Wow. Here we are again.

As of today, we are fifty days from the release of Pocket Apocalypse, the fourth book in the InCryptid series, and the second book narrated by Verity's older brother, Alexander Price. This is it for him, at least for right now; this is where he takes a bow and wanders off into the wings to do something else for a while. Verity will be taking over again for book five before she hands the baton off to their little sister, Antimony, to narrate books six and seven. And just the fact that I can type that sentence with a straight face proves that I am the luckiest girl in the world.

So where are we right now? Well, I'm gearing up for some more giveaways, some of which will be totally effort-free (RNG 4 LYFE), some of which will require a little more work (fan artists, start your engines). I'm editing book five, and prepping for book six, which is the first in my new two-book contract. Thanks to everyone who bought Half-Off Ragnarok and made it possible for me to write Antimony's books. Please keep reading, so I can keep going. I want to make it all the way to the end of this series.

I'm still not sure what I'm going to do as a pre-release countdown this time (or whether I'm going to do one at all). Suggestions are totally welcome! And of course, we'll have another new short story going up on the website around the time the book comes out, featuring another Johnny and Fran adventure. We're coming to the end of their time as the focus of our historical narratives. I'm excited to be moving on Alice and Thomas, one of my all time OTPs, but I'm going to miss Johnny and Fran.

Thank you all, so much. Thank you for allowing me to tell these stories. Thank you for being here. And thank you for buying my books. This was a series that had a very narrow market when it started, and you bought enough copies to make DAW see that it had an audience, and that I should get to continue. Soon, we'll break through the candy shell and expose the true darkness of what people keep assuming is my fluffiest universe. Soon.

I can't wait.

A year has passed, and that means that once again, my big list o' holidays* has landed on a holiday that is very important to me on a deep, meaningful level. Maybe not as deep as Virus Appreciation Day (October 3rd), which I celebrate every year by not unleashing the pandemic, or Cuckoo Warning Day (June 21st), which is best celebrated by evolving parasitic wasps into telepathic humanoids, but still, it's important to me.

Today is Australia Day.

Today we celebrate the existence of Australia, the continent which proves that evolution did a lot of drugs when it was young. Today we celebrate the fact that Australia is full of things that want to make us all die, the fact that Australia is frequently on fire, and the fact that Australia essentially hates humanity. Specific things to celebrate about Australia include venomous snakes, spiders the size of dinner plates, marsupials, really interesting money, the koala (which will totally rip your face off if you poke it), and the cone snail, which is the size of a man's thumb and can kill you extremely dead. This is why you do not fuck around with the native wildlife of Australia.

On a more serious note...Australia is having some serious issues right now, with the flooding in Queensland verging on Biblical proportions. The government of Queensland is organizing flood relief. It's rare that I post this sort of thing, but today is Australia Day, and I'm their Princess, so I felt that it was appropriate. That is one hell of a lot of water, and they're going to need one hell of a lot of buckets to clean it all up.

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

Hooray Australia!

(*I have a list containing a holiday for every single day of the year. Some days have more than one holiday listed. The world needs more excuses for a party.)

My last day in Australia dawned bright and disgustingly early, as I needed to be at the airport while the birds were still trying to figure out what the fuck was up with that big shiny "sun" thing. Jeanne and Mal drove me to the airport, where they dumped* me summarily on the curb and sped off into the sunrise. Jerks.

In I went, to check into my flight. I had made a point of arriving hours and hours early, since I needed an aisle seat. Bad back + seventeen hour flight + middle seat = removed from the plan by the EMTs, because I would no longer have been capable of moving my legs. As it was, by requesting an aisle seat at the absolute rear of the plane, I was able to get what I needed, and nobody had to get hurt. On I went, to security!

Security lines are so much faster, nicer, and less like being trapped in a really fucked-up post-cyberpunk horror movie when they're not controlled by Homeland Security. I'm just saying.

I wandered around the airport for a little while, buying breakfast, soda, and cheesy souvenirs for the people who would mug me at home if I didn't bring them anything, and managed to use up the last of my Australian currency. Then apologetic airport employees chased us all away from our gate, as Homeland Security requirements forced them to comply to American security standards...which, apparently, meant "make everybody mill and get frightened because you won't tell them what's going on." Yay! But eventually, there was a plane.

The actual plane ride was fine. I slept, I read the new Terry Pratchett (I Shall Wear Midnight), I watched a lot of movies, I finished the September Sparrow Hill Road story, I drank more Diet Coke than was strictly good for me. Because this flight was heading for America, land of the free, we were not allowed to congregate near the restrooms or be out of our seat for any "unnecessary" reasons. Like, you know, not becoming one gigantic muscle cramp due to sitting down for seventeen hours. I'm in favor of safety, America, but did it ever occur to you that crippling tourists hurts the economy? I'm just saying.

The plane landed. Ker-thump. And the fun part began.

See, in order to get to my flight from LA to SF, I needed to clear Customs. In order to clear Customs, I needed to clear Immigration. I was on a very tight transfer, so I was very grateful for the existence of citizen and non-citizen lines...until I got there and no one was respecting the damn signs, making all the lines a mixture of people returning, and people coming in. Why was this a problem? This was a problem because all visiting aliens must be photographed and fingerprinted and grilled at length, and this makes processing glacial.

I fidgeted. I squirmed. I tried not to panic. I passed through Immigration, trusting that someone on the other side would know what was going on, since I was exhausted, jet-lagged, and barely staying on my feet. I picked up my suitcases, asked several people where to go, and was pretty much shoved out of the terminal to sink or swim on my own, as was everybody else. A sign outside said to go right; I went right, because I obey signs when exhausted.

Sadly, the sign led to a large and very confusing airport terminal, with lots of lines and contradictory signs and people. I asked a pilot how to get to Gate 31. He pointed. I went. I went, and...there was no Gate 31. So I, exhausted and jet-lagged and not sure where my feet were anymore, started crying.

To the airport security employee whose name I didn't get, who helped a crying blonde girl with pink camo luggage by getting her to the correct security line, to the front of the line, and to her gate five minutes before her plane was supposed to take off: thank you so so very much. I hope you get many good things in this world, because you are all that stopped me from having a massive panic attack in the middle of LAX.

And after all that, of course, my plane was delayed. I sat down at the gate, plugged things in, and called people to let them know I was home, with periodic calls to Mom to update my projected arrival time in San Francisco. Eventually, they let us board.

I do not remember the flight from LA to SF. I passed out as soon as I sat down.

Mom met me at Baggage Claim in San Francisco, and answered the question of whether she'd heard about the Campbell by bringing me balloons and crying all over me. I gave away most of the balloons to small children at the carousel, with Mom's blessing, and then we finally, finally went home.

With a stop at the comic book store on the way. A girl's gotta have her priorities, after all. And that, oh best beloveds, was Australia.

I can't wait to go back.

(*By "dumped" I mean "respectfully off-loaded, and hugged me a great deal, before tearfully leaving." Isn't precise vocabulary fun?)

My last full day in Australia dawned bright and clear, and best of all, WorldCon-free*, which meant Jeanne and I could get in some high-quality TOURISM before I had to go to the airport and catch my flight back to the United States. FOR GREAT JUSTICE. Our plans for the day involved hitting the Melbourne Zoo (renowned among zoos for being TOTALLY BITCHIN'), and then driving a gazillion miles** to Phillip Island to witness the Penguin Parade.

We got up stupid-early in the morning to meet Mal and his very sweet friend whose name I have since forgotten, because I Am Crap With Names. They had rented a car for the day, because they are wonderful, thoughtful people. And it was off for the zoo! Well. Off for breakfast. But after that, the zoo! Hooray the zoo!

Sadly for us, several school groups had also decided that this was a yay the zoo kind of day, and the place was swarming with children. I do not question the right of children to go to the zoo, nor, in fact, the need for children to go to the zoo. But when it's one adult to thirty small boys, I start to feel a little bit like a cat surrounded by Aeslin mice, and that isn't a fun sensation. We chose the path that seemed least likely to intersect with the school groups, and started wandering.

The Melbourne Zoo is just as awesome as its press implied it would be. Within the first twenty minutes, we'd seen snow leopards, cougars, bears, and tigers, and I had decided that this was the zoo where the fourth InCryptid book would be set. SURPRISE. We went on to see an enclosure containing only male lions, who were, um, rather dedicated to finding some females; a large pack of African wild dogs; some cool birds; giraffes; a bunch of wild turkeys; and the biggest damn tortoises I have ever seen in my life. Seriously, people could live in those shells. If they weren't, y'know, already occupied.

And then, wonder of wonders, miracle and miracles...the Reptile House. Which was full of glories untold and miracles unnumbered, including several species of snake that I had never actually seen before. Because I love my snake-fearing friends, I will not go into explicit detail, save to say that I had a powerful bonding experience with a taipan, and small boys who taunt rattlesnakes should be put out of the Reptile House at once.

We wandered the zoo a bit more, with a stop for lunch before we entered the Australian wildlife exhibit. Kangaroos roamed free, wombats burbled, and Jeanne and I finally got to see an echidna. Yay! We stopped the admire the echidna. At great length. A zookeeper noticed us clustered there, and came over to announce that she'd be doing a koala show in five minutes at the (connected) koala enclosure. We allowed as how this was very nice for her, and kept watching the echidna, I don't know, echid. Whatever you call what an echidna does. Ten minutes later, the zookeeper came back and asked, if she told us all about the echidna, would we come and see the koala show. Would we ever!

I got to touch an echidna. My life is now complete.

The koala show turned out to be pretty cool, too, and their young female koala—named "Alice," nicknamed "Devil Spawn," which proves that there's an Alice everywhere—was spritely and fun to watch, unlike her wild cousins. Totally worth the stop.

