Once again, people have started asking "Why can't people outside the US buy the e-book edition of X?" (In this case, X = any given work that is unavailable in a specific region. Most often Blackout, since it's new, and "Countdown," since it currently lacks a physical edition, but almost everything has fallen into this category at one point or another.)
The answer is pretty simple.
Basically, when I sign a contract with a publisher, they acquire certain territorial rights. This is distinct from my copyrights, which are always mine and never sold. DAW owns the World rights for Toby and InCryptid. Orbit owns the World English rights for Newsflesh. DAW and Orbit may then sublicense these rights to other publishers in other regions (or territories), which is how you get things like Winterfluch and Feed: Viruszone (German editions of Rosemary and Rue and Feed, respectively).
The pieces I have sold to the Orbit Short Fiction Program ("Apocalypse Scenario #683" and "Countdown") were sold under a contract which, at present, covers only US territorial rights, which means that my publisher can't make those properties available outside the United States right now. They aren't allowed. And buying the rights for every possible market, in every possible region, is not always financially feasible with every work they publish.
It is also not always financially feasible for an author to sell all the rights to their work in every territory to the US publisher. Keeping World rights may mean a lower advance, but when I do retain those rights, I can ultimately earn more for them by selling them directly to foreign publishers. I want you to have and read my books in your preferred format, but I also want to pay my bills, and foreign rights sales enable me to do that reliably.
Orbit is working on making the short fiction pieces available outside the US; if you check the Short Fiction landing page, they note the problem exists, and that they're looking for a solution. Under my most recent contract with them, they now have the right to sell or license English language editions outside the US, which means that you'll hopefully be able to read it soon.
It's mildly annoying that it works this way, just like it sucks when I can't get the British or Australian TV shows I want on the right region format immediately. At the same time, this is how I keep the lights on, and how my publishers keep being able to do what they do.
ETA: This post has been pretty dramatically revised, following some clarification from smarter people than me. So if some of the comments seem to make no sense compared to the content of the entry, that's why. Sorry to confuse!
The answer is pretty simple.
Basically, when I sign a contract with a publisher, they acquire certain territorial rights. This is distinct from my copyrights, which are always mine and never sold. DAW owns the World rights for Toby and InCryptid. Orbit owns the World English rights for Newsflesh. DAW and Orbit may then sublicense these rights to other publishers in other regions (or territories), which is how you get things like Winterfluch and Feed: Viruszone (German editions of Rosemary and Rue and Feed, respectively).
The pieces I have sold to the Orbit Short Fiction Program ("Apocalypse Scenario #683" and "Countdown") were sold under a contract which, at present, covers only US territorial rights, which means that my publisher can't make those properties available outside the United States right now. They aren't allowed. And buying the rights for every possible market, in every possible region, is not always financially feasible with every work they publish.
It is also not always financially feasible for an author to sell all the rights to their work in every territory to the US publisher. Keeping World rights may mean a lower advance, but when I do retain those rights, I can ultimately earn more for them by selling them directly to foreign publishers. I want you to have and read my books in your preferred format, but I also want to pay my bills, and foreign rights sales enable me to do that reliably.
Orbit is working on making the short fiction pieces available outside the US; if you check the Short Fiction landing page, they note the problem exists, and that they're looking for a solution. Under my most recent contract with them, they now have the right to sell or license English language editions outside the US, which means that you'll hopefully be able to read it soon.
It's mildly annoying that it works this way, just like it sucks when I can't get the British or Australian TV shows I want on the right region format immediately. At the same time, this is how I keep the lights on, and how my publishers keep being able to do what they do.
ETA: This post has been pretty dramatically revised, following some clarification from smarter people than me. So if some of the comments seem to make no sense compared to the content of the entry, that's why. Sorry to confuse!
- Current Mood:
geeky - Current Music:The Devil's Carnival, "Grace for Sale."
So people have been asking a lot lately "Why can't people outside the US buy the e-book edition of X?" (In this case, X = any given work that is unavailable in a specific region. Most often "Countdown," since it lacks a physical edition, but almost everything has fallen into this category at one point or another.)
