of Alice's half-birthday, I'm going to be doing a fuzzy-kitty photo post this weekend, and spent about half an hour last night calmly cropping and re-sizing pictures. I feel faintly guilty; since I didn't have a digital camera when Lilly was a kitten, I already have more pictures of Alice than I have of Lil. Not that Lilly cares particularly. If I want to point the flashy thing at the kitten, she's all for it.

Also in honor of Alice's half-birthday, I did not take my plush octopus away from her when she valiantly killed it and pranced off, trilling, with one tentacle clasped proudly in her mouth. The plush octopus is still almost as big as she is. This won't last.

My cats are weird, but I love them. Happy half-birthday, puffy girl!

* Busier than God.

* Remember, this is a paid LJ, and emailing me is way more likely to get a response than sending something to my LJ inbox. Also, if you send something to my LJ inbox, you'll eventually get a response that includes a cranky request that you not do that anymore. Don't make me cranky. You wouldn't like me when I'm cranky.

* Maine Coons + fun with physics = hysterical win. Lilly observes Alice in her attempts to conquer gravity with an expression of amused disdain, like "I was never that young, that puffy, or that stupid." She's right on one out of three counts.

* DucKon is coming up faster than a runaway freight train bearing down on an innocent young heroine tied to the tracks by a dastardly villain with a curly mustache. I am not ready. I am never ready until my plane leaves the ground, so I'll land in Illinois totally prepared, but right now? Right now, I'm not ready.

* As soon as I get past not being ready for DucKon, I have to start not being ready for the San Diego International Comic Convention. Where I am going to be a professional this year. Me. A pro. At Comicon. Did I mention that I think I may have sold my soul at the crossroads?

* I am here, I am responsive, I am doing my best to stay on top of the mountain. Please forgive delays.

The pumpkin-fucker orange* cat tree in my bedroom comes equipped with a little loop from which dangly toys can be suspended, allowing the cats to amuse themselves once in a while. I treasure the dangly toy loop, as without it, I would have serious difficulty ever being allowed to do anything that didn't involve feather toys and claws. Since the cat tree's installation, the dangly toy on the tree has been Mr. Happy Dangle Fish, Esq. Pictures of Mr. Happy Dangle Fish have been posted here, generally showing him locked in mortal combat with Alice, who seemed endlessly game to battle her piscean rival. Until last night.

Last night, she killed Mr. Happy Dangle Fish.

(*This is a technical term.)

I wasn't home to witness the actual murder. I returned to the house to find Mr. Happy Dangle Fish lying in the hallway, his string cruelly sundered (in a way which made repair impractical), the plush flesh of his belly rent along one of the seams from what I can only imagine was a cataclysmic collision with the floor. Weep for Mr. Happy Dangle Fish, who will never more dangle his happy way among us.

Alice was initially confused by Mr. Happy Dangle Fish's sudden failure to dangle, and then, as she realized he wasn't coming back, became more and more distraught. We're talking "full-out mourning for the plush fish on a string." She worked herself into a lather worthy of a contestant on America's Next Top Model. After climbing to the top of the cat tree, she would wail mournfully, bat at the inch-and-a-half of string that remained, wail again, bat again, look to make sure I was watching, flop over on her side, moan like she was dying, and then—surprise, surprise—start over from the beginning. It was my very own personal soap opera. Complete with fluff.

Eventually, I got tired of listening to Alice's Shakespearean monologue mourning the death of her dangle, and went searching for the backup dangle (the tree came with two, because the manufacturers are smart). I eventually found it cunningly hidden on the stuffed animal shelf, and began trying to install it. Issue: installing the new dangle meant touching the sacred string. I was profaning the memory of Mr. Happy Dangle Fish! I was a heathen! Alice promptly attacked my fingers. Vigorously.

It took roughly five minutes to remove the broken string and get Ms. Happy Dangle Mouse tied to the cat tree...at which point Alice immediately forgot her grief in the ecstasy of having a new enemy to attack. She and Ms. Happy Dangle Mouse were still engaged in the dance of death when I put in my earplugs and went to bed.

Ah, cats. Because apparently, our lives contained too much sane before.

Today (May 21st) is National Memo Day—the day when we celebrate the memos of the world, both written, unwritten, and really rather needing to be written. In honor of this most honored of days, I present some truly vital memos.