We also saw: manta rays with awesome leopard spots on, platypuses swimming (and being way smaller*** than I expected them to be), elephants taken VERY SERIOUSLY, lemurs, orangutans, fish, seahorses, and penguins. And then it was time to leave the zoo, so that we could spend hours upon hours in the car, driving to Philip Island. Mal's friend left us then, as he did not want to spend hours upon hours in the car. Mal's friend is a smart guy.

I kept myself amused during the drive by counting Australian magpies, as they were everywhere. One's for sorrow, two's for joy—does anybody know what seventy-eight is for? Because there were a lot of magpies. It was like being escorted across Australia by Vixy in spirit guide form. Hi, Vixy!

We reached Philip Island fifteen minutes before the Penguin Parade began. Now, this is not a tightly scheduled thing; the term "penguin parade" actually refers to the completely natural life cycle of the Fairy Penguin. They go out to sea in the morning, and return on the evening tide, whereupon they parade up the beach to get back to their nests. Humans sell tickets to watch this happen. The penguins don't get it. But hey, if we want to freeze our asses off sitting on the bleachers and watching them walk, more power to us.

It was like something out of The Last Unicorn. Waves would roll in, and leave behind little foot-high penguins when they rolled out again. Then the little penguins marched up the beach, making fantastically loud noises. It was magical. It was bizarre. It was freezing. We ran for the hot cocoa stand when it was over, and that stuff did NOT last long.

Signs in the parking lot requested that we check under our car for penguins. That's Australia, all over. Hello, welcome, please do not flatten a penguin when you leave.

I am so glad I got to go.

(*I loved WorldCon, and had a fantastic time, once I started actually sleeping again. But it was awfully nice to be done with all my "official" duties that didn't involve enjoying the native wildlife and putting horrific things in my mouth.)

(**As a native Californian, I tend to view most places as being somewhat small and quaint. Yes, I realize this is insane, and potentially insulting, but I can't help it. My state is gargantuan, and it's messed up all my ideas about scale. Well, Australia is a continental FUCK YOU to this tendency, being as it is, I don't know, A CONTINENT, and is thus FUCKING ENORMOUS. Australia could eat California as a nice snack with some tea and scones and maybe a side order of Greenland. Australia is AWESOME.)

(***Sorry, Perry the Platypus.)

Monday morning, I woke up, and I had still won the Campbell. This was...something of a relief, since part of me had been vigorously insisting that I was going to wake up and it was going to have all been a VERY CRUEL DREAM. Because that is the sort of shit my brain thinks is funny. Well, at this point, if it's a very cruel dream, it's been going on for almost two months, and when I wake up, I'm kicking the living shit out of the Sandman.

After dressing, abluting, and giggling a lot, Jeanne and I made our way over to the convention center, where I had been added to the "Disreputable Protagonists" panel. I...didn't have that much to contribute, honestly. Toby is disreputable, but she's disreputable due to very world-specific things, not because she's actually a roguish naif. Ah, well. What I remember of the panel was fun (I had, remember, not slept much for almost a week).

We wandered around the convention a bit. We peered at stuff. And we made our way to my reading, which was governed entirely by consensus. What was I going to read from? Feed. Okay. Which part? The first part. Again, okay. I read the first chapter. And then I gave away books, so I wouldn't have to take them home.

We wandered around a bit more. I gave away more books, including one to Crystal, a very nice lady associated with Arisia in Boston. I ran out of books. We hooked up with what had become the Usual Suspects—Cat, Rob, Liz, Mundy, Mal, and a gentleman whose name I have since forgotten—and took cabs downtown, where we ate Italian food and threw things at each other and made fun of Scotland. Then it was back to the Hilton, where we drank cocktails and talked about many things, and flung cookies at each other, and generally were silly buggers until the time came for sleeping.

That's the end of AussieCon IV. To everyone who made my weekend so amazing, thank you. To everyone who would have done the same if they could have been there, thank you. And to Jeanne and Cat, thank you twice, because you made the weekend magic.

Australia!

When last we left our intrepid heroes, Jeanne and I were heading to the auditorium where the Hugo Ceremony was being held, so that we could acquire a sufficient number of seats for our (admittedly large) group of people. We had, by that point, myself, Jeanne, Cat, Gretchen, Jay, Shannon, Daniel, and Keli, all of whom were basically "required human to prevent destruction of mankind." This is quite a lot of seats, so really, it makes sense that we took off the way we did.

Even with our early arrival, we wound up two seats short. Cat and I took the seats in the main row (where we would have a clear shot at the stage, should it be needed), while Jeanne and Gretchen sat right behind us, allowing for hand-holding and hysteria, despite the technical separation. Hyperventilation commenced.

Eventually, everyone was present and in their seats, and the lights were dimmed for the Hugo Ceremony to begin. Garth Nix, the MC, came out and told a funny story about how he was chosen to be the MC. At least, I think it was funny. I was mostly focused on hyperventilating without passing out. It's fun! Then came the video presentation of the year's "highlights in science fiction." This included, among other things, the book covers and author pictures of all the year's nominees.

They showed my book. And my face. On the big big big screen at the Hugos. This would be the point in the ceremony where I started to cry for the first time.

After the video came the First Fandom Big Heart Award, which, while not a Hugo, is given out during the Hugos. Please note that the Campbell Award is given before any of the actual Hugos (but after the Big Heart Award), and this little additional delay was enough to make me more of a nervous wreck than I already was. Now consider that Cat's category, Best Novel, was the last of the night, and she was still together enough to make soothing noises and pat my hand. Woman is a rock when she's gotta be, that's all I'm saying here.

The Big Heart was given. John Scalzi and Jay Lake took the stage, along with Kathryn Daugherty, the year's administrator (and someone who's known me since I was fourteen), who was holding the actual Campbell, turned against her chest to hide the writing. Jay and John explained the award, along with fun facts like "where the Campbell pin came from" (thank you, Jay and Spring), and "who thought up the tiara" (thank you, Elizabeth Bear). The names of the nominees were read out. I discovered the heretofore unknown ability to taste sounds and pray in sign language (hint: I can finger-spell "please, Great Pumpkin" faster than I can spell my own name).

(Also, wow, the screaming when they said my name was amazing. I mean, everyone got cheers and applause, but if you listen to the ceremony on playback, I think people actually blew the levels screaming when they said my name. Cue second tears of the evening.)

"And the winner of the 2010 Campbell Award for Best New Writer is..."

I clutched Cat's hand so hard my fingers hurt.

"...Seanan McGuire."

I kept clutching Cat's hand, because let's face it, when you can taste sounds, you're going to be like Cordelia in that episode where she was in the running to be Homecoming Queen: you'll think they said your name even if they've just announced "No Award" as the winner. Cat pushed me to your feet. "That's you."

The processional music for the Campbell was the theme from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Kathryn, Jay, and John were all beaming like they'd been the ones to win. I was mostly chanting "Oh my God" over and over again, that being roughly the limits of my mental acuity at that particular moment in time. They put the tiara on my head, and I was rightly crowned the Princess of the Kingdom of Poison and Flame.

All hailed.

My acceptance speech was a bit disjointed, at least in part because I was so focused on clinging, lamprey-like, to the Campbell. I did say that John and Jay were mistaken when they said that people wearing the (star-shaped) Campbell pin weren't the sheriff: "I just think y'all should know, I actually am the sheriff." So congratulations, my six-year-old self: you got to wear a pretty dress, become a princess, and be sheriff, all in one night. Next up, the planet of eternal Halloween, and maybe a pony.

I explained how, when I was seven, I said I wanted to grow up to be a Timelord, and everyone was okay with that, because no one knew what that was, and how everyone was a lot less okay a few years later, when I said I wanted to be a science fiction writer, because "girls don't do that" (and also I would wind up living in a cardboard box). I thanked the Great Pumpkin, which may well be a Hugo first. I thanked some other people. I lost the ability to form coherent words, and fled the stage as quickly as three-inch heels and a floor-length skirt would allow.

I admit, I spent the rest of the ceremony watching my award as much as I watched the stage (and also, getting the tiara caught in Cat's hair, at one point during the proceedings). People won things; we cheered. I cheered especially loudly when Will McIntosh won Best Short Story, since I'd had dinner with him the night before, and he was an absolute doll, and when Phil and Kaja Foglio won Best Graphic Story, because c'mon, it's Phil and Kaja. Favoritism? On occasion, yes. But at least my biases are public knowledge.

Cat didn't win Best Novel. But she did clutch my hand just as hard as I'd clutched hers, and thus was symmetry maintained.

After the ceremony, the winners and presenters had to stick around for a lengthy photo session on the stage (some of the pictures appear in this month's issue of Locus, which I need to buy multiple copies of, since otherwise, my mother will end me). Meanwhile, the other nominees, and their plus-ones, decamped for the Hugo After-Party. After all the pictures were finished, Jeanne and I joined them, dragging John Grace (my audiobook publisher) in our wake.

At the party: booze! Yay! Also prizes from next year's WorldCon, in Reno, and trays of actual food, which I finally felt competent enough to consume. Ellen Kushner came over and admired my Campbell. I squealed a lot, and wound up at a big table full of people I adored, sipping champagne, wearing my tiara, and loving the night.

Every time someone asked me if I was ecstatic, I replied, "I'll be ecstatic tomorrow, when I wake up and it's Monday." Ah, the joys of feeling vaguely like you're living in a dreamworld. Nothing is every quite as real as it seems, until it's over.

When we were all champagne-ed out, we went back to the Hilton Bar for more serious drinks (which were serious). On the way, I stopped to use the bathroom, and was then waylaid by a lookout for the filkers. "Are you going to come up?" he asked. "Kate's waiting for you to sign her book."

I said I could, but only for a few minutes, as Jeanne had my shoes, and up we went. The circle was singing "Hope Eyrie" when we entered the room. Half of them stopped singing to applaud, making me turn beet red and flap my hands in negation. (Thankfully, no one was mad at me for interrupting the song, since I clearly hadn't meant to.) I signed Kate's book. I was asked to sing before leaving, and, since Kathleen was there, sang "Burn It Down" with more fervency than I had ever managed before. My fear was on the fire, baby, and it was going down.