The answer, sadly, is simple, and not something that's easy to fix. Basically, when I sign a contract with a publisher, they acquire certain territorial rights. DAW owns the US distribution rights for Toby and InCryptid. Orbit owns the US and UK distribution rights for Newsflesh. Other publishers own my distribution rights in other regions. The pieces I have sold to the Orbit Short Fiction Program ("Apocalypse Scenario #683" and "Countdown") were sold under a contract which, at present, covers only US territorial rights. Meaning that my publisher can't make those properties available outside the United States. They aren't allowed. And buying the rights for every possible market, in every possible region, would make the work fiscally unsustainable for them.
Part of this is tied to the intrinsic value of a property. Say, for example, that we want to sell the InCryptid books to a UK publisher, for a UK edition. This would make the physical books cheaper for UK customers, since they wouldn't need to pay import costs. This would mean I got paid (foreign rights sales are a good chunk of my income in a given year, since it's a way to keep a book that's already been sold paying my electric bill). But if we tell a UK publisher "oh, and by the way, we sold the ebook rights to that series to someone else," that publisher isn't going to buy the series. There's too much tied up in ebooks right now for that to be fiscally wise of a publisher.
Orbit is working on making the short fiction pieces available outside the US; if you check the Short Fiction landing page, they note the problem exists, and that they're looking for a solution. But the solution is never going to be "sell global ebook rights to the US publisher," because if authors did that, the foreign rights market would collapse. Books would remain import-expensive, non-English readers would lose a lot of diversity, and my cats would get very hungry.
It sucks that it works this way, just like it sucks when I can't get the British or Australian TV shows I want on the right region format immediately. It may change someday. But for right now, this is why things are the way they are.
The answer, sadly, is simple, and not something that's easy to fix. Basically, when I sign a contract with a publisher, they acquire certain territorial rights. DAW owns the US distribution rights for Toby and InCryptid. Orbit owns the US and UK distribution rights for Newsflesh. Other publishers own my distribution rights in other regions. The pieces I have sold to the Orbit Short Fiction Program ("Apocalypse Scenario #683" and "Countdown") were sold under a contract which, at present, covers only US territorial rights. Meaning that my publisher can't make those properties available outside the United States. They aren't allowed. And buying the rights for every possible market, in every possible region, would make the work fiscally unsustainable for them.
Part of this is tied to the intrinsic value of a property. Say, for example, that we want to sell the InCryptid books to a UK publisher, for a UK edition. This would make the physical books cheaper for UK customers, since they wouldn't need to pay import costs. This would mean I got paid (foreign rights sales are a good chunk of my income in a given year, since it's a way to keep a book that's already been sold paying my electric bill). But if we tell a UK publisher "oh, and by the way, we sold the ebook rights to that series to someone else," that publisher isn't going to buy the series. There's too much tied up in ebooks right now for that to be fiscally wise of a publisher.
Orbit is working on making the short fiction pieces available outside the US; if you check the Short Fiction landing page, they note the problem exists, and that they're looking for a solution. But the solution is never going to be "sell global ebook rights to the US publisher," because if authors did that, the foreign rights market would collapse. Books would remain import-expensive, non-English readers would lose a lot of diversity, and my cats would get very hungry.
It sucks that it works this way, just like it sucks when I can't get the British or Australian TV shows I want on the right region format immediately. It may change someday. But for right now, this is why things are the way they are.
- Current Mood:
tired - Current Music:The Smithereens, "Blood and Roses."
Pretty much every culture I'm aware of has some sort of winter celebration, whether it's religious, secular, or somewhere in-between (since killing a dude to bring back the sun doesn't necessarily imply a particular faith, but definitely implies a belief that something out there takes requests). The depths of winter are the time when we most need to have faith in something, because in the days before cheap insulation, imported food, and really good central air, failure to have faith meant that you were prepared to have the sun go away forever. That's my favorite thing about this time of year. Everybody gets something they can celebrate. Even if all you're celebrating is not being the dude who finds the bean in his bread.
I celebrate my family, both blood and chosen. I woke up beneath a veil of purring blue cats. I spent the morning at the International House of Pancakes with my mother, my little sister, and my little sister's girlfriend. And now I'm on my way to Seattle to spend a week with Vixy, who might as well be my sister for as much as I love her, and Tony, and Jennifer, and all the other members of my extended family that I can cram into my days. I won't see everyone this week; not everyone is there to see. But I celebrate them all.
