The cast of my personal reality show (So You Want To Edit One of Seanan's Novels?, hosted by Jane, the alcoholic muse who's probably going to get a spin-off on VH1 one of these days) tends to rotate -- not because we kick people off the island, but because editing for me can be a fairly time-consuming experience. Folks who watch me blog periodically comment on how many things I seem to be doing at one time. People who edit for me know how many things I seem to doing at one time, because they're expected to critique them. All of them. At my idea of 'a reasonable speed.' And since I write like the bastard daughter of Quicksilver and Mother Goose, my idea of 'a reasonable speed' is not like your Earth ideas.

I am enormously appreciative of all my readers, editors, and proofreaders (and yes, these are three very different things, although some folks wear more than one hat). Right now, I'm being enormously appreciative of Lu, who had to leave for a few books to go off and have a life -- I know, right? -- but is now back in the saddle and scolding me viciously for my first draft tendency to hit people upside the head with two-by-fours when I'm trying to make a point. It's people like her who get me to stop hitting unless it's necessary.

Lu, this moment of sincere appreciation is for you. Because you just rock.

To whomever gifted me with a virtual pony and three months of paid account time:

Thank you so much. You really made my day with that, and I am totally delighted by my fashionable little purple horse. You rock me.

Love,
Seanan

This morning, when I made my emergency run to the store for leeks, an extra roasting pan, and a Diet Dr Pepper the size of my head -- the necessities of life, and also, God bless 7-11 -- I got asked the obligatory Thanksgiving morning question by the nice man who bagged my groceries: "What are you thankful for this year?"

My answer was immediate, and didn't even require thought: "Everything."

This last year has been an amazing roller coaster of good, bad, and stunning. Last November, I was still struggling to figure out what was wrong with my favorite manuscript. I was talking with a potential agent. I was fighting to finish Newsflesh, a book that seemed destined never to be finished. I was, in short, in a holding pattern.

A year later, I have a wonderful agent who loves me. I have a place at a publishing house I've admired all my life, working with an editor I respect and trust to treat me fairly. I have a mind-blowingly good cover artist committed to do the covers of my first three books...and I can say that now, I can say 'my first three books' without my more sensible friends saying 'maybe you shouldn't get your hopes up.' I found what was wrong with Rosemary and Rue and fixed it, turning the book into something beyond my wildest dreams, and now I'm working on book five in the series; the first three are all turned in. Newsflesh is done. Lycanthropy and Other Personal Issues is done. I've sold two short stories and syndicated a column.

I am thankful for all these things. I am thankful for the daily reassurance and stability provided by my friends, the wonderful people that I've been lucky and privileged enough to have in my life. I am thankful for the health of my family, for the well-being of my loved ones, and for the fact that we're all still here. I am thankful for Lilly, even though I sometimes want to microwave her. And I am thankful to James Gunn for making a reality show about torturing wanna-be horror movie stars. He so needs to call me.

Finally, I'm truly thankful to everyone reading this journal. Sappy, yes, schmoopy, yes, but it's true. I'm starting on a big, strange, scary journey, and knowing that there are people interested in coming along makes it easier.

Thank you.

(To be specific, today we're spotlighting Amanda-the-physicist, not Amanda-who-isn't-a-physicist. Why doesn't real life work like fiction, where two people are only allowed to have the same name if one of them promises to die five pages later?)

Amanda was one of the first people ever to get their hands on Rosemary and Rue, in a much earlier form. She's also one of my longest-running proofreaders, having now been involved with every book in the series. Oh, and she's married to Michael, the man that Newsflesh was functionally inspired by. All of which makes her an awesome friend, but not necessarily an awesome proofreader.

Luckily for me, she is an awesome proofreader, and because she's known me -- and been reading for me -- for so long, she's capable of making statements that might be offensive coming from just about anybody else. Right now, she's proofreading Late Eclipses of the Sun (the fourth Toby book), and had this to say:

"Okay, hon. During the Shadowed Hills sequence, they are all still having a major attack of stupid."