Fleeing, I rejoined the others at the Hilton, and had another round of hugs and joy with the folks who hadn't been able to attend the after-party. Then it was up to Cat's room to put our real clothes back on (and pluck the pins from my hair) before Jeanne and I walked back to our own hotel, to sleep.

Jennifer woke up long enough to say "Congratulations, lady," and went back to sleep.

For the first time in days, so did I.

(Yes, part of me is still in Australia. Specifically, the part of me that's responsible for writing up this trip report. This entry is going to take us through Sunday, right up until the end of the pre-Hugo Cocktail Party. Not because I'm trying to be a tease. Because the Hugos themselves need a whole entry, just so I can explain, in depth, what was going through my messed-up little head.)

Sunday dawned bright and early, again, with an extra dose of sheer blind "oh sweet Great Pumpkin the Hugos are TONIGHT, they're giving out the Campbell Award TONIGHT, why am I not drinking heavily RIGHT NOW?!" panic. I love my psyche sometimes. Anyway, blah blah, showers, blah blah, straightening my hair into a shiny, manageable state. Fun for the whole family.

Once we were ready to leave our hotel room, Jeanne and I packed up everything we were going to need for Hugo prep in the smaller of my two pink-camo suitcases. That may sound like overkill, but once you factor in dresses, underclothes, makeup, brushes, small appliances, shoes, makeup, and other items needed by the two of us, well...if either of us had been wearing a more fabric-heavy dress, we would have needed a larger suitcase.

The suitcase accompanied us to breakfast, and from breakfast, to Cat's hotel, where we checked it with the concierge. All hail good hotels! With this accomplished, it was time for the second order of business: confirming that I had been removed from my five o'clock panel. I hate to do that sort of thing, but I really needed to be getting ready for the Hugos by then, since the pre-Hugo reception started at six. (Basically, it was "drop the panel" or "attend the Hugos naked.")

After dropping the panel, we swung by the Green Room, where I had one of my few unpleasant at-con experiences as a woman informed me, with great good cheer, that the Hugos were on Sunday night because they wanted to see how many of the nominees would actually break down and cry. Thanks, lady. Jeanne didn't hit her. I was very proud of Jeanne, and not just because "get thrown out of the Green Room" wasn't on my list of things to do that day.

We wandered the convention for a while before proceeding to my one remaining panel of the day, "YA Urban Fantasy." I was happy to be on the panel, if only because it provided a window into that beautiful future where I've sold the Clady books and can legitimately call myself a YA author. Plus, it meant I got to hang out with Karen Healey (best last name ever). I brought her a My Little Pony from my stable, because she'd expressed a fondness for Ponies, and I like to share. She was properly appreciative of the Pony, thus securing herself an eternal place in my heart. Yay!

The panel was cool, too.

After the panel, Jeanne and I made our way back to Cat's hotel to start getting ready. Cue increasing terror. Cat met us at the door in her bathrobe. "Close your eyes," she commanded.

I am an obedient blonde. I closed my eyes, and let her lead me into the room...where an entire bed was covered in tiaras. Big tiaras, little tiaras, fancy tiaras, less fancy tiaras (because all tiaras are inherently fancy, at least to some degree), tiaras.

"We wanted to make sure that no matter what, you went home with a tiara," she said.

I laughed because it was that or start crying, and I knew that if I started, I was never going to stop, ever. The tiaras were beautiful, and just made moreso by the sentiment behind them. You guys. Thank you so much.

Cat's friend Gretchen was also there, and the four of us started our respective "getting ready" cycles. Four fairy tale girls, no waiting. Gretchen looked like a punk-rock Red Riding Hood. I could easily have believed Jeanne spinning straw into gold. Cat, as always, was my sweet and stained Snow White, and I was a Grecian Lily Fair, with ice on my eyelids and a prayer pressed to my heart. Cat didn't have any good luck charms on her; I gave her my silver sixpence, and taped it to her foot with a Band-Aid. I put on earrings made by Beckett and tucked the two-dollar coin I found in San Francisco into the front of my strapless bra.

After checking Twitter, Cat announced that the Night Kitchen in Seattle was having a Hugo party. All those people, staying up just to find out what happened. It was amazing. So much love from across the world. I can't describe what it meant to me to learn that. No matter what, we were nowhere near alone.

Gretchen and Jeanne did a very good job of juggling their high-strung pumpkin princesses until Susan arrived to do our hair, and put on her Sooj playlist to provide background music. We all sang along with "Ship Full of Monsters" as Susan got me pinned into place, and "Pixie Can't Sleep" while she worked on Cat (who looked amazing, by the way, in her gown of royal oceanic blue). It took forever to get us all ready to go. It took no time at all. It was like we blinked, and we had to go, because the pre-Hugo reception was getting ready to start. After days and weeks and months of wondering, the hour was finally nigh.

Dude.

Aussiecon 4's pre-Hugo reception was sponsored by Orbit, which meant that the owner of my publishing house was there, and also that there was a lot of free champagne. I mean a lot of free champagne. It's a measure of my Irish heritage (and unwillingness to force myself to visit the restroom in my floor-length dress) that I did not wind up roaring drunk, given my tendency to drink cold liquids really, really fast, and the way people kept trying to hand me fresh glasses.

We milled around, admiring people's outfits, posing for pictures, and generally being sociable, until it was time to do the photo ops for the various trade publications. Unfortunately, the microphone really didn't work well enough for a room that size, and, well...let's just say that those of us who have served as SCA Heralds in the past rapidly came out of the medieval closet, yelling our heads off as we herded nominees into place. I got to have my picture taken with my Campbell class. It was amazing.

And then it was time to go. Time for the Hugos. Jeanne and I struck out at the head of the party, so that we could grab a sufficient number of seats.

Wow, was I nowhere near ready. And wow, did that not matter anymore.

Saturday continued the "early comes the dawn" trend, with Jeanne and I both out of bed by seven. Jennifer and Jeff didn't murder us for our sins against the sleeping, and that's probably a sign that they're in line for sainthood. (Then again, we didn't murder them for snoring, so maybe the scales are just nicely balanced.) This was already shaping up to be my busy day, and just got busier once we got to the convention center and discovered that my three o'clock panel had been moved to noon. Yay for the fluidity of time!

(Footnote: Originally, I was supposed to be on the eleven o'clock panel about female superheroes. For some reason, it wasn't printed on my badge, and I wound up not attending, since once the convention starts, my back-of-badge panel list is about the only thing that can make me change directions. While this was deeply disappointing at the time, all recountings of the panel have made me glad to have missed it, as I might have killed someone. Hint: telling me that there is no sexism in comics is a good way to get your head bitten off. I am a vermicious knid when provoked.)

The time-shifted panel was that glorious old standby, "What Is Filk?", and consisted of me, Bill Sutton, Kathleen Sloan, and Terence Chua. If you want a bunch of people to talk about filk and the definitions of same for an hour, well, you could do one hell of a lot worse. It was a lot of fun, watching all the local filkers realize that no, really, They Are Not Alone. We are filk. We are legion, yo.

I went literally straight from my panel-on-filk into an hour-long two-person panel with Paul Cornell, titled "Fringe: Paranormal Investigations in SF Television." I adore Paul. I adore geeking madly with Paul. And I adore paranormal investigations in science-fiction television. This panel was like the delicious chocolate bonbon of my weekend, and the only way it could have been better is if Jeanne had delivered a ham, cheese, and tomato croissant to me at the panel's end.

Oh. Wait. BEST PANEL EVER.

My signing was scheduled for four, right after Cat's signing. I went over and kept her company for a while, until her line began to form and she was occupied by her fans. Ah, the trials of stardom. Or something. Her signing ended, mine began, and I signed a bunch of stuff (as one does), while inking during pauses between people. Someday, this damn mermaid will be finished.

The AussieCon V filk concert was arranged a lot like the UK Filkcon Main Concert: everyone piled into a single room and performed two or three songs during the multi-hour slot. Kathleen Sloan was my stunt guitarist, and we went on after (among other people) the Suttons, Terence, and Nan Freeman. NO PRESSURE. I performed my own "Wicked Girls," and Vixy and Tony's "Burn It Down," both of which went over very well, before running to get changed for dinner.

Dinner! It was me, Jay and Shannon, Daniel and Kelly, and two people whose names sadly escape me right now (I'm sorry!). We went to a very nice place attached to the casino attached to the hotels attached to the mall, where we spent several hours chatting, enjoying decadently good food, and, in my case, eating a big bowl of bugs. Bay lobster! It's delicious! And looks like a horrible cross between a lobster and a trilobite, which made it EXTRA DELICIOUS.

There was some unpleasantness about the service, but Daniel was able to resolve it with a minimum of fuss, and we all decamped back to the Hilton to resume Barcon. While there, I got to meet Ellen Kushner, and tell her that she's a big part of why I write urban fantasy now. Also, there were cocktails. Which made it easier for me to actually fall asleep when I finally made it back to my hotel, since, well...

Saturday night. That meant it was almost time for the Hugos.

I did not sleep through the night.

The first full day of WorldCon dawned bright and early. Very bright, and very early, since Jeanne and I were both still waking up at roughly six o'clock in the morning. The fact that I did this despite spending a good portion of the night out drinking with my friends was somewhat astonishing to everyone involved, and could be taken as proof that I function on some sort of nuclear power source, rather than actual sleep. Our early rising did net us first shower, which was nice, as fixing my hair* takes a long damn time (which is why I so rarely bother to do it). Now socially acceptable, we hit the street in search of a) breakfast, and b) caffeine.