I celebrate reconstruction. We all burn bridges in our lives, either accidentally or on purpose, and while we may be sorry that we did it, it's hard as hell to shape the ashes back into something useful. In the last year, I have been fortunate enough to rebuild some bridges that provided essential access to the highways of my heart. Just as importantly, I've finally admitted that some bridges needed to be condemned, and ordered them quietly, respectfully torn down. I am happy with the choices I have made, and with the bridges I have built.
I celebrate my writing career. I've been a writer for as long as I can remember. I was explaining the plot of a short story to my mother the other day, and she said "You always have to be writing something, don't you?" I'm not sure even she realizes how true that is. It took me a long time, and a lot of effort, to get to where I could say that my work was of publishable quality, and there are days when I wake up and go "Wait, what? Was there some sort of mistake?" The sight of my book on store shelves has made me cry more than once. It's just amazing.
I celebrate the fact that we are living in the future. I'm writing this entry from 36,212 feet; I know that because the Virgin America trip display tells me so. I can send new stories to my beta readers without the words ever having touched paper—in fact, at least one story managed to make it to print without ever, so far as I know, being printed in any form prior to the page proofs. I can post this entry, and you can read it no matter where in the world you are. We are accessible to each other in ways we have never been before, and for all that it's a double-edged sword, I can't imagine living any other way.
I celebrate you. I celebrate the fact that you have things in your lives to celebrate, and those things are not the same as mine, and that's amazing. I celebrate the fact that we have all shared another season (although not necessarily the same one, since it's summer in Australia), and the world has continued to turn.
Have a wonderful winter. I promise that if I get any say about it, the sun will be coming back again.
I celebrate my family, both blood and chosen. I woke up beneath a veil of purring blue cats. I spent the morning at the International House of Pancakes with my mother, my little sister, and my little sister's girlfriend. And now I'm on my way to Seattle to spend a week with Vixy, who might as well be my sister for as much as I love her, and Tony, and Jennifer, and all the other members of my extended family that I can cram into my days. I won't see everyone this week; not everyone is there to see. But I celebrate them all.
I celebrate reconstruction. We all burn bridges in our lives, either accidentally or on purpose, and while we may be sorry that we did it, it's hard as hell to shape the ashes back into something useful. In the last year, I have been fortunate enough to rebuild some bridges that provided essential access to the highways of my heart. Just as importantly, I've finally admitted that some bridges needed to be condemned, and ordered them quietly, respectfully torn down. I am happy with the choices I have made, and with the bridges I have built.
I celebrate my writing career. I've been a writer for as long as I can remember. I was explaining the plot of a short story to my mother the other day, and she said "You always have to be writing something, don't you?" I'm not sure even she realizes how true that is. It took me a long time, and a lot of effort, to get to where I could say that my work was of publishable quality, and there are days when I wake up and go "Wait, what? Was there some sort of mistake?" The sight of my book on store shelves has made me cry more than once. It's just amazing.
I celebrate the fact that we are living in the future. I'm writing this entry from 36,212 feet; I know that because the Virgin America trip display tells me so. I can send new stories to my beta readers without the words ever having touched paper—in fact, at least one story managed to make it to print without ever, so far as I know, being printed in any form prior to the page proofs. I can post this entry, and you can read it no matter where in the world you are. We are accessible to each other in ways we have never been before, and for all that it's a double-edged sword, I can't imagine living any other way.
I celebrate you. I celebrate the fact that you have things in your lives to celebrate, and those things are not the same as mine, and that's amazing. I celebrate the fact that we have all shared another season (although not necessarily the same one, since it's summer in Australia), and the world has continued to turn.
Have a wonderful winter. I promise that if I get any say about it, the sun will be coming back again.
- Current Mood:
grateful - Current Music:Fame, "I Sing the Body Electric."
The Internet and Girls Gone Wild have more in common than you may think. They both encourage nudity. They both involve a lot of audio-visual equipment (and a lot of folks who once belonged to their high school A/V Clubs, myself included). They both look like fun, fun, fun until your daddy takes the T-Bird away, especially when you're half-drunk and it's spring break and nobody's telling you what to do you're not the boss of me. And, of course, both of them are a lot more public than you try to convince yourself when you wake up the next morning. You could walk into your living room one morning to discover that your kid sister has discovered your DVD hiding space, and be greeted with "Is that you/your girlfriend/Mom?" before you've even had a cup of coffee. But while DVDs get accidentally thrown in the microwave and no one's really rushing out to watch Girls Gone Wild: 1994, there's one big thing we all sometimes forget about the Internet.