***

To the fall television schedule:

Because you have given me a third season of Chuck and a second season of Fringe, I will let you live. But don't think I'm going to forget that you took Cupid and The Eleventh Hour away from me. I was only just starting to forgive you for Freakylinks, and now you pull this? Uncool, television, uncool. I've got my eye on you. Play nice or prepare to taste my wrath.

***

To Wild Republic:

While I appreciate the ongoing diversity and awesomeness of your Cuddlekins plush collection, I am afraid I have to point out that there are still dinosaurs available in England that I can't get here in North America, and that this is still not okay with me. I need more herbivores! My collection of meat-eaters is starting to look at me funny. Really, since I probably account for a large percentage of your annual sales, shouldn't you be placating me more?

***

To Emily Stone:

Best of luck in your new endeavors. Hack/Slash won't be the same without you.

***

To Lilly and Alice:

I love you. You know that I love you. I love you more than I love almost anything. And if you decide to have another wrestling match on my face at two o'clock in the morning, I'm going to replace you with taxidermy. Soft, fluffy, interesting to look at, does not try to claw me open in the night.

***

To Jane, my alcoholic and emotionally unstable muse:

I do not need to know what happens in the ninth Toby book. Please go drink a pint of absinthe, hook up with a hottie from an under-occupied pantheon, and leave me alone for a little while. I refuse to be responsible for the consequences if you don't.

***

Anybody got any memos?

Dear Great Pumpkin;

I have continued to be a very good girl in the days since I last wrote to you. I have provided places for tired people to sleep, liquids for thirsty people to drink, and food for hungry people to eat. I have shared my ice cream and my candy corn. I did not spike the liquids for the thirsty people with interesting poisons. I have purchased and erected a cat tree so virulently orange that it sears the eyes of the unbelievers. I have not summoned the elder gods from their eternal dreaming. I have not purchased a chainsaw. Also, the swine flu isn't my fault. So clearly, I have been on my very best behavior for quite some time now.

Today, Great Pumpkin, I am asking for the following gifts:

* Freedom from typos, printing errors, and other plagues of the written word. Please, Great Pumpkin, guide my red pen through my page proofs and allow me to present Rosemary and Rue as the best book that it can possibly be. Please let all the errors be mine, and let them be reasonably small ones, so that I won't be forced to throw myself on my own machete. That would make me sad. Also, that would be messy.

* Wonderful author appearances, following a fantastic convention season. DucKon is approaching fast, Great Pumpkin, and so is the San Diego Comic Convention, which I'm going to be attending in full-on Disney Halloween Princess-mode. After that comes WorldCon in Montreal, and after that...after that, my book comes out, and I'm doing signings and raffles and all sorts of other things, many of them for the first time. Help me represent the orange, black, and green with honor, with dignity, and without overdosing on candy corn.

* Continued health for my cats. I have to admit, Great Pumpkin, you came through big time with that whole "perfect kitten" thing that I asked you for. I was dubious at first, since "Maine Coon" and "Siamese" are not the same thing, but Alice is amazing, and has won Lilly over completely, which is really what matters. (And if you think I don't know you had a hand in this, you're out of your gourd. So to speak. Betsy hasn't had a blue in years, and don't think I missed those smoky orange undertones. You are a very cunning supernatural force. I bow before the sanctity of your patch.)

* The perfect house for Newsflesh, wherein the Mason twins deal with politics, the Internet, blogging, dead stuff, each other, and their completely insane co-workers as efficiently and politely as possible. "Polite" usually means "with bullets and bitching." If you give me this, Great Pumpkin, I promise you at least three more short stories featuring the Fighting Pumpkins cheerleading squad, and another Velveteen adventure involving the denizens of Halloween. If you give me a trilogy sale, I'll actually do the origin stories for Hailey and Scaredy.

* A lack of total meltdown over this swine flu thing. I know it's not the slatewiper pandemic, Great Pumpkin, because you would never do that to me this close to my first book's release date. So clearly, this is just a minor plague, meant to remind the world that we need to wash our hands more often. Please let people remember to wash their hands and cover their mouths and take deep breaths (okay, maybe not that last one), so that we can get through this without anybody setting anybody else on fire.

* My galleys. Please let them come today, Great Pumpkin, as my twitchiness is beginning to bother people. I think some of them are becoming concerned that I may destroy the planet in a fit of pique, and frankly, I share their concern. Please, Great Pumpkin, help me to leave enough of the world's population alive to properly honor you on the next Halloween.

I remain your faithful Halloween girl,
Seanan.