Breakfast was ham and cheese croissants in the food court attached to the casino attached to our hotel. Yeah, I know, I'm stacking on attachments like a professional spammer, but that's apparently the way they roll in Australia. Unless otherwise stated, assume all meals were in the food court attached to the blah blah blah. It was close, convenient, and (by local standards) reasonably priced, and Jeanne and I were both willing to eat there. Pretty much a victory all the way around.

At the convention center, the poor folks at registration were still waiting on their program books, so we went to see Mary Kay Kare and get my Participant Packet instead. It had invites! To Hugo-related functions! This is about when it all started seeming very real to me, and also when I pretty much gave up sleep for the duration. Expect my sanity to degrade rapidly from this point onward.

We wandered the convention, figured out where everything was, and had an unexpected meeting with Lezli Robyn, my fellow Campbell Award nominee. She was incredibly sweet, and I'm very glad to have met her. After touring the dealer's room and the half-assembled art show, I located Jay Lake and Shannon Page on a comfortable couch, and camped there for a bit, because Jay is cuddly and I was warm. Jeanne pointed out that failure to decamp from Jay would mean I got no caffeine before my three o'clock panel on Supernatural. I knew I'd need caffeine for that one. I decamped.

Thank Heaven for 7-11, yo.

The panel went well, despite some early confusion as to what, exactly, we were talking about. The topic was "Breaking the Fourth Wall: Supernatural and Its Audience." Given my opinions on season five, this could have been a blood bath. It was not, largely because polite tourists don't kill people. (At least, that's what Kate says, and everyone I ask says she's right. Conspiracy much?) And that was...well, that was it. That was my only Thursday panel.

Oh, wait. What about my Kaffeeklatsche? You know, that thing where I go and have coffee with anyone who wants to sit and talk to me for an hour? That was still coming up, right? Well, yes, and no. Because somebody told the programming desk that I was sick, you see, and they cancelled my slot. I found this out when someone asked me why, if I was sick, I was hanging out in the hall chatting with my friends. I went down to the front desk and whined until they fixed it. GO TEAM MATURITY. After that, the actual Kaffeeklatsche was fine. People drank coffee (I drank Coke Zero), we talked, and a good time was had by all. Jeanne and I trundled off for dinner, after which I returned to the Hilton to spend several happy hours at Barcon, drinking expensive cocktails and feeling the love. I love the love.

Friday, I spent most of the day idly trundling around and visiting my friends, capping it all off with the moment...the myth...the madness..."Seanan McGuire and Catherynne M Valente In Conversation." Also known as "the Snow White/Lily Fair Variety Show." It was, quite seriously, quantum madness. People asked it, we talked about it. Also, Cat brought the My Little Pony I'd given her to be our moderator while we sat on the edge of the stage and made merry for an hour. Worlds were born. Laws of physics were broken. It was awesome. And we're going to do it again in New York, because that is just how we roll.

After the In Conversation, Jeanne and I decamped to collect John Grace (my audio book publisher), Malcolm (Jeanne's friend), and Phil and Kaja Foglio. We trekked back to the alley for dinner. This time, they bribed us with a free bottle of wine for the table! Score. We got a fabulous table, and spent several hours chatting, eating, splitting appetizers, and generally having a fantastic time. Best WorldCon Friday ever. Even with the rain.

Australia is amazing.

(*Yes, it is actually possible for me to not look like a dandelion on the verge of going to seed. It's crazy, I know, but all things are possible with SCIENCE. And a ceramic straightening iron.)

Australia!

Having had our wacky outback adventure (tm), it was time to turn my attention to more mundane topics, IE, "checking out of the hotel, moving over to our convention hotel, and attending a signing." Yes, a signing. I was supposed to be at the Southlands Dymock's bookstore by mid-afternoon, which was super-fun, especially considering that I had no living clue where that was.

Jeanne and I managed to get packed and out of our first hotel in a reasonable amount of time, after bidding a fond farewell to our newly-familiar surroundings. (Had we been aware that we were also bidding farewell to the only free Internet in the ENTIRE COUNTRY, we might have been a little more tempted to stay where we were. I'm just saying.) Because we are not idiots, we took a cab between hotels. Because our room wasn't ready yet, we checked our bags with the concierge, picked up our taxi vouchers from the front desk (thank you, Orbit!), and were off.

Where were we going? Why, the Westfield Mall. You know. The biggest mall chain on the west coast of the United States. Because that is what every tourist should do. GO TO THE MALL. We found the bookstore, along with a Safeway, and basically every store I would expect to find in a large suburban mall. Humans. We're all essentially the same.

The store manager, Chuck, was truly thrilled to have me, and made a point of getting his picture with me. This is because Chuck is awesome, and his store now has many signed copies of Feed (alas, only my evil twin was represented in the store's stock). We hung out for a few hours, and I got to meet a few awesome people I'd been hoping to meet while in Australia, including Tez. Yay Tez!

Before we left, I bought the UK edition of the latest Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight, because that's just how I roll. We had lunch at TGI Friday's, and made our way back to the hotel, where our room was still not ready.

We made our way to the Crowne Plaza to collect our badges. The woman who gave me my badge all but wanted a blood sample, which was...fun. (Seriously, I was like the only person in line asked to produce photo ID. Apparently, my life is very steal-worthy. Who knew?) I ran into several friends, and much hugging happened. We returned to the hotel, where our room was still not ready. Grumble.

Eventually, we were able to get into our room, greeting Jennifer and Jeff with great glee in the process, and then we were out, to have dinner with John (my audio book producer), a bunch of his other clients (including Phil and Kaja, and Cat, all of whom would be very central for me over the course of the weekend), and some awesome last-minute additions: Rob and Mundy. Rob and Mundy made my convention infinitely more awesome, and I am so beyond overjoyed to have met them. Seriously, there are not words. Even if our dinner conversation had rather more circumcision than I was expecting.

After dinner, Jeanne ran off to meet some friends, and I went off with Rob, Cat, and Mundy, to crash someone's cocktail birthday party. Cat and I wound up sitting on the cool veranda overlooking downtown Melbourne, sipping rum cocktails made with pomegranate liqueur, and going "Holy shit, this is our real life."

Maybe it's worth stealing after all.

For our second full day in Australia, Jeanne and I had signed up for a Walkabout Tour, along with David Levine and Kate Yule (two of the many, many people I met at World Fantasy in 2009). The tour was run by Echidna Walkabout, and started obscenely early in the morning, with a friendly woman named Janine coming to pick us up from the hotel. Janine wore the media-standard Australian leather bush hat. Hers was the only one I saw on an actual head during our trip.

"Are you Seanan?" she asked, after Jeanne and I got into her van. I affirmed that I was. "I thought you'd be a bloke!"

"I get that a lot," I said.

We drove around Melbourne picking up the rest of our party (hi, Kate and David!), including a bunch of cheery, chattery ladies from Tennessee, and then we were off for the You Yangs, where we would see, presumably, wild koalas doing wild koala things. On the way, we were treated to an enormous cornucopia of Australian birds, including my new personal favorite, the Australian magpie. This is a magpie that is not fucking around. It doesn't just have patches of white, oh, no, it is a white-out FACTORY, and it is COMING FOR YOUR EYES. (Also of note, the magpie lark, which is a third the size, very similar in coloring, sings duets, and will peck the holy crap out of you if you get too close.)

After we'd been driving for a while, Janine pulled into a field so we could look at HOLY CRAP PARROTS. Just THERE. Being WILD PARROTS. Dude, what the FUCK, Australia? There were also a few magpies around, so I wandered off to take pictures of them. "Seanan ignores the ostensibly interesting wildlife to photograph magpies" was a big theme of the day.

Once everyone had finished flipping out over the parrots, we got back in the van and finished driving to the You Yangs. On the way in, one of the chattery ladies spotted a swamp wallaby. The van was stopped. I spotted a second swamp wallaby. Janine was delighted. The ladies were delighted. Everyone was delighted! I found a guide to the native spiders of the area. Everyone was less delighted, probably because of my well-voiced desire to become the Spider Queen and lead my arachnid minions to victory.

We were met in the eucalyptus grove by Mary, the koala guide, who had been koala scouting to make sure we'd actually see some. Since koalas don't move much, she wasn't that concerned that the koalas would have gone anywhere, and we went hiking off into the brush. Koalas are boring. They sit, very high, and do nothing. It's like staring at shelf fungus that will pee on you if you get too close. I quickly lost interest in koalas, and started picking things up off the forest floor. "Things" included feathers (two of which went in Janine's hat), eggshells, interesting rocks, and pieces of bone. I am a dangerous individual when bored.

We drove on to an inordinately large rock called, reasonably enough, Big Rock. We climbed Big Rock. This was fun for me. Not so much, maybe, for the Tennessee ladies. Sorry, Tennessee ladies. Janine fed us all gum, like, from a gum tree. Janine is the devil.

Next up: lunch, served in a lovely little picnic hut in Serendip Sanctuary. It included sandwiches, fruit, biscuits (tim tams!), and outback tea, made with fresh gum leaves. I did not drink the tea. Everyone else drank the tea. Everyone else is CLEARLY INSANE, and I say this as the woman who went to AUSTRALIA to look for SPIDERS.

Now fortified, we went to finish the tour, and look at kangaroos. It turns out kangaroos don't much like being looked at. You have to sneak up on them (totally easy when you're a large group of people, most of whom don't spend much time outdoors), stay quiet, and look at them through binoculars. And then, when they inevitably notice you, you get to watch them boing boing boing away. Super-fun. The kangaroos were boring. The many varieties of giant flesh-ripping ant were not. Neither were the echidna scrapes, the big orange bugs, the entire denuded emu skeleton, or—best thing ever—the dead kangaroo. Oh, the dead kangaroo. Its flesh had been picked away by meat ants, and I was able to truly study its structure. Plus, there was a spider inside its skull. Thank you, Australia. I love you, too.