The Internet is forever. You can't shove it in the microwave. Even if you take down a post, website, or poorly-considered picture, the odds are good that someone, somewhere, may have it in their cache...and may decide to re-post it, just because they can. "Because I can" is a totally valid reason for doing almost anything on the Internet. This is where the wild things are. The wild things have cookies. The wild things also have your really horrible fifth grade school photo, and they'd love an excuse to put it up.
The Internet is not as private as you think it is. I recently read a thread wherein an agent (not mine) said that she had decided not to work with someone because she saw a blog post they'd made, complaining about agency response times and being fairly unpleasant about it. Without saying anything about whether the response times were out of line—largely because I really don't know—I will say that I understand where the agent was coming from: I wouldn't want to enter into a professional relationship with someone whose response to irritation was to identify me by name while complaining loudly. It wouldn't be fun for either one of us. The agent went on to say that she had been notified of this post by a Google spider (magical Google spiders do that sort of thing), and that she later discovered that the blog post was, in fact, locked. Several people promptly started castigating her for being "unprofessional." Some even implied that she had broken into this person's account, or otherwise violated her privacy. Which, well...not so much.
If there was a privacy violation in this instance, it was on the part of the blogging site where the original entry was made—the blogging site that did not lock itself against Google spiders. (Now, I'm not very technical; it could be that the site can't be locked against spiders. If that's the case, I still say the blogging site was at fault, because they probably didn't include "locking a post will not prevent it being mined by search engines" in their privacy setting descriptions.) If there was a judgment error, it was on the part of the person who said "I'm going to use my blog to slam on someone I'm hoping to work with by name, rather than either being really, really vague, or by calling my best friend and ranting until I feel calm." Clicking on an email in your inbox? Not a privacy violation. Reading what it says? Also not a privacy violation. And sadly, the "unsee" button has yet to be invented for the human brain.
The Internet is never private. In the sixteen-plus years that I've been online, I've had embarrassing pictures crop up; I've sent emails and instant messages to the wrong people; I've messed up the privacy settings on blog posts; I've said things I regretted later, and had no way of taking back, ever. I've seen people I care about get burned really badly, either because their missteps were bigger than mine, or because they dodged a little more slowly. It's going to happen to all of us, forever, because that's what the Internet is. So I give you...
Seanan's Reminders for Surviving the Internet.
1. Remember that the thing you least want to have repeated is going to wind up being the one that that gets posted everywhere. The snarky off-handed comment or the bitchy update to your Facebook? The one you think only eight people will see? See, as soon as you think "at least only ____ will see this," it's time to re-think. It's okay to let it all out. Just consider whether you want to do it on a public forum, or via email or instant message to someone you trust.
2. It's not as private as you think it is. Blog posts, Twitter feeds, Facebook accounts, they're all a lot less secure than we like to think they are. People lose jobs because of pictures they put up on their Facebook. Authors lose readers because of things they say on their blogs. I am absolutely not saying "censor yourself into mashed potatoes." We are all people; we all have a right to the ball, and honestly, if you think I'm a freak because I love Disney and horror movies and chainsaws and frilly pink dresses and pumpkins and Halloween, you're probably right. We wouldn't have been good for each other anyway. But I've given serious thought to how much I wanted to share about all these things, and while I am absolutely honest, there are some things that just don't need to be shouted from the mountaintops.
3. Bridges burn easy, and they make a lovely light. We're all human here. If I stomp all over someone else's party, people will remember that. The person who was having the party is probably never going to want to invite me over again...and half their guests may well feel the same. When the person throwing that party is a professional in your chosen field, this is maybe not the best idea ever.
4. Tone doesn't always come through. I make a joke, you take offense and think I hate you forever. You make a snarky comment, I think it's hysterical and never leave you alone again. If people seem to be reacting to you in a way that is the opposite of what you expected, it may be time to step back and a) apologize for the confusion, followed by b) clarifying the situation. A vague disclaimer remains nobody's friend.
5. The Internet is forever. Keep it in mind.
The Internet is forever. You can't shove it in the microwave. Even if you take down a post, website, or poorly-considered picture, the odds are good that someone, somewhere, may have it in their cache...and may decide to re-post it, just because they can. "Because I can" is a totally valid reason for doing almost anything on the Internet. This is where the wild things are. The wild things have cookies. The wild things also have your really horrible fifth grade school photo, and they'd love an excuse to put it up.