PS: You did an amazing job with the cover thing. Thank you so much.

Alice is four months old today (she was born on December 19th). I say my kitten is four months old, and people immediately form certain assumptions about her size. I'm sorry to say it, but these assumptions are, almost invariably, incorrect.

The following picture was taken earlier today.

( We cut because we care. Also because large graphics are never a good surprise, not even when they're pictures of beautiful kitties.Collapse )

Over the past week, my house has developed two new bathroom-based rules. First off, even if you just dropped a tissue into the water, you need to flush. I don't care if it wastes water. If you're that worried about wasting water, throw your tissues in the trash, not the toilet. Second off, close the lid. Not the seat; the lid. Why?

Because Alice, like so many Maine Coons, likes to play with water. And the toilet? Is full of water. Once your nasty tissue has been in my toilet, I don't particularly want the cat to fish it out and bring it to me, thanks.

Last night, when I got home from work, I performed the standard checks—are both cats present? Are both cats breathing? Have they managed to break anything large and/or visible? After confirming yes, yes, and no, I went about my business. At some point during the "business" part of the program, Alice wandered off to do kitten things. This didn't concern me much; kittens are mysterious creatures, and spend a lot of time off doing kitten things, which usually end with a loud crash and a startled-looking puffball racing back into the bedroom. No big deal.

After I'd finished unpacking my bags, scanning some art cards, and eating dinner, I proceeded to the bathroom. The toilet lid was down. Repeat: the toilet lid was down, indicating safety. I began to sit.

The toilet said, inquisitively, "Mrph?"

Having seen approximately eight hundred hours-worth of horror cinema in my lifetime, I was once more fully dressed in less than five seconds. Furthermore, I was standing in the bathtub, that being the furthest I could reasonably get from the toilet without having the presence of mind to flee the bathroom entirely. I looked into the toilet bowl. Alice, balled calmly in the bottom of it, looked back. Meet my kitten, the TOILET SHARK.

I got her to leave the toilet by putting a few inches of water in the tub and encouraging her to play with that instead. She happily submerged several of her feather toys and went off to coax Lilly into the bath. Lilly, being, I don't know, an actual cat, was having none of it. (Alice got her comeuppance later, when her aquatic adventures required her to have a good brushing. Somehow, I doubt this is going to make her learn.) At least I know why she's damp all the damn time...

You know, the horror movies of the 1980s taught me to check toilets before I sat down, because they might contain monsters. It took me years to break this habit, thinking it was a foolish fear. Shows what I know. In conclusion, when you come over to my place...

...look down before you pee. You might be sorry if you don't.

I have spent my week being very, very productive, especially when you consider the fact that a) I just got a new kitten, b) Lilly didn't allow me to sleep for over a month during her "kitty go crazy" period, and c) the lack of sleep, followed by sleep's sudden return, has left me slightly sick and very definitely jet-lagged in my own body. It's exciting! But this week, I have...

...turned in an essay for one of those exciting "smart people try to sound smart while talking about television" essay books. I'm excited! This is the first time I've been asked to participate in something like this, but I've always been a little envious of authors who get to go and sound smart while they talk about, say, Supernatural or Buffy. Hopefully I've managed to sound super-smart, because I'd love to do this again. I have a list of shows I'm just dying to sound totally smart about. Like Fringe and Cupid. Oh, and if there's ever a "smart people try to sound smart while talking about shows that were canceled before their time" book, I can corner the market on Freakylinks.

...revised nine chapters of Late Eclipses, only to discover that one of those chapters needed to be combined with another to form a sort of, I don't know, "super-chapter," while another chapter needed to be cut entirely. On the positive side, I made these discoveries entirely on my own, without any outside assistance. Also on the positive side, this will help with my goal of getting the book down between 105,000 and 110,000 words. On the negative side, dammit, I already revised this part of the book. Damn plot. It's getting complications and fingerprints all over my stuff.

...set up the landing page for the Velveteen vs. series, including a brief description of what the series is about, a listing for the stories in order-as-written, and a listing for the stories in chronological order (which will matter more as the JSP-era stuff starts getting posted). All the Vel stories are being cleaned up and revised before they're posted, which slows it down a bit, but also lets me take care of all those pesky typos and logic problems that people have been so very kindly pointing out to me. Behold! For now I wear the continuity pants!