Behold the honesty! Being a) an academic, b) a folklore geek, and c) a scientist, she then proceeded to support this argument with fully two pages of 'this is why all your characters are dumb right here.' Seriously, two pages, not of edits or continuity catches, but of detailed and nit-picky textual critique. I'm going to lose my entire weekend to rewrites solely based on this set of notes, and I am overjoyed.

Good writers are made by talent, practice, persistence, luck, and alcoholic muses with sick senses of humor.

Great writers are made by their editors.

The Toby Daye books are urban fantasy with a hefty dose of traditional folklore, all mixed up with fairy tales, fables, and as many folksongs as I thought might be a good idea. It's mythology soup, and it's an awesome universe to play around in, because I can attack things from so many angles. My main character, Toby, has two half-Siamese cats named Cagney and Lacey, and a rose goblin named Spike. Spike is roughly the same size as the cats, gender neutral, and covered in thorns that make it sound like a small percussion instrument when it rattles them at people. I like Spike. Spike is lovely. Spike is constantly underfoot, but Spike is lovely.

Since I started working on this series, 'one day we'll have plush rose goblins!' has basically been the rallying cry of my proofreaders and sounding boards. (Well, that, and 'Seanan, go to sleep, it's four in the morning and I have to work tomorrow.') Something about an animate rose bush that wants to share your pillow just seems to appeal to people. I have no idea why.

The lovely Kate has been experimenting with crocheting a rose goblin. So far, her best attempt has actually turned into an Ood (from the current series of Doctor Who). Being the enormous fangirl that I am, this doesn't make me love it any less. The Ood now lives atop my desk, at least until I can get it some glossy black eyes and maybe a little plastic brain to tote about on its little crochet chain.

Upon returning to my home the other day, I found a large, unexpected box waiting on my bed. I eyed it warily. While I have never received a box that actually contained a) explosives, b) smallpox, or c) a live squid, I know my friends, and a certain degree of wariness is simply a function of wanting to live a long and successful life. The box didn't tick, slither, or explode. I decided to open it. And inside, I found...

...a large floral-print rag doll cat, covered in irregular lace 'spikes,' with bright green shoe button eyes. I stared. The 'cat' stared back, that being what shoe button eyes do. And then I started to shriek. ELUCREH MADE ME A ROSE GOBLIN!!!! Yes! My first plush rose goblin has been achieved, and it is awesome and large and currently sitting atop my dresser, staring at things. It's very good at staring at things. It doesn't have a name yet, but it definitely has a piercing stare.

This is so cool.

So far, of all the people I have told about my wonderful adventures in the world of publication, the best two reactions have come from my mother, which is sort of to be expected...and Joe, the man who owns my comic book store.

See, when I was a kid, most of the book stores and comic book stores and retail stores with magazine racks didn't trust children anywhere near the precious, precious reading materials. We might touch things. We might breathe on things. We might, heaven forbid, learn something that our tiny brains weren't yet prepared to handle. I didn't think much of this attitude then, and I don't think much of it now. If you can be respectful of books, you should be allowed to have access to them.

Joe was the owner of the only comic book store in the area that not only allowed me access, they encouraged me to take advantage of it. When we visited my Aunt Debbie, who lived a quarter-mile from the store, I would beg quarters off every adult I could find and walk down to the comic book store, where I would dig through the quarter bin looking for treasures. I always found them. I discovered the X-Men that way; Spider-Man; the Teen Titans. I also discovered the Omega Men, the Wanderers, Amethyst Princess of Gemworld, and a lot of others that people who aren't fans of comic books have probably never heard of. I learned a lot about storytelling -- both good and bad -- from that quarter bin, and I learned a lot about generosity with stories from Joe.

Yesterday, I went to the comic book store I've been going to since I was a kid, and went up to Joe, and said, "I sold the books." And he held my hands, and he laughed, and he hugged me, and he understood. And we're probably going to have a party, in my comic book store, when the first one sees print.

I have given stories back to the man who gave stories to me.

That's the best thing in the world.