The Internet is not as private as you think it is. I recently read a thread wherein an agent (not mine) said that she had decided not to work with someone because she saw a blog post they'd made, complaining about agency response times and being fairly unpleasant about it. Without saying anything about whether the response times were out of line—largely because I really don't know—I will say that I understand where the agent was coming from: I wouldn't want to enter into a professional relationship with someone whose response to irritation was to identify me by name while complaining loudly. It wouldn't be fun for either one of us. The agent went on to say that she had been notified of this post by a Google spider (magical Google spiders do that sort of thing), and that she later discovered that the blog post was, in fact, locked. Several people promptly started castigating her for being "unprofessional." Some even implied that she had broken into this person's account, or otherwise violated her privacy. Which, well...not so much.
If there was a privacy violation in this instance, it was on the part of the blogging site where the original entry was made—the blogging site that did not lock itself against Google spiders. (Now, I'm not very technical; it could be that the site can't be locked against spiders. If that's the case, I still say the blogging site was at fault, because they probably didn't include "locking a post will not prevent it being mined by search engines" in their privacy setting descriptions.) If there was a judgment error, it was on the part of the person who said "I'm going to use my blog to slam on someone I'm hoping to work with by name, rather than either being really, really vague, or by calling my best friend and ranting until I feel calm." Clicking on an email in your inbox? Not a privacy violation. Reading what it says? Also not a privacy violation. And sadly, the "unsee" button has yet to be invented for the human brain.
The Internet is never private. In the sixteen-plus years that I've been online, I've had embarrassing pictures crop up; I've sent emails and instant messages to the wrong people; I've messed up the privacy settings on blog posts; I've said things I regretted later, and had no way of taking back, ever. I've seen people I care about get burned really badly, either because their missteps were bigger than mine, or because they dodged a little more slowly. It's going to happen to all of us, forever, because that's what the Internet is. So I give you...
Seanan's Reminders for Surviving the Internet.
1. Remember that the thing you least want to have repeated is going to wind up being the one that that gets posted everywhere. The snarky off-handed comment or the bitchy update to your Facebook? The one you think only eight people will see? See, as soon as you think "at least only ____ will see this," it's time to re-think. It's okay to let it all out. Just consider whether you want to do it on a public forum, or via email or instant message to someone you trust.
2. It's not as private as you think it is. Blog posts, Twitter feeds, Facebook accounts, they're all a lot less secure than we like to think they are. People lose jobs because of pictures they put up on their Facebook. Authors lose readers because of things they say on their blogs. I am absolutely not saying "censor yourself into mashed potatoes." We are all people; we all have a right to the ball, and honestly, if you think I'm a freak because I love Disney and horror movies and chainsaws and frilly pink dresses and pumpkins and Halloween, you're probably right. We wouldn't have been good for each other anyway. But I've given serious thought to how much I wanted to share about all these things, and while I am absolutely honest, there are some things that just don't need to be shouted from the mountaintops.
3. Bridges burn easy, and they make a lovely light. We're all human here. If I stomp all over someone else's party, people will remember that. The person who was having the party is probably never going to want to invite me over again...and half their guests may well feel the same. When the person throwing that party is a professional in your chosen field, this is maybe not the best idea ever.
4. Tone doesn't always come through. I make a joke, you take offense and think I hate you forever. You make a snarky comment, I think it's hysterical and never leave you alone again. If people seem to be reacting to you in a way that is the opposite of what you expected, it may be time to step back and a) apologize for the confusion, followed by b) clarifying the situation. A vague disclaimer remains nobody's friend.
5. The Internet is forever. Keep it in mind.
- Current Mood:
thoughtful - Current Music:Lady Gaga, "Bad Romance."
I went to sleep last night with a puffy blue Maine Coon guarding my doorway and a sleek blue Siamese stretched next to me on the bed. The Siamese was using a plush blue-ringed octopus as a pillow, and back-dropped by Halloween pillowcases. When I woke, the Maine Coon was puddled on the bright pumpkin-fucker orange cat tree.
I have the life I always said I'd have someday.