...submitted all my receipts, agreed to an estimate on my taxes, and confirmed that I'm ready to receive my extension forms, hence to turn my taxes in. Self-employment tax blows. The next time someone asks why I haven't quit my day job yet, I may pull out my tax receipts and a conveniently labeled graph. SCREWING A WRITER IN FIVE EASY STEPS. Step one: self-employment tax.

...introduced Lilly and Alice to one another without bloodshed (either feline or human), and without any major emergencies, unless you want to count Lilly forcing her way into the bedroom during what was technically the isolation period. I rarely, if ever, close my bedroom door all the way -- the cats like to be able to come and go, and the litter box in my room is a relatively recent development -- so I had totally forgotten that Lilly knows how to work the latch, and will work the latch if given sufficient motivation. Like, say, being locked out of the room. But all's well that ends well, and this has ended well.

What's everybody else's productive looking like?

So as most people probably noticed, I spent the last several days in Seattle, Washington. Why did I go to Seattle? Well, it let me spend time with my beloved Vixy and Tony, meet Cat Valente for the first time -- an important introduction, given that she's going to be staying with me later in the month -- hang out with SJ Tucker and the fabulous K, do an author photo shoot with Ryan, and talk venison with Dimitri. I even got to join Kitten Sundae for two numbers during their Saturday night concert (Vixy and Tony's "Thirteen," and my own "Evil Laugh"). But none of these things were the point of my trip.

No, the point of my trip was seeing Betsy and Dave Tinney, the owners of Pinecoon Maine Coons. Dave is the Master of the Salad of Doom; Betsy is, in addition to being one of my favorite wicked girls, and a subject-matter expert for the ballroom sequences in Discount Armageddon, the cello player for Tricky Pixie and Kitten Sundae. They're wonderful, enjoyable, delightfully multi-talented people...

...and they had my kitten. Alice -- short for Alice Price-Healy Little Liddel Abernathy McGuire (points if you can source all the names). A blue classic tabby with white, Alice is my first Maine Coon. We flew home this morning, and while she wasn't an angel on the plane, she wasn't a devil, either. She only cried during takeoff and landing, and is now merrily exploring the room, having had a snack, a drink, a nap, and an exciting adventure with the pumpkin-fucker orange cat tree.

I have two cats again.

Because Lilly and Alice are "unusual breeds" for many people, despite being gorgeous representatives of two of the most popular breeds of cat in the country (the most recent rankings put the Maine Coon at number two, and the Siamese at number three), they now have their own page on my website, giving a breed overview as well as a quick overview of the cats themselves.

They've met briefly, and while they weren't immediate soulmates or anything, they also didn't attack each other. So I'm calling it a win for now. We're home, we're safe, and the world is good.

Yay.

Well, I'm in Seattle, I have my new kitten, and I have my camera. This means that I have a moral obligation to provide a cat photo post, as failure to do so may get me smacked by a variety of people. Since most of you have never "met" Alice before, I'm starting with my earliest photos of her, and moving on from there. Also, as a special treat for all you dog fans (and Jim Hines fans, and fans of my mother), I'm including the first-ever posted pictures of Smudge.

Onward to the adorable!

( Cut because kindness says 'do not force others to look at your cats without actually agreeing to the activity.' Also because there are several graphics here.Collapse )

After a completely uneventful flight -- my in-flight entertainment deck was busted, so I put on my iPod, cued up my "all 'Rain King,' all the time" playlist, which is ninety-plus minutes of versions of the same song, put my head down, and passed out -- I landed safely in Seattle at a little past eleven o'clock last night. I was promptly met by Satyr and Sandi, the editors of Ravens in the Library, as well as good friends of mine, who bore me boldly off to Chez Tinney, hence to be united with my new giant feline companion.

(Alice is, in fact, giant. She's more than doubled in size since the last time I saw her, and may actually be bigger than my mother's new puppy, Smudge. She's also fluffy as hell, and possessed of the world's plumiest tail. I'm afraid there may be truth to my mother's accusation of my desire for a Maine Coon being born partially out of tail withdrawal.)

Today, my plans include "finishing the new Vel story" and "dealing with kitten contracts," as well as a healthy, happy dose of "work on art cards." Life is pretty good. I'll be here in the Pacific Northwest through Sunday, when I'll fly home to begin the laborious process of introducing Lilly and Alice to one another. Since they're both pretty mellow cats with vast amounts of fur, I'm not anticipating much trouble, although you should be anticipating kitten pictures sometime early in the next week.