(Upon discovering the dead kangaroo, I hankered down to study it and take pictures. Our guide gamely tried to make this educational, and not get upset about the fact that the crazy Californian was way more interested in the dead kangaroo than in the live ones. Thank you, Janine. You were awesomely tolerant.)

With rain imminent and everyone exhausted, we made one last stop, at a billabong completely filled with birds. Black swans! So cool! Then it was back to Melbourne proper, passing kangaroos, swamp wallabys, and dozens of magpies on the way. Janine asked us about pie (apparently, cherry pie is viewed as a cruel joke in Australia, where cherries cost eighteen dollars a kilo during the off-season). We answered as best we could, until at last, we were back at our hotel, and could collapse for a little while before heading back to the alley for dinner.

I had lamb. Holy crap, lamb in Australia is like a religious experience. Welcome to the First Church of Mary's Little Lamb, please pass the sweet potato mash.

It was a very good day. Even without spiders.

When last I left this incredibly delayed trip report, Jeanne and I had managed (finally) to touch down in Melbourne, following an unplanned jaunt to Sydney (during which we were not permitted to leave the plane). After fleeing the airport, we caught a bus to a bus terminal, where we caught another bus to our initial destination, the Hotel Promenade. We were going to be staying there for the first few days, before transferring to the WorldCon hotel block to join our fannish compatriots.

Since neither of us really wanted to be jet lag's bitch for the duration of our vacation, we basically went to the hotel, dropped everything off, and left, heading out into the wonderful world of Australia. Goal: stay awake until a reasonable bedtime. Jeanne, being foolish, allowed me to pick our activity...and that, o best beloveds, is how we wound up spending the better part of an hour walking pointedly toward the distant glories of Victoria Market. Jeanne has gone walking with me before, and understands that a) I think of anything under five miles as "a little ways," and b) I will always know how to get back to where I started. So she felt just fine following me around Melbourne, which is probably for the best.

Wonderful discovery the first: 7-11 has come to Australia. And while a chain store may not be your idea of a wonderful discovery, I consider anything that gives me cold fizzy caffeine to be an absolute miracle. There is no Diet Dr Pepper in Australia, but Coke Zero is an acceptable substitute. Luckily for everyone's survival.

Wonderful discovery the second: on the way to Victoria Market, we found a little alley that contained a) an Indian place that fed me delicious goat curry, and b) a chocolate place that made insanely decadent and delicious drinking chocolate. These calories would see us through the rest of our journey.

On! To Victoria Market! Where we looked at things ranging from the standard "rook a tourist, win a prize" assortments known to markets the world over all the way to Australian opals and wonderful handmade children's toys. I bought a mobile with pirates on it for Brooke's upcoming spawn. Jeanne bought some opals. Both of us agreed that the local seagulls were awesome, and that it was time to walk back to the hotel.

On leaving, we found a pet store with a large reptile selection, and Jeanne tolerantly allowed me to go in and coo at all the adorable snakes and lizards. Because that's just how we roll.

Walking back down Elizabeth St. allowed us to stop at multiple shops that had interested us on the way to the Market, including Minotaur, a science fiction specialty shop that felt sort of like the Australian answer to Forbidden Planet. They didn't have any Toby books, but they did have several copies of Feed, which I gleefully signed. Yay for signings! They seemed rather stunned to have a genuine American author in the store scribbling on things, but didn't ask for ID, which is good, as I don't have any ID for Mira.

We returned to the hotel, ate in the restaurant (decent, not great, but definitely filling), and went to bed early, only to awaken equally early. Like, "before six o'clock." Oops. We got up, found breakfast, and started our day of killer attack tourism. Destination one: the Melbourne Aquarium.

Now, I could say lots of things about the natural beauty of Australia's natural wildlife, or the cheekiness of eels, or the fact that holy crap, manta rays can apparently be as big as minivans. I could mention the giant lionfish, and go on at great length about the penguins. But I won't. Why? Because HOLY CRAP BEST OCTOPUS EVER. Seriously, their Giant Pacific Octopus renewed my faith in the universe. Poor Jeanne had to keep coming back and hauling me away from the tank, and my octopus communion. He was a rockin' and a rollin', and I wanted nothing more than to stay with him all day.

Alas, it was not to be. Farewell, sweet octopus. We lunched on pumpkin and potato pizza (not kidding), and went in search of the local Lush, since Jeanne needed conditioner. I know, I know, tourism, we're doin' it wrong. Still, when we found the store, we discovered that Australia got exclusive shower gel, and I claimed a bottle of Black Pearl in the name of AWESOME. Between that and the octopus, I was a happy, happy girl. Jeanne also got a local phone, since she's smart that way.

We returned to the hotel to drop off our things before we went looking for dinner, which was really the capper on our awesome day, because we discovered—quite by accident—An Alley of Wonders. Lots of little restaurants, all of them competing for the right to feed us dinner. We settled on a place that gave us free sodas and served me kangaroo steak, since I had to eat it at least once. It tasted sort of like a cross between goat and rabbit.

Australia: awesome so far.

Australia!

On Friday, August 27th, I left work to head for Kate's house, since she (and her wonderful car) was going to get me to the airport. My flight, I said, left at eight, so I needed to be there at six. I was quite confident on this point. There will be more on this later.

Even after driving to Concord, packing the last of my things, brushing the cats in a guilty "please don't hate me for leaving you" manner, and stopping at Sweet Tomatoes for dinner, we got me to the airport by four. Being the sort of person who'd rather be horrifyingly early than five minutes late, I was cool with this, hugged Kate, and went to check in with the calm serenity of one who is four hours early for their flight. Everything went without a hitch, including security, which was a glorious wasteland, free of congestion. Things were looking up.

Jeanne was already at the gate when I got there. "Wow, you're early," I said. She gave me a funny look.

"I'm two hours early for our flight," she replied.

"...what?" Apparently, I had been basing my internal flight time off the time we would be arriving in LAX for our transfer. Because sometimes, yes, I am very, very blonde. Coyote was clearly already getting involved in the trip; that's the first time I have ever made a mistake like that about flight times.

The first flight was relatively painless (I slept the whole way, which always helps), and our luggage was checked all the way through to Melbourne. So we located our gate, confirmed that there was no way for Qantas to shuffle things to seat us together, and then adjourned to the airport bar to make offerings to Coyote in the form of overpriced cocktails. Hooray for an excellent Mai Tai!

On the plane (a new Air Bus the size of an entire wing at my high school), we were seated literally sixty rows apart, so we bid each other a fond farewell and went to our respective homes for the next seventeen hours. Now, the nice thing about the Qantas Air Bus is the self-serve mini-bar between each section of the plane. They don't contain alcohol, thankfully, as an entire plane of drunk tourists would suck, but they do contain a nigh-infinite supply of Diet Coke. I drank a lot of Diet Coke. I also slept, a lot, and watched several movies, including Iron Man 2, which no one had been willing to see with me in the theater. Hooray for trans-Pacific flights!

Blah blah blah, time passes, blah blah blah, airplane food, blah blah, landing! In...Sydney. Because, see, Melbourne? Was enshrouded with fog, preventing us from landing, and after flying from California, we didn't have the fuel to circle. So we had to divert to another city altogether, which delighted the flight crew to no end. (It actually did delight the rest of my row, as they'd been going to Sydney, and were allowed to deplane. With their luggage. Lucky bastards.)

Eventually, we got back into the air, and were able to fly, finally, to Melbourne, where we had to go through Customs. First question on the card they make you fill out, no shit, was, "Are you carrying any weapons, illegal drugs, or prescription medications?" So the first question I was asked by the Australian Customs Agent was which of these things I had. I replied that I had legal medications. Also food. She sent me to Quarantine, while Jeanne went off to not be Quarantined.

At Quarantine, I was asked, "What kind of food are you carrying?"

Honesty is the best policy with Customs: "A pound of chocolates and five pounds of candy corn."

Blink. "What's candy corn?"

"Honey, mallow, and canuba wax."

"How much is five pounds?"

"I don't know. Two and a half kilos?"

She blinked again, and then waved to the door. "Just go."

Jeanne, meanwhile, was being poked and prodded to confirm that she wasn't secretly smuggling strawberries in her pants. The moral of our story is? Carry confusing candy.

Australia!

You guys.

This is so hard to write. I've literally started this post eight times, and deleted it every time, and started over, trying to find the words I want. Words are usually something that I find pretty easy—sometimes too easy, as my tendency to never shut the hell up can testify. Not right now. Right now, the words are very hard. So very hard.

I spent most of this year's WorldCon in a cheerful fugue state, throwing myself into things as hard as I could in order to keep from thinking about the Hugo Awards. Jeanne, Cat, Rob, Liz, Paul, Mondy, Jay, Shannon, John, seriously, thank you so much, because if you hadn't been there, I would probably have spontaneously combusted. As it was, it was occasionally difficult not to ask how people could be so damn calm when the votes were in and there was nothing we could do and why couldn't we just know already?

Sunday, Jeanne, Gretchen, and I descended on Cat's hotel room to get ready for the Hugos. Cat met us at the door, and ordered me to close my eyes. I am a trusting blonde; I closed my eyes. She led me into the main room, and let me open my eyes, to find myself facing a bed covered in tiaras. Covered in tiaras. "Because," she said, "your friends wanted to be sure that no matter what, you went home with a tiara."

You guys.

I love you so much.

Susan came to do our hair. We put on dresses and makeup and nail polish and smiles, like nothing about the night mattered...and to a degree, right then, it didn't. We sang along to "Firebird's Child" and "Ship Full of Monsters," and the Night Kitchen in Seattle filled with people watching the live feed and sending all their love across the sea. We were together, and the world was full of magic, and we went to the reception and drank free champagne and had people tell us how amazing we looked, and it was amazing. (Cat and I managed, totally accidentally, to acquire dresses in basically the same colors. I felt like I should have brought her a corsage.)