Oh, it has complications I didn't necessarily bank on when I was plotting it out, since I didn't understand things like "herniated disks" and "actually having too many books" when I was nine, but for the most part? I sleep in a room that looks like the inside of a pumpkin, I have four shelves of My Little Ponies and two shelves loaded with stuffed toys, I own so many books that re-reading steadily for a year wouldn't mean getting through them all, and I have both the cat I've always wanted (Lilly) and the cat I never knew I needed (Alice). And I write books, and people read them, and it's amazing.
For example,
kyrielle read Rosemary and Rue.
I was chatting with my friend Adam last night (his books, How to Get Suspended and Influence People [Amazon] and Pirates of the Retail Wasteland [Amazon] are delightfully accurate flashbacks to my own days in the public school honors system), and he said that reviews never cease to be scary, since you don't know until you read them whether they'll be positive, negative, or written by angry mushroom people from Dimension X. But they never cease to be exciting, either.
Life is pretty damn good. How's yours?
I have the life I always said I'd have someday.
Oh, it has complications I didn't necessarily bank on when I was plotting it out, since I didn't understand things like "herniated disks" and "actually having too many books" when I was nine, but for the most part? I sleep in a room that looks like the inside of a pumpkin, I have four shelves of My Little Ponies and two shelves loaded with stuffed toys, I own so many books that re-reading steadily for a year wouldn't mean getting through them all, and I have both the cat I've always wanted (Lilly) and the cat I never knew I needed (Alice). And I write books, and people read them, and it's amazing.
For example,
kyrielle read Rosemary and Rue.I was chatting with my friend Adam last night (his books, How to Get Suspended and Influence People [Amazon] and Pirates of the Retail Wasteland [Amazon] are delightfully accurate flashbacks to my own days in the public school honors system), and he said that reviews never cease to be scary, since you don't know until you read them whether they'll be positive, negative, or written by angry mushroom people from Dimension X. But they never cease to be exciting, either.
Life is pretty damn good. How's yours?
- Current Mood:
happy - Current Music:Counting Crows, "Wise Blood."
Hey, folks. So...
1. I am still in Seattle, land of weather that is entirely alien to me.
2. I'm not dead. I'm just experiencing some rather awesome technical difficulties when it comes to accessing Livejournal. Seriously, it's like my data is being delivered by carrier pigeon. I can post -- barely -- but answering comments is a task akin to stumping the Sphinx at Trivial Pursuit. So posting will remain infrequent until a) this problem is resolved, or b) I go home.
3. The house concert on the 3rd is still on, for all you local folks. The set list is smoking, and we're going to be doing a variety of songs that most of you won't have heard before. Including, terrifyingly enough, 'Dear Gina.' (I love this song like burning, it's creepy as hell, and it's always creepier live. That's just how this stuff works.) Be there or be, I don't know, elsewhere.
4. Voodoo Doughnut is quite possibly the place where good pastry gets to go when it dies. I mean, I ate a Captain Crunch doughnut. How often do you get to say things like that, in this world or in any other?
5. I've finished the latest 'Velveteen vs.' story, which will be going up here soon, and have mapped out the next six or so. My poor little superhero, she never gets any breaks. But she does occasionally get broken. Coming soon, 'Velveteen vs. the Eternal Halloween.'
6. I've also finished doing the base inks for the Conflikt II program book cover, and I'll be doing the zip-a-tone over the next few days. It's essentially made of awesome. Awesome, and tentacles. Which are essentially the same thing, so hey.
7. I've finished through chapter twenty of The Brightest Fell, also known as 'Toby Daye, book five.' My 'write far enough ahead that even if you get hit by a bus, the series can continue for years' plan is definitely working. Memo to self: avoid the bus.
8. Interpretive dance of the bacon on John Scalzi's cat = totally fun, and totally funny.
9. I do, however, miss my own cat, and expect her to start trying to destroy Oregon in her maddened rampage any day now. Which, well, would be amusing, if nothing else.
10. I don't really have a tenth thing. The list just looked incomplete and a little bit lonely when I tried to leave it off at nine, so I figured I'd come up with something. What I have come up with is, apparently, the fact that I got nothin'.
How's with all of you?
1. I am still in Seattle, land of weather that is entirely alien to me.
2. I'm not dead. I'm just experiencing some rather awesome technical difficulties when it comes to accessing Livejournal. Seriously, it's like my data is being delivered by carrier pigeon. I can post -- barely -- but answering comments is a task akin to stumping the Sphinx at Trivial Pursuit. So posting will remain infrequent until a) this problem is resolved, or b) I go home.