Oh, and since I seem to have forgotten to announce it -- my mother got a puppy! Her name is Smudge, after jim_hines's fabulous fire spider, and she's gorgeous. She's half Malamute, half Rottweiler, and has those amazing crystal blue Malamute eyes. She was taken from her mother too young, but I've hand-raised kittens, and was able to bully my mother into going to the pet store for puppy formula. (I try not to bully my mother. But when the puppy's too young, we buy it the formula. This is how the game works.) Smudge is doing fabulously, and she's getting bigger by the day. We're introducing her to Lilly a little at a time, since she's likely to accompany my mother when Mom comes over to clean at my place.

So I'm safe, alive, and doing just fine, thanks to the wonderful people at Virgin America and their wonderful flying machines. How's everybody else, out there in the world? I lack deep thoughts today. Give me yours.

(Please note that the things in my subject header will not necessarily be presented in the order in which they were, um, presented. Don't mind me, I'm very blonde today.)

Travel plans, take one: As many people have been able to put together from my vague rumblings, I'm heading for New York a week from, um, yesterday. Yeep. This is almost purely a business trip, as I'm going out to see my publisher, have lunch with my agent, and generally behave like a grown-up member of human society. (Kate even managed to get me into wool pants. Everybody say 'thank you, Kate.') I'm taking a red-eye flight from San Francisco on Tuesday night, and I'm going to be gone until the Ides of March. Internet access will almost certainly be limited during this time, because dude, I'll be in New York. Also, this is going to be Yet Another Trip to the East Coast during which I don't get to go to Maine. Given the estimated temperature in Maine at this time of year, that's probably for the best.

Travel plans, take two: I'm taking a much shorter trip at the beginning of April, flying up to Seattle to see my dearest darlingest Vixy and Tony, catch the pure hammered awesome that is Sooj in concert, and, oh, right, pick up my brand new kitten from Pinecoon Maine Coon Cattery. Pinecoon is run by Betsy Tinney, who's also serving as one of my subject matter experts for Discount Armageddon. It's weird to think that I'm about to have a cat that isn't a Classic Siamese, but I wasn't able to find any local catteries with kittens -- and I'll be honest, I fell in love with Betsy's cats the minute I walked in. I'm not happy about leaving Lilly alone while I go to New York, but at least I know her only cat status isn't going to last for long. Plus, my kitten? Is awesome.

Number geekery: According to today's count, Rosemary and Rue comes out in 180 days. This is a good number, but I liked yesterday's number better, because 181 is a strobogrammatic prime. A strobogrammatic prime is a prime number that, given a base and given a set of glyphs, appears the same whether viewed normally or upside down. It's one of the only primes that can't be defined with a simple algebraic equation. Also, depending on the way a given language writes its numbers, certain primes change from strobogrammatic to not strobogrammatic. And this is so cool. There just aren't words for the awesome. (I am a total number geek.)

And now, behind the cut, the cool.

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Last night, when I got home, my eighteen-year-old cat was wheezing, having difficulty breathing, and obviously in pain. I got her calmed down, offered her food, which she declined, and put her on my pillow to sleep. She napped a little, woke up, cried a little, and seemed to settle. Then Lilly -- my five-year-old -- got onto the bed, and Nyssa attacked her viciously, going for her eyes. Lilly is the mellowest cat alive. She freaked out, and ran, crying, to hide under the desk.

Nyssa was still clearly in pain, and collapsed back on the pillow wheezing and panting. So I called my mother, and got Nyssa into the carrier while I waited for Mom to come and pick me up. We left for the vet at five o'clock. I got home around seven-thirty.

Nyssa was old. She was tired. The vet said her kidneys had completely stopped functioning; she weighed less than five pounds, and she didn't fight at all. Not once. She just let us hold her, and she purred, and she was limp and calm. Batya said recently that Nyssa had no bones left, that she was just paper mache and mice, and that was her last night.

I told her she was good. I stayed with her the whole time, and I told her she was good, and I told her it was okay, that she could go, that I wouldn't be mad. But I think I was lying. I'm not okay at all. She was supposed to live forever. That was the whole deal. I would love her, and take care of her, and put up with her, and she would live forever. I made that deal with Nyssa, and with Leela, and with Sarah Jane, and Ben, and Pepper, and Pirate, and Princess, and Mindy, and every cat I've ever lived with. And they never keep their side of the bargain, and I love them anyway, and I am not okay.