Then we went to the actual award ceremony. Cat and I sat in the second row; Gretchen and Jeanne sat right behind us. The order of the evening was "opening speech, video presentation, First Fandom Award, Big Heart Award, Campbell Award." Jay Lake and John Scalzi presented the Campbell. They took the stage together, and explained the tiara, and read the nominees, and I clutched Cat's hand like the audience was an ocean and I was going to go under. Kathryn Daugherty came out, holding the award, name turned toward her so no one could see it. John opened the envelope.

"And the winner of this year's John W. Campbell Award for best new writer is..."

And they said my name.

And I sat there, because the room was spinning and I could taste sounds and they couldn't mean me. And Cat pushed me to my feet, and everyone was clapping, and I walked to the stage while the Buffy: the Vampire Slayer theme played and the room spun and tears made everything blurry, and I just said "Oh my God" over and over again, because there was nothing else in the whole world that I could say. And Kathryn gave me the plaque, and John and Jay gave me hugs, and they put the tiara on my head, and you guys...oh, you guys...

I am the Princess of the Kingdom of Poison and Flame. I am the 2010 Campbell Award winner. I am the first urban fantasist to win the Campbell Award. Because they said my name.

I will be more coherent soon. I will write about my acceptance speech soon. I will stop gasping a little every time I see the tiara soon. But oh, you guys.

I won.

1. I am in Australia.

1a. I am in Melbourne, Australia.

2. I have found a lovely Indian place that fed me goat, and a place with hot cocoa so good it made Jeanne shaky.

3. We are about to go to the aquarium to see squids.

3a. And penguins.

4. I miss you all, but I am in Australia, so it isn't really bothering me very much.

5. See you soon.

Well, this is it: my plane for Australia leaves tonight, which means I am officially going to be out of the country when An Artificial Night [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] starts landing on store shelves. This is a little scary, since I don't know whether I'll have any Internet access at all during the days of my release, but hey, nothing in this world comes without cost, right? Australia or release day, pick one...and I picked the Kingdom of Poison and Flame. I have no regrets. Still, the book has to come out, so I've made a list of things you can do to help, if you are so inclined.

DO buy the book as soon as you can. Sales during the first week are very important—think of it as "opening weekend" for a movie—but they're not the end-all be-all. If you can get the book tomorrow, get the book; if you can get it at my book release party, get it at my book release party. Whatever works for you. Brick-and-mortar store purchases are best, as they encourage reordering. After that, Amazon or mail order purchases, and after that, e-book purchases (which do not count the same way against my sell-through). If you've already bought the book, consider buying the book again, as a single copy might get lonely. They make great gifts!

DON'T yell at other people who haven't bought the book yet. I know, that's sort of a "why are you saying this?" statement, but I got a very sad email from a teenager who'd been yelled at for not buying A Local Habitation the week that it came out. So just be chill. Unless you want to buy books for people who don't have them, in which case, don't yell, just buy.

DO ask your local bookstore if they have it on order. If your local store is part of a large chain, such as Borders or Barnes and Noble, the odds are very good that the answer will be "yes," and that they'll be more than happy to hold one for you. If your local store is small, and does not focus specifically on science fiction/fantasy, they may have been waiting to see signs of interest before placing an order. Get interested! Interest is awesome!

DON'T berate your local bookseller if they say "no." Telling people they're overlooking something awesome doesn't make them go "gosh, I see the error of my ways." It makes them go "well, I guess it can be awesome without me." Suggest. Ask if you can special-order a copy. But don't be nasty to people just because their shelves can't hold every book ever written.

DO post reviews on your blog or on Amazon.com. Reviews are fantastic! Reviews make everything better! Please, write and post a review, even if it's just "I liked it." Honestly, even if it's just "this wasn't really my thing." As long as you're being fair and reasoned in your commentary, I'm thrilled. (I like to think you won't all race right out to post one-star reviews, but if that's what you really think, I promise that I won't be mad.)

DON'T get nasty at people who post negative reviews. You are all people. You all have a right to the ball. That includes people who don't like my work. Please don't argue with negative reviewers on my behalf. It just makes everybody sad. If you really think someone's being unfair, why don't you post your own review, to present an alternate perspective? (Also, please don't email me my Amazon reviews. I don't read them, I don't want to read them, and I definitely don't want to be surprised with them. Please have mercy.)

DO feel free to get multiple copies. No, you probably don't need eight copies of An Artificial Night for your permanent collection, but remember that libraries, school libraries, and shelters are always in need of books. I'm donating a few of my author's copies to a local women's shelter, because they get a lot of women there who really need the escape. There are also people who just can't afford their own copies, and would be delighted. I wouldn't have had half the library I did as a teenager if it weren't for the kindness of the people around me.

DON'T feel obligated to get multiple copies, or nag other people to do so. Seriously, we're all on budgets, and too much aggressive press can actually turn people off on a good thing. Let people make their own choices. Have faith.

DO check with your local library to be sure they have a copy of on order. If they don't, you can fill out a library request form. Spread the paperback love!

DON'T forget that libraries need books. Many libraries, especially on the high school level, are really strapped for cash right now, and book donations are frequently tax deductible. If you have a few bucks to spare, you can improve the world on multiple levels by donating books to your local public and high school libraries.

DO suggest the book to bookstore employees who like urban fantasy. Nothing boosts sales like having people in the stores who really like a project. If your Cousin Danny (or Dani) works at a bookstore, say "Hey, why don't you give this a try?" It just might help.

DON'T rearrange bookstore displays. If the staff of my local bookstore is constantly being forced to deal with fixing the shelves after someone "helpfully" rearranged things to give their chosen favorites a better position, they're unlikely to feel well inclined toward that book—or author. It's not a good thing to piss off the bookstores. Let's just not.

So those are some do's and don't's. I'm sure there are lots of other things to consider; this is, at least, a start. Finally, a few things that don't help the book, but do help the me:

Please don't expect immediate email response from me for anything short of "you promised us this interview, it runs tomorrow, where are your answers?" I normally make an effort to be a semi-competent correspondent, but with the book dropping in eleven days and my flight leaving tonight, I've hit the stage where I flail around and scream "ICE WORMS!" a lot, which doesn't help me answer email. (Also, remember that I can't guarantee my Internet access while in Australia, so this wouldn't work anyway.)

Please don't ask me when book four is coming out. I may cry. Plus, the answer is March 2011.

Whee!

Well, here we go: I am now officially 90% of the way packed for my trip to Australia. My suitcases zip with relative ease. I still need to load up my thumb drive, since The Big Laptop isn't making the journey with me, and I have a few CDs scheduled to be delivered later this week that I'm really hoping to get onto my iPod before I fly, but that's about it. It's all dumping out my purse and finding my spare laptop battery from here.

It's weird to sit here and realize that in forty-eight short hours, I will be on a plane, about to land in Los Angeles, where I'll get on a second plane and begin the long journey to Melbourne. Because it's a night flight, I'll probably sleep for the first five or so hours, then wake up, blink groggily, and start working. That's just what I do on planes. (You think I'm kidding. I point to Exhibit A, Chasing St. Margaret. It's a romantic comedy. About jetlag. I wrote it, primarily, on my flight from San Francisco to London, and finished it on the flight from London to San Francisco. Because I am bitchin' productive when I'm several thousand feet up in the air.)

I have wanted to visit Australia since I knew there was an Australia to visit. To be quite honest, for a long time, I wanted to move there, until I realized a) my friends would miss me, b) quarantine would be hell on the cats, and c) Australia's immigration laws mean I couldn't move anyway. So visiting will have to be enough. I'm a little scared and a little excited and a little totally ready to be on my way, because seriously, I have no attention span and no brain left. It's sad, except for the part where it's funny for people who aren't me.

I will come back with wonderful stories and probably a sunburn, souvenirs, memories, and the strong desire to sleep for a week. Hey, who knows—maybe I'll even come back with a tiara. That'd sure make my mother happy.

Two days to Australia. That's too soon; that's nowhere near soon enough.

I leave for Australia in a week, and WorldCon is two weeks away. You know what that means? SCHEDULE TIME! Here are my programmed events, allowing for easier stalking through the city of Melbourne. (I'm not worried about actual stalkers. By the time we reach the convention, I intend to have assembled my army of spiders.)

Thursday, September 2nd, 3:00 PM: Breaking the Fourth Wall: Supernatural and Its Audience. Given my thoughts on how things went down with Jo and Ellen, this should be a super-fun panel, in the "bring plastic sheeting and pray" sense.

Thursday, 5:00 PM: Kaffeeklatsche. For those of you who have never encountered this strange creature before, basically, I will sit in a room at five on Thursday, and talk to anyone who shows up. Also, there will be coffee. If no one shows up, I will do lots of lovely inking. It's a win-win scenario for me.

Friday, September 3rd, 4:00 PM: Seanan McGuire and Catherynne M Valente In Conversation. Who is driving? Bear is driving! HOW CAN THIS BE?! Cat and I will spend the better part of an hour talking writing, editing, and whatever else comes into our heads. It's the Snow White/Lily Fair Variety Show, and you should totally be there.

Saturday, September 4th, 11:00 AM: Capes and Skirts: The Plight of Female Superheroes. Lo, we are going to sit and talk about female superheroes, why they are awesome, and why they don't get as much love as their male counterparts. This is the best convention schedule ever.

Saturday, 1:00 PM: Fringe: Paranormal Investigations in SF Television. Man, we are gonna tear. This. Up. It's going to be a super-awesome panel full of super-awesomeness, and you should totally come, and I will do my best to avoid discussions of Peter Bishop's fabulous ass.

Saturday, 3:00 PM: What is Filk? This is a fairly standard panel, but a very good one to attend if you want to learn more about filk, what it is, and why we're doing it in your hotel lobby. Not that we do that anymore. Much.

Saturday, 4:00 PM: Signing. I will sign stuff. Super-exciting.

Sunday, September 5th, 3:00 PM: YA Urban Fantasy. Why YA urban fantasy? What's the attraction? What makes it awesome? Let's discuss.