3. The house concert on the 3rd is still on, for all you local folks. The set list is smoking, and we're going to be doing a variety of songs that most of you won't have heard before. Including, terrifyingly enough, 'Dear Gina.' (I love this song like burning, it's creepy as hell, and it's always creepier live. That's just how this stuff works.) Be there or be, I don't know, elsewhere.
4. Voodoo Doughnut is quite possibly the place where good pastry gets to go when it dies. I mean, I ate a Captain Crunch doughnut. How often do you get to say things like that, in this world or in any other?
5. I've finished the latest 'Velveteen vs.' story, which will be going up here soon, and have mapped out the next six or so. My poor little superhero, she never gets any breaks. But she does occasionally get broken. Coming soon, 'Velveteen vs. the Eternal Halloween.'
6. I've also finished doing the base inks for the Conflikt II program book cover, and I'll be doing the zip-a-tone over the next few days. It's essentially made of awesome. Awesome, and tentacles. Which are essentially the same thing, so hey.
7. I've finished through chapter twenty of The Brightest Fell, also known as 'Toby Daye, book five.' My 'write far enough ahead that even if you get hit by a bus, the series can continue for years' plan is definitely working. Memo to self: avoid the bus.
8. Interpretive dance of the bacon on John Scalzi's cat = totally fun, and totally funny.
9. I do, however, miss my own cat, and expect her to start trying to destroy Oregon in her maddened rampage any day now. Which, well, would be amusing, if nothing else.
10. I don't really have a tenth thing. The list just looked incomplete and a little bit lonely when I tried to leave it off at nine, so I figured I'd come up with something. What I have come up with is, apparently, the fact that I got nothin'.
How's with all of you?
- Current Mood:
accomplished - Current Music:Counting Crows, 'Round Here.'
"Why do you have that look on your face?"
"My head is full of bees, and the turtle cannot help me."
"...huh?"
"Ignore me, I have the dumb."
"Will do.
(Actual conversation with an actual human. Names omitted to protect the innocent, but I bet you can guess which one was me.)
So I am made of fuss and flail today, which basically means I'm totally unfocused and just want to go back to bed. As this is tragically not an option, I'm guzzling Diet Dr Pepper like a stretch SUV guzzles premium unleaded, and praying that dinosaurs attack San Francisco, forcing an evacuation and allowing me to, yes, go back to bed. Plus, people would probably get eaten by dinosaurs, and that always puts me in a better mood. (The 'always' in the following sentence may not apply when I'm the one getting eaten by dinosaurs, as I have yet to really enjoy any of the various reptile bites I've received, but hey. Maybe it's different when it's a velociraptor.)
Kate informed me this morning that we are now living in the future, as she has all these cool technological capabilities that seemed totally outside the realm of possibility* even ten years ago. I agreed that this was probably true, but the fact is that I'm currently living a little bit in the past, which probably accounts for some of my internal bees. See, a year ago, I hadn't...
* ...finished Newsflesh.
* ...finished Lycanthropy and Other Personal Issues.
* ...even thought of the InCryptid books.
* ...rebooted Rosemary and Rue, and hence the entire Toby universe.
* ...signed with an agent.
* ...sold a book.
* ...gone to New York to visit a major publishing house. Especially not one where I belonged.
Basically? I'm not ready for the future that actually exists, because I'm living in the future that I dreamed about when I was nine years old. I have a bright orange bedroom. All my bedding is a) orange, b) green, or c) Halloween themed -- hell, one of my pillowcases is bright orange and covered in little white ghosts that glow in the dark. Brightly enough that I can use them as a nightlight, no less, which is really convenient for the hour or so after I first go to bed. I have a Siamese that is so ideal to my conception of The Perfect Cat that I may as well have designed her in a genetics lab. Horror movies are popular again. I can stay up as late as I want (even if I'm almost always in bed by nine-thirty). There's good stuff on TV, and my stepdad never turns off the movie when the scary parts make me hide under my sleeping bag. I'm sorry, but I'm quite prepared to sign up for the future that's happening to everybody else. I'm still enjoying the one where having an orange ceramic octopus and a plush velociraptor creates an ideal world.