I want my kitty back. But more, I just want to know that she isn't hurting anymore. I guess that's how this can be okay. Because she isn't hurting anymore. And somewhere in my heart, she's still half a pound of fur, and I'm still arguing that they have to let me keep her, and today is a million years away. I always fall in love again.

Oh, Nyssa. Oh, I love you.

So I have once again managed to go several months without giving everybody access to the best accessory any blogger can have: pictures of their cats. Cats are adorable. Cats are sweet (as long as you don't have to be in a room with them). And best of all, my cats are Siamese, which everybody knows is an awesome breed. BECAUSE I SAY SO.

So anyway, here are my cats.

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1. If you wander on over to my website -- which is getting shinier and more functional every day as the back-end code comes online, all hail porpentine, who has slaved over a hot keyboard for our delight -- you may find a few truly awesome things waiting for you. Specifically, we now have icons and wallpapers, designed by the splendid taraoshea. All icons and wallpapers are free for use! Print them out, stick them to things, do whatever makes you happy. Well, except for posting them to your Deviant Art account and claiming that you made them. That would make the Tara sad, and she knows where I keep the chainsaws.

2. As you explore the site, you may see that there is now a landing page for the 'Velveteen vs.' stories. Yes, the link currently takes you to the big COMING SOON graphic, but its very existence means that, before too terribly much longer, there will be an online archive of the adventures of Velma 'Velveteen' Martinez as she struggles to survive the foul mechanations of the Marketing Department without giving in to the urge to just kill somebody already. Because the best way to show you care is with random semi-comic superhero stories, you know. My comic book store tells me so.

3. Speaking of my comic book store, the new best thing ever is walking into the place where I go for my weekly fix (I am such an X-junkie) and being greeted by Joe (the owner) with a cheery "Do you have CDs for me?" That moment, right there, was enough to validate my entire musical career.

4. Oh, and as an FYI for those who share my comic book habit -- Monday was a holiday, but it wasn't a shipping holiday. So today is still new comic book day, day of comic book-y goodness. Although according to the release lists, very little has come in that holds any actual interest for me. That's probably for the best, what with Wondercon right around the corner. Ah, sweet Wondercon. I wonder how I've lived so long without you.

5. I spent several hours last night at Borderlands Books, hanging out with Ripley, the freaky demon suede alien kitty-face (aka, 'the elder of the store's two resident hairless cats'). The more time I spend with her, the more I start to think that maybe life with a Sphinx wouldn't be so bad. Sure, they're naked and weird-looking, but they're also smart, friendly, and incredibly soothing to hang out with. This is probably a sign that I need some sort of 'cats are not like Pokemon, you do not need to collect them all' intervention.

6. While I was at Borderlands, I chanced to notice their list of top sellers for January, and jimhines grabbed the #10 slot with The Stepsister Scheme! Way to go Jim! The weird naked cats were very impressed.

7. For those of you who missed the (admittedly rather quietly delivered) memo, I will be leaving California for a short time in March, as I hop on a plane and fly out to New York for more fun with my friends at DAW. I love visiting my publisher, largely because it gives me an excuse to say 'my publisher' a lot, and that's still a sort of shiny-and-new thing for me. I am assured that by the time An Artificial Night (the third Toby book) hits the shelves, I won't find it all quite so exciting, but I really hope not. We all need things that make us irrationally happy. Anyway, my schedule is pretty packed while I'm there, so I'm not going to be looking to host a meet-and-greet or anything, but it's definitely going to represent a break in my standard routine.

8. Zombies are still love.

9. I have now managed to go three months without starting a new novel. For some people, this may seem like an unremarkable 'I just went three months without bursting into flame' or 'I just went three months without unleashing a global pandemic'-type statement, but for me, it's the result of Herculean efforts in the arenas of focus and restraint. I love starting books. The freedom and the scope of it all is just a wonderful thing. But I can be strong. I can be controlled. I can keep myself from getting beaten by my editing pool.

10. This coming Sunday is the official release date for Ravens In the Library, a benefit anthology assembled to help with SJ Tucker's unexpected medical bills. It's got an awesome list of authors, and, on a more personal note, it's got my first official this-is-in-print anthology appearance: my short story, 'Lost,' will be the final piece in the book. I'm very excited.

That's my wending for Wednesday. What's yours?

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.