Sunday, 5:00 PM: Post-Apocalyptic YA. Boom, baby. Boom.

Following this panel, I will be going insane for the rest of the night while I deal with getting ready for and attending the Hugos. Please do not blame me for anything I say during this time, although really, I'm expecting the majority of my dialog to consist of "The Turtle couldn't help us" and quotes from Penny Arcade.

Monday, September 6th, 2:00 PM: Reading. What will I be reading? Only the Great Pumpkin knows. I'll figure it out based on who shows up...and if no one shows up, again, inking. It's good to have a backup plan.

I am going to Australia.

I am going to Australia, and I have been nominated for the Campbell Award.

Because I am going to Australia, and I have been nominated for the Campbell Award, I am attending the Hugos.

Because I am attending the Hugos, I needed a dress.

Originally, I was having a dress made, but time got away from us, and now this year's fabulous pumpkin patch of a dress will be next year's fabulous pumpkin patch of a dress (which gives me something to look forward to in Reno). I wound up in the unexpected, somewhat awkward position of needing to find a formal dress at basically the last minute. Oh, and did I mention that I have a wacky build and wear a size 16-18 right now? SUPER-FUN.

Thanks to a fantastic crew (Kate, HappyCat, Jeanne) and a fantastic saleswoman at the Walnut Creek Nordstrom's, we found me a dress. Floor-length, one-shoulder, teal and peacock, Grecian-cut...seriously, I put this thing on, and I am suddenly both thirty pounds lighter and thirteen feet tall. It is A DRESS OF MAGIC.

Because I have a dress, I needed shoes and jewelry.

Due to the cut of the dress, a bracelet was mandated; no necklace, which eliminates most of my jewelry collection (I'm planning to carry a Chimera Fancies pendant in my strapless bra, because I am a superstitious bunny). I found a lovely blue and silver swirl bracelet, and ordered a pair of beautiful blue glass earrings from Beckett's Etsy store. My shoes are two-inch tarnished silver heels with a sling-back.

Because I have shoes, I need a pedicure. Because I have a formal dress, I need a haircut.

Being a girl is difficult, yo. But it's all going to be worth it. My little sister (#2, the gothic Betty Page) spent yesterday working out my makeup, and Cat and I are going to have our hair done before the Hugos. I will look like a princess. A weird blue princess who may have a chainsaw somewhere under there, but still, they don't depose you for that.

I am going to Australia, where I will wear my dress. To the Hugos, where my name is on the printed material.

Wow.

That is all.

Item the first: I have updated my website appearances. Go, view, and learn where I'm going to be. I have confirmed appearances in Australia, New York, California, and Oregon. Which brings me to...

Item the second: I am delighted and honored to announce that I have been selected as the Friends of Filk Guest for OryCon 32. This year's theme is "the Darker Side of Fantasy," which is something I feel I can work with quite well. I'll be appearing with Vixy and Tony, which always makes me happy, and maybe I'll even have a brand new album by then! The convention will be held in Portland, Oregon, from November 12th through the 14th. I hope you can make it, if it's even remotely local to you.

Item the third: If you ever feel the need to quit your job, this is pretty much the way to do it. Style, a sense of humor, and a great way of making your point. (I do wonder what kind of reference she's going to get, but...) Just don't read the comments. The sexism can get a little scary at certain points. But the facial expressions are twenty miles beyond awesome.

Item the fourth: This is what you've all been waiting for, which is a large part of why I've been keeping you in suspense. I'd say that I was sorry, but you'd all know that I was lying through my teeth. So instead, I shall say LOOK! SHINY! Much more effective.

Icons and Wallpapers for An Artificial Night have been posted on my site.

Tara has really outdone herself with this latest batch, and I am absolutely enthralled by her graphic awesome. Some will make more sense after you've read the book, but they're all fantastic now. Go, look, take, have, and join the flailing excitement as you realize...book three is ALMOST HERE.

Gleh.

* Locate my little glass pumpkin full of Australian currency, and figure out exactly how much of it I have. This will be the start of my WorldCon budget, and no matter how much I enjoy sticking my fingers in my ears and going "LA LA LA LA LA," I really need to stop doing that and start coping with the fact that it's almost time to fly.

* Revise and process the editorial notes on the next twenty pages of Deadline. I'm currently through the end of chapter four, and I'd really like to get through the end of chapter five before it's time for bed. I also need to finalize my dedication, and start thinking about my acknowledgments, which is always fun like sticking needles in my eyes. Oh, how I love this part of the process. Not.

* Attempt to unearth my dresser from beneath the epic pile of crap that has accompanied me home from San Diego and Spocane. 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.

* Brush the cats.

* Attempt to integrate the epic pile of crap that accompanied me home from San Diego and Spocane 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.

* Pick up my mats from the Aaron Brothers, allowing me to frame the latest batch of art. This batch includes the cover to Late Eclipses, two original Skin Horse strips, and the original artwork for Amy Mebberson's amazing Sarah Zellaby sketch. I need more walls. I seriously need to move into a house designed by Escher, just to give me sufficient walls.

* Laundry.

* Go to the comic book store and collect my latest dose of four-color sanity check. I also need to update my pull list, as it's time to (once again) winnow my monthlies down to trades. It saves space, money, and staples, as Lilly really likes to eat comic books. No, I don't know why. I've asked her, but she just meowed and wandered off to chew on the shower curtain.

* 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.

* Finish composing my first blog entry for the Babel Clash I'm doing with Jesse in September. Since we're both going to be traveling when the blogs go up, they have to be pre-written, and since I've been traveling so damn much recently, I haven't had a chance to pre-write anything. This would be funny, if it weren't verging on becoming an emergency.

* Continue my quest for a dress for WorldCon, since the dress I was having made isn't going to be ready for this year, due to bad time management on my part coupled with a really silly comedy of dropped clauses and missed connections. I keep thinking I've found a dress, only to discover that no, it's not going to work out. I'm considering hysteria.

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

* Watch Warehouse 13.

* Sleep.

I am home from the San Diego International Comic Convention, where a fantastic, if exhausting, time was had by all. I'm still doing my post-con administrative cleanup (rendered more exciting by the fact that I have another convention this weekend, which makes the cycles for certain things much tighter than is the norm). This batch of cleanup is about awards and suchlike.

First up, as a quick reminder, voting for the Hugo and Campbell Awards closes at midnight, Pacific Time, on July 31st. So that means you have, effectively, until midnight on Saturday to vote. Details are here:

http://www.aussiecon4.org.au/index.php?page=66

This includes a full list of the nominees in their various categories. Remember that you must be either a supporting or attending member of AussieCon 4 to vote; supporting memberships are still available. Details on how to purchase a supporting membership are at the convention's website; they cost $50 a person.

It really is an honor to be nominated, and I'm still a little stunned over here. I also really want to receive a tiara in the Kingdom of Poison and Flame, for then I will truly be a Halloweentown Princess.

In a related, if not identical, vein, I will now quote NPR:

"Last month when we asked the NPR audience to submit nominations for a list of the 100 most pulse-quickening, suspenseful novels ever written, you came through with some 600 titles. It was a fascinating, if unwieldy, collection.

"Now, with your input, a panel of thriller writers and critics has whittled that list down to a manageable 182 novels. That roster, which we now offer for final voting, draws from every known thriller sub-genre—techno, espionage, crime, medical, psychological, horror, legal, supernatural and more."

Here is a link to the full story, including the list of 182 novels being considered for the top 100.

Winners will be announced August 2nd. Please spread the word? In conclusion, I leave you with this delightful message from autographedcat...which, if I make the list, I will arrange to have recorded in MP3 form for your enjoyment:

"Hello, readers. Look at your book. Now back to me. Now back at your book. Now back to me. Sadly, you aren't me, but if you stopped reading trashy airport novels and switched to Feed by Mira Grant, you could be well-read like me.

"Look down, back up, where are you? You're on the beach with the person you could be as well read as. What's in your hand? Back to me. I have it; it's an epidemiology textbook with an explanation of the science behind the Kellis-Amberlee virus. Look again, the textbook is now a DVD of the future Rosemary and Rue movie. Anything is possible when you read Feed by Mira Grant.

"I'm on a velociraptor."

Just a friendly reminder that voting for the Hugo Awards (and the Campbell Award, aka, "ways to crash Seanan's mental operating system like whoa") closes on July 30th. Details are here:

http://www.aussiecon4.org.au/index.php?page=66

This includes a full list of the nominees in their various categories. Remember that you must be either a supporting or attending member of AussieCon 4 to vote; supporting memberships are still available. Details are at the convention's website.

Holy crap it's almost time for Australia.

I am, like, seven years of not yet ready.

I am weirdly superstitious. I say "weirdly" because the things about which I am superstitious tend to be, well, weird. I think black cats and the number thirteen are lucky, but I won't walk under a ladder (at least in part because I don't want anyone dropping paint on me). Finding a penny on the street is cause for celebration and declarations that all day long, I will have good luck. (Finding a nickle, dime, or quarter is cause for a ticker-tape parade, as people tend to be more careful about their silver.)

I count crows, I count cherry pits, I hunt for prime numbers and multiples of nine. I use my slide show screensaver as a funky sort of personal oracle. Get the concept? Superstitious and weird, that's me. So...

Yesterday, I found out that Hugo voting (and hence Campbell voting) is open to Supporting Members of AussieCon, and that voting is open until July 31st (along with registration for Supporting Members). Details are here, in case you're curious. That was pretty cool, as people have been asking me about it for a while now, and I like having answers.

Yesterday, I went to Borderlands Books to pick up the three most recent Repairman Jack books (I had a craving). As I was walking down 4th Street to the BART, I saw a coin on the sidewalk. I'm always on the lookout for coins; they might be pennies. So I stopped and picked it up.

It was an Australian two-dollar piece.