In other news, I've started receiving edits on the first three chapters of The Brightest Fell, thus proving that my personal reality show is continuing to pull good ratings. ("Well, Barbara, they're in their fifth season, with countless spin-offs, and still going strong...") Recording for Red Roses and Dead Things is totally done, and my cover art is so awesome it makes me want to scream. Safeway has two-liter bottles of Diet Dr Pepper at buy three, get three free. And my head remains full of bees.
Bleah.
(*You think I'm kidding? Go back and read some of the really classic whizz-bang-pow science fiction from the 1950s to the 1970s, back when it was all jut-jawed heroes, pneumatic blondes, and phallic rocketships. Did they have Tivo, text messaging, downloadable libraries, terabytes of data-storage in an easily handled medium, reality television, blogging, or distributed informational hyperspace models? No. They had plastic spacesuits and freeze-dried ice cream. The world has changed so much, on such a mundane level, that we totally forget just how far into the future we actually are.)
"My head is full of bees, and the turtle cannot help me."
"...huh?"
"Ignore me, I have the dumb."
"Will do.
(Actual conversation with an actual human. Names omitted to protect the innocent, but I bet you can guess which one was me.)
So I am made of fuss and flail today, which basically means I'm totally unfocused and just want to go back to bed. As this is tragically not an option, I'm guzzling Diet Dr Pepper like a stretch SUV guzzles premium unleaded, and praying that dinosaurs attack San Francisco, forcing an evacuation and allowing me to, yes, go back to bed. Plus, people would probably get eaten by dinosaurs, and that always puts me in a better mood. (The 'always' in the following sentence may not apply when I'm the one getting eaten by dinosaurs, as I have yet to really enjoy any of the various reptile bites I've received, but hey. Maybe it's different when it's a velociraptor.)
Kate informed me this morning that we are now living in the future, as she has all these cool technological capabilities that seemed totally outside the realm of possibility* even ten years ago. I agreed that this was probably true, but the fact is that I'm currently living a little bit in the past, which probably accounts for some of my internal bees. See, a year ago, I hadn't...
* ...finished Newsflesh.
* ...finished Lycanthropy and Other Personal Issues.
* ...even thought of the InCryptid books.
* ...rebooted Rosemary and Rue, and hence the entire Toby universe.
* ...signed with an agent.
* ...sold a book.
* ...gone to New York to visit a major publishing house. Especially not one where I belonged.
Basically? I'm not ready for the future that actually exists, because I'm living in the future that I dreamed about when I was nine years old. I have a bright orange bedroom. All my bedding is a) orange, b) green, or c) Halloween themed -- hell, one of my pillowcases is bright orange and covered in little white ghosts that glow in the dark. Brightly enough that I can use them as a nightlight, no less, which is really convenient for the hour or so after I first go to bed. I have a Siamese that is so ideal to my conception of The Perfect Cat that I may as well have designed her in a genetics lab. Horror movies are popular again. I can stay up as late as I want (even if I'm almost always in bed by nine-thirty). There's good stuff on TV, and my stepdad never turns off the movie when the scary parts make me hide under my sleeping bag. I'm sorry, but I'm quite prepared to sign up for the future that's happening to everybody else. I'm still enjoying the one where having an orange ceramic octopus and a plush velociraptor creates an ideal world.
In other news, I've started receiving edits on the first three chapters of The Brightest Fell, thus proving that my personal reality show is continuing to pull good ratings. ("Well, Barbara, they're in their fifth season, with countless spin-offs, and still going strong...") Recording for Red Roses and Dead Things is totally done, and my cover art is so awesome it makes me want to scream. Safeway has two-liter bottles of Diet Dr Pepper at buy three, get three free. And my head remains full of bees.
Bleah.
(*You think I'm kidding? Go back and read some of the really classic whizz-bang-pow science fiction from the 1950s to the 1970s, back when it was all jut-jawed heroes, pneumatic blondes, and phallic rocketships. Did they have Tivo, text messaging, downloadable libraries, terabytes of data-storage in an easily handled medium, reality television, blogging, or distributed informational hyperspace models? No. They had plastic spacesuits and freeze-dried ice cream. The world has changed so much, on such a mundane level, that we totally forget just how far into the future we actually are.)
- Current Mood:
fussy - Current Music:Jonathan Coulton, 'The Future Soon.'
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