I am a magpie by nature and a flea market aficionado by nurture; I have a finely-honed nose for yard sales, second-hand stores, unexpected caches of used books, and little hole-in-the-wall junk shops on the verge of going out of business. I come by it honestly -- my mother and my grandmother both amassed collections that put mine to shame. In my mother's case, several times, since she keeps rebooting her stash and starting over from scratch. I sometimes suspect that we may be descended from dragons, except for the part where I don't really care much for spicy food.

I have spent the last two days locked in unending battle with my bedroom, where the phrase 'well, it still closes...' has been uttered more than once, and never in jest. I've toted out boxes and bags of debris, given my mother two large boxes of toys to take to my suddenly acquired* collection of nieces and nephews, mailed a bunch of holiday and birthday gifts -- some even for this year -- and taken out three bags of recycling.

It still looks vaguely as though an atomic bomb has gone off in here. Perhaps more worryingly, I'm still missing things. Where's the second volume of X-Men: The Complete Onslaught Saga? Where's my soundtrack to The Slipper and the Rose? Where, for the love of all that's holy, is the cat?

Actually, that's easy. The cat's in my suitcase, hoping to sneak to Seattle with me. Sorry, Lilly. I'm not quite that unobservant.

I don't think anyone can deny that this is an improvement -- all my dresser drawers are closed, you can see most of the rug, both my dressers are totally cleaned off, and my desk is only under about six inches of crap -- but really, I've just managed to get the place to the point where it looks like someone might be getting ready to clean. And I still haven't addressed the question of what I'm going to do with the big CD rack (homeless since the removal of the snake cage), or where the leftover penguins are supposed to go (I'm beginning to consider the garbage disposal).

Dear Great Pumpkin: if you see that Santa Claus guy heading for my place this year, please punch him in the nose and send over a maid service instead. They may need flamethrowers, machetes, and holy water. Oh, and Kevlar, because the cats are pointy and I suspect Nyssa may be undead.

Love, me.

(*It turns out that when your baby sister marries a woman who already has kids, and who has a sister of her own who also has kids, you become an aunt. Who knew?)

Lilly has managed to get out -- accidentally, but out is still out -- twice in the past few months. Being blazingly intelligent and essentially fearless, she really doesn't understand that the world outside the house would be happy to cause her extreme bodily harm. Sadly, I understand this all too well, and basically age five years every time she gets out.

Since I'd like to live long enough to finish all the books I'm writing, I decided it was time to Take Certain Steps towards securing Lilly's safety. Step one was a collar (tragically with bell). She tolerated the collar with astonishingly good grace, and so tonight, while I was out running errands, I instigated step two.

I bought her a tag.

The front of it says 'Lilly'* and gives my phone number; the back says, in large, friendly letters, 'INDOOR CAT.' Hopefully, this means that if she gets out, anyone who finds her will realize that she doesn't belong there, and contact me. My address isn't on the tag, simply because that would require it either be very large (which she wouldn't tolerate), or that the text be very small (which makes it less likely that people will actually read it).

She has her tag and her cursed bell now, and has discovered that the two of them together can be used to make a hideous cacophony as she trots around the house. On the plus side, this means I always know where my cat is. And that's...soothing.

(*Her full name is Lillian Kane Moskowitz Munster Cavanaugh-Sawyer McGuire. That definitely wasn't going to fit on a tag.)

Article the first: New icon! The ever-engaging taraoshea made this for me as a sort of answer to my Commandments of Coyote, because Coyote needs his beer, yo. How I do adore her. Also, she's completely out of her tree. But that's probably why we get along so well, so hey.

There's a permanent account sale coming up, and I looked at it thoughtfully, because I'm a total whore for anything that allows me to have more user icons (yes, I know, I probably need help). The trouble is, the math no longer works out. There was a time when buying a permanent account was cheap enough that it would balance out the cost of paying for your journal, plus extras, in roughly four years -- forever in Internet terms, but still a reasonable investment. The folks who run the site basically know that they've hit the upper limit in terms of what people will pay for bells and whistles on a blogging site, and at $20 a year (if you're doing auto-pay), it just doesn't balance out the $175 for a permanent account. Not even if you're buying extra user icons. Alas, price structure, how you have betrayed us.

Article the second: Lilly has managed to get out of the house twice in the past few months, which has made me paranoid enough to finally do something I'd previously resisted, and buy her a collar already. I picked it up during my cat litter run -- a spiffy little black number with silver moons and stars on it, very goth-girl, which is ideal for my Siamese sweetie. It also has a bell. I already hate the bell.