I'm weirdly superstitious, and found money is always a cause for making guesses about the intent of the universe. Last night, I dreamt about Australia. Who's surprised? Not me. And not the pony-sized huntsman spider I was riding around Sydney, either.

Item the first: I have run the random number generator against the latest ARC contest, and saladofdoom is our winner. saladofdoom, you have until Sunday, July 4th, to contact me with your mailing information. (This is longer than I usually give, but I'm about to head for Westercon, so I'm not going to be checking mail reliably for a few days.) I can also just bring your book with me when I come up to Seattle next weekend. Let me know your preference, and it shall be done.

Item the second: Yesterday morning, I saw a single crow sitting on the telephone pole next to the bus stop, watching me. "One for sorrow," I thought, and followed it up with, "But where's the sorrow?" Immediately, a car drove through a puddle that shouldn't have been there, it being, you know, July, and spattered me with lukewarm water. The message is clear: do not taunt the crow oracle, yo. You will not enjoy the results one little bit.

Item the third: The editorial revisions of Late Eclipses are barreling merrily along, and reminding me once again that there's a reason we do multiple passes on these things. So far, I've found an appearing/disappearing jacket, an appearing/disappearing car, a totally misnamed architectural feature, and a chunk of dialog that seriously read like it had been pasted in from another book. Thank the Great Pumpkin for the editorial process.

Item the fourth: My mother came by last night with my sister and her wife in tow. They have once again absconded with a very large sack of books, because I am the family lending library. I treated them to the hysterical spectacle that is Alice trying to get me to give her wet food, because I am a cruel, heartless lending library. (Their favorite part was when I picked her up, and she tried to swim through the air to the bowl.) It was nice to see them, even if it did mean I had to save the second half of this week's Leverage for tonight.

Item the fifth: I am watching the second half of this week's Leverage tonight.

Item the sixth: I should have some very concrete information about Wicked Girls super-soon, and it's really shaping up to be amazing. I love working with Kristoph, and I love all the material on this album. Both of my cover songs have been approved ("Tanglewood Tree" and "Writing Again"), and since I wrote the other fourteen, I'm not particularly concerned. I'm so pleased with this whole process. Life is good.

Item the seventh: My dreams last night featured a tank of lionfish that wanted snuggles, two connected houses in a suburb of San Francisco that managed to look exactly like Concord, buying new luggage, trying to fly to Australia while balancing on a bathroom railing, taking a nap, and a visit to the tiara store. I'm reasonably sure this was a big ol' anxiety dream about Australia and the Campbell Award, but I woke up going "awwwwwwwww, cutest lionfishes ever." This proves that not even my own brain is very good at upsetting me.

What's new with you?

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!

I am delighted (and still sort of staggered and awed) to announce that I have been nominated for the 2010 John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. You can view the full ballot for this year's awards by following this link to the Aussiecon 4 website.

I. Uh.

Oh my sweet Great Pumpkin and pie, you guys, I made the ballot.

I literally started screaming when I got the email—like, high-pitched, sonic screaming—followed by crying hysterically for a good half an hour. Because I made the ballot. I'm an urban fantasist! Urban fantasists don't make the Campbell ballot! (I checked the last several years, because I am insane like that.) Urban fantasists don't get to buy pretty dresses and go to Australia and maybe win a tiara!

But this one does.

Wow.

I've updated my website to reflect recent changes, I've done the Internet equivalent of making the house look nice for all the new guests that are likely to come over and check me out, and I've managed, mostly, to stop crying. I'm on the 2010 Campbell ballot. I just...

There are no words. Just wow.

Once again, my big list o' holidays* says that today is a holiday that is very important to me, and makes a big impact on my life. Maybe not as big an impact as Virus Appreciation Day (October 3rd), which I celebrate every year by not unleashing the pandemic, or Cuckoo Warning Day (June 21st), which is best celebrated by evolving parasitic wasps into telepathic humanoids, but still, it's important to me.

Today is Australia Day.

So today we celebrate the existence of Australia, the continent which proves that evolution did a lot of drugs when it was young. Today we celebrate the fact that Australia is full of things that want to make us all die, the fact that Australia is frequently on fire, and the fact that Australia essentially hates humanity. Specific things to celebrate about Australia include venomous snakes, spiders the size of dinner plates, marsupials, really interesting money, the koala (which will totally rip your face off if you poke it), and the cone snail, which is the size of a man's thumb and can kill you extremely dead. This is why you do not fuck around with the native wildlife of Australia.

Tonight I will celebrate by going to Kate's house to eat tasty Indian food and tell her things she never wanted to know about the many ways in which Australia can render you extremely deceased. There will be expository hand-gestures, and possibly even diagrams. Kate puts up with a lot from me, really. And later this year, I'll belatedly celebrate Australia Day by actually going to Melbourne, Australia, for the glory of WorldCon.

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

Hooray Australia!

(*I have a list containing a holiday for every single day of the year. Some days have more than one holiday listed. The world needs more excuses for a party.)

Tomorrow will mark two weeks of Rosemary and Rue being on bookshelves. Traditionally, this means newer new releases will begin nudging me off the "hot new wow cool" displays at the front of the store; bookstore employees will stop being mobbed by people who can't find the Science Fiction/Fantasy section; and I will begin getting neurotic about book two. But tonight, we're still in the second week of release, and that means review roundup is go!

To begin with, Mia Nutick has done a fantastic and well-detailed book review over at the Green Man Review, one of the longer-running Internet science fiction/fantasy review sites. I am honored. According to Mia, "Toby Daye is one of the best female fantasy characters to come along in a long time; she's tough, confident, and heroic but she's capable of introspection, and unlike the Mary Sues of the literary world, she's capable of failure," and "For a first novel, this is frighteningly good." I'm frightening! Grrr!

Virginia, of Bitten By Books, has posted her review of Rosemary and Rue. Yes, Virginia, there is a Toby Daye. Virginia says, "Rosemary and Rue is Seanan McGuire’s debut novel and what a novel it is! I found that I kept coming back to this book. I tried to pull away to complete another one, but the characters were always in my mind and I had to set aside the other novel to get this one out of my system. Rosemary and Rue is full of suspense, mystery and many unexpected twists and turns." I'm frightening and unexpected! Basically, I'm the wildlife of Australia.

Heather of Book Obsessed has rewarded my obsession with reviews by providing me with another review to obsess over. Thank you! She says that "As I have practically screamed from the rooftops to anyone that cared and even those who didn't—;I LOVED THIS BOOK!!!" I appreciate the human megaphone, I really, really do. She also says "The writing style is poetic and lyrical while at the same time being dark, gritty and direct, much like life itself often is. Being able to bring that to life is something exceptional and wholly worthy of applause and accolades."

Now I am happy.

Over at the Barnes and Noble Book Clubs, Paul has posted his review of Rosemary and Rue, and of its context in the urban fantasy genre. It's a great piece of work, and he says, "As the paranormal fantasy wilderness continues to flourish, one thing seems certain: the seedling novelist that is Seanan McGuire, barring any crazy lumberjack or dread blight or rotting disease, has the potential to become one of the forest’s stateliest trees..." So there will be no Dutch Elm this week, thanks.

That's our review roundup for tonight. Thanks for sticking out these two crazy-train weeks with me, and we'll see if things settle down a bit from here.

My flight from Montreal (technically from Boston, since it was a two-stage trip home) touched down in San Francisco last night at approximately nine-thirty, safely reuniting me with the state of my birth. Hooray! My mother collected me from the baggage claim area, shortly before we collected my suitcase from the baggage carousel, and we took off for the East Bay.

The trip itself was somewhat more...exciting...than I tend to prefer, involving as it did a twenty-minute connection that required me to sprint most of the way across Boston Airport. I was crying and hyperventilating by the time I hit the security gate for United Airlines, which, thankfully, caused security to be very nice to me, and got me to my plane on time. (Also, it exhausted me enough to spend most of the six-hour trip to California totally unaware of the world around me.)

Mom and I stopped for dinner at Denny's, since the particular structure of my trip home had denied me the option to eat. I miss the days of bad airplane meals that at least contained calories...

WorldCon was fabulous, and I'll post about it later, when I leave the "fire bad, tree pretty" stage of cognition. Big thanks to my fabulous roommates, Merav, Jon, and Susan; to John, for picking me up from the airport; to Deanne, for giving me a place to crash for a few hours before the fun really got started; and to the entire DAW Mafia, without which I would have been entirely lost.

Next year...AUSTRALIA.

I am safely at Jon and Merav's place in Jersey City, where Jon and Aaron are playing LAN Party with me on the kitchen table, preparatory to my handing them my thumb drive, saying 'I trust you,' and walking away to have quiet hysterics in another room. Hopefully, this means they'll be able to recover my data, and I won't have to cry on the plane.

Also, I have a brand new thumb drive from the Best Buy near where I met Diana for lunch on Wednesday. It is soothingly bright orange, and glows when inserted in the computer. Everything should glow when inserted in the computer. It's like a law or something.

They've discovered nineteen new species in Australia (mostly in Western Australia). These range from a spider-eating wasp to some truly horrific-looking new species of spider, as well as an eyeless crustacean thing and something they call a 'pseudoscorpion' due to its lack of a deadly stinger. This proves once again that Australia is awesome.

My visit to the New Jersey Pine Barrens was totally awesome, although I didn't spot the Jersey Devil. (There's always the possibility that he spotted me...) I also didn't spot any deer ticks, so I'm going to call this trip an overall win.

My mother is picking me up at the airport tomorrow, which should be...interesting, considering that she's never been to SFO before, and never tried to collect anyone from the International Arrivals Terminal of any airport. New experiences are good things for everybody, right? I certainly hope that's right, or there's a possibility that I'm never going to be seen again.

My duties have all been discharged; my visit to New York has gone stunningly well; and now we must rinse.

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

Today is Australia Day.

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

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

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

Hooray Australia!

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