Now, I brought the collar home anticipating some great, epic battle for my life against an irritated Siamese cat, something to remember throughout the ages. My housemate was anticipating the equivalent of a land war in Asia. I approached the cat with the collar. I pulled the collar over the cat's head. The cat squirmed a little. I stroked the cat. The cat stopped squirming. I tightened the collar. Game over. Where is the drama? Where is the excitement? Where is the pathos? (I know where the cat is. I hate that bell.)

Tune in next week, when Lilly utterly fails to react in any noticeable way to getting microchipped. I swear, my cat is on Valium or something.

Article the third: Plans are in the works to get my little sister down from Sacramento for Thanksgiving, officially making this the closet thing to a family Thanksgiving that we've had in years. The last time we tried this, I wore Melissa's tarantula as a broach just to see if it would freak Mom out (it did). This should, at least, be more entertaining than putting a collar on the cat.

Dear Great Pumpkin;

I have been a very good girl since last Halloween. I have given cookies and candy and cake to people who needed them. I have been kind to spiders. I have revered the pumpkin in all its forms. I have not drowned anyone in a well. I have not unleashed an army of the living dead, obedient to my every whim, and commanded them to destroy all that which might oppose me. Also, I have not called down the pandemic. So clearly, I have spent the entire year on my very best behavior.

This year, Great Pumpkin, I am asking for the following gifts:

* Awesome cover art. Please, Great Pumpkin, make sure that the cover art for Rosemary and Rue is made entirely of wonderful, and save me from the terrible specter of the bimbo on the cover of my book. (To quote the Bohnhoffs: “She is sultry, she is sexy, she is nowhere in the text, she is the bimbo on the cover of my book.”) I have great faith in my cover artist and my publisher, but it never hurts to plead for supernatural aid from the most superior of all squash.

* A fantastic convention season. I’m going to be the Music Guest of Honor at Duckon, Great Pumpkin, and Jim Butcher is going to be the Author Guest of Honor. Please help me to be the very best Disney Halloween Princess that I can possibly be, and smite those things which might attempt to oppose me. Please assist me in winning the hearts of all those who meet me, and all me to position myself well for a best-selling novel. Also, please make sure there’s edible food within walking distance of the convention hotel.

* The perfect kittens. My oldest cat is very old, Great Pumpkin, and in the interests of keeping my younger cat from going insane, I am in the market for Siamese kittens. I am looking for a chocolate and a lilac, both Classic, both with the sweet temper and massive size that I associate with the breed. They need to be sturdy, or Lilly will devour them while I sleep, and that will both make me sad and force me to go looking for new kittens. I don’t have time to go through this twice, so please help me get it right the first time.

* Quick, successful sale of the InCryptid series, wherein the various members of the Price family alternately protect and pummel cryptid ass for the sake of the ecological balance of the planet. If you give me this, Great Pumpkin, I promise to find a way to work you into the narrative, either as a benevolent protector of the pumpkin patch, or as a destroyer of the weak. The choice is entirely yours. Also, if you can, could you make sure the contract is for the first four? Because I really want an excuse to write them all.

* Happiness for my entire family, including my recently-married baby sister and her wife. I am very tired of people trying to say that my baby sister’s marriage is in some way dangerous, Great Pumpkin. She’s happy for the first time, and it’s wonderful to watch, and if anything, her joy is a testament to why people get married at all, not a sign of the marital apocalypse. Please make the stupid go away, Great Pumpkin, so we can all stay happy.

* An army of velociraptors, genetically-engineered to obey only my commands, and equipped with lasers on their forearms. I promise I will only use them to bring glory to your name, Great Pumpkin, and that I will leave enough of the world’s population alive to properly honor you on the next Halloween.

I remain your faithful Halloween girl,
Seanan.

It's been a while since I provided more of the single best accessory any blog can have: pictures of the blogger's cats. I like my cats. I find them photogenic and adorable. (Most people feel this way about their cats, but mine are Siamese, which makes them double awesome.) All of which combines to mean that it's time, once again, for that best of exercises.

Time for cat pictures.

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I am assured that the single best thing an author can do for raising awareness of their blog -- no matter how awesome or insightful or filled with chocolate as it may chance to be -- is to, well, post pictures of their cats. I'm somewhat dubious about this theory, but hey, I always have pictures of my cats to share. And that means?

Time for cat pictures.

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