We are deep in the winter holidays, and by now most of you will have finished your shopping, such as it is; after all, unless you're planning to go to the mall (don't go to the mall), things will not likely reach your house before the timer runs out and the presents are being plunked beneath the tree, grievance pole, decorative pig, or other symbol of your holiday. But!

There are other reasons to need gifts. Birthdays, special events, or just the need to have something nice. I frequently lay in presents against the rest of the year, sacrificing storage space for the sake of savings. Or maybe I get myself a nice thing, because it's nice to have nice things. I try not to practice too much retail therapy. That doesn't mean I don't occasionally treat myself.

May I present the Unicorn Empire holiday sales?

Unicorn Empire Designs is an artist-owned shirt and print design shop belonging to the fabulous Amber Whitney, who has designed some of my favorite shirts (I'm wearing my Steven Universe shirt right now, and seriously considering ordering myself a second "We Are Not Things" tank, because I wear it so damn much that why not?). If you're one of the lucky ones who got a Sparrow Hill Road shirt, she did that design.

It's too late to order from her for holiday delivery, especially if you're not in the US, but her holiday sales are still ongoing. You can get some incredible fannish gift sets, and better yet, free shipping on any orders of $75 or more. Check out her stuff, and see if some of it needs to come home with you.

More seriously: Amber is an independent artist who does incredible things. So incredible that the art theft has, naturally, gotten more and more common as other people went "oh, it's just fan art" and tried to profit off it without compensating her. So if you've been considering a shirt, consider it now, and help give her the happy holiday that assholes attempted to steal away.

Yay, shirts!

Do you ever feel like you just have too darn much money, and need more places to spend it? Or do you just want to know why you should be shaking down the couch for quarters? Well!

First up, Zombies Need Brains LLC, the force behind the anthology Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs. Aliens, is doing a second anthology! This one is called Temporally Out of Order, and the Kickstarter is going now! With twenty-seven days to go we're just under halfway funded, for an anthology that's slated to include a lot of really awesome names. Stretch goals include more stories and more money for the authors involved. I'm excited as all get-out for you to have a look!

Secondly, remember last year's awesome nerd nail wraps from Espionage Cosmetics? Well, they're back for another pass, with more awesome nerd makeup and really exciting new nail wrap designs, including one that might seem just a little...familiar...to some of you. There are some gorgeous designs this time, and while the campaign has reached its first goal with eighteen days to spare, the stretch goals are going to have even more exciting goodies. Basically, I need y'all to look at this Kickstarter so that I can dip my nails in unicorn blood. Okay?

Okay.

Awesome things! Remember, the winter holidays are coming soon, and nerd wraps and anthologies make great gifts for the people you love!

So it's, like, holiday time. And stuff. And sometimes this means that people want to give people things they think those people will like, which frequently translates into "here, have a book," because we're all enormous book nerds. Being a person who like, writes books, I am very interested in this phenomenon. Moreover, I'd like those books to be as cool as possible. So! Do you want to give a signed, personalized book to the person of your choice, after exchanging money for it? Here's how!

1. Contact Borderlands Books (http://borderlands-books.com/) in San Francisco, California. You can contact them by either email or phone; check the website for specific options.

2. Order books! You have to tell them which ones, naturally, and whether you want them signed and personalized, or just signed. Personalized books must be paid for up-front. You can request a specific inscription. Some inscriptions (ie, my phone number) will be refused, although your book will still be signed.

3. While you're at it, order anything else that you'd like to get. I mean, hello, bookstore, and you're already paying for shipping, so why the heck not?

4. Give the store any information they need, like shipping address and billing and stuff.

5. The store will contact me, and I'll go in and sign things!

If you want your book or books shipped in time for Christmas, you need to contact the store and place your order by December 12th. That's still not a guarantee, especially if you're in like, England, but at least it's a ballpark.

But wait, you cry! What books are currently available?

TOBY: Rosemary and Rue, A Local Habitation, An Artificial Night, Late Eclipses, One Salt Sea, and Ashes of Honor.

INCRYPTID: Discount Armageddon.

NEWSFLESH: Feed, Deadline, Blackout, and the Newsflesh box set.

VELVETEEN: Velveteen vs. The Junior Super Patriots.

ANTHOLOGIES: The Living Dead 2 (Newsflesh-universe story); Home Improvement: Undead Edition (Toby-universe story); Zombiesque; Westward Weird (Incryptid-universe story); Tales From the Ur-Bar; Human For a Day; The Modern Fae's Guide to Surviving Humanity; Other Worlds Than These; Human Tales; Grants Pass.

Because Borderlands does not carry non-fiction, none of the Mad Norwegian Press titles are available from them.

Any questions?

(Post concept gleefully stolen from John Scalzi. I love you, John!)

The ebook of Feed is on sale for the next two weeks: $1.99 from any major retailer. Orbit says this is to celebrate their fifth anniversary, but I know what it's really about: it's to celebrate HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

I mean, this is like, the best trick-or-treat prize anyone could possibly ask for. "What'd you get?" "Candy corn. You?" "Feed, by Mira Grant." WIN! And also, if you buy it while it's cheap, you can afford more actual candy for the holiest of days, Halloween.

Tell your friends, warn your neighbors, and acquire Feed while it's cheap.

(Yes, this is more blatantly "buy my book" than I tend to be, but c'mon, two bucks? That's like, less than an Egg McMuffin. I want to see us crack the Kindle Top 100 with a book that's been out for over two years, because it would be funny, and I'm perverse like that.)

Happy Halloween!

It's Hugo-prep time over here in Casa de Seanan, which means lots of flailing and frantic attempts to herd cats into something resembling order. And is always the case when I have to prep for a major event where appearance matters, I am reminded that it is expensive being a girl, especially being a plus-sized girl who actually wants to look, you know, nice.

To start with, you need a dress. Not just any dress: a dress which is appropriate and flattering and doesn't make you look like a manatee. I wound up going with a really lovely black and red ballgown from Sydney's Closet, a vendor that specializes in plus-size formal wear. I hugely recommend them, they're wonderful to work with. The dress fit almost perfectly, and Meg is doing some minor alterations. I should get it back tonight, just in time for...

Shoes and lingerie! I need shoes. I may also need a new strapless bra, since we can't tell exactly where the neckline will fall until Meg has everything stitched into position. Either way, I'm going to be tromping around the mall for a few hours. Nothing says "it's time for Worldcon" like a trip to the mall in a ballgown. Seriously. Nothing.

I have an appointment at my sister's school for Saturday morning, to have my hair done, and an appointment at Benefit Cosmetics for Saturday afternoon, to have my tan done. (Yes, I know, spray-tanning is horrible and will kill me and boo. But my tan lines are severe enough that I'm essentially calico right now, and that won't look good with my dress. As long as I'm not orange, I'm good. And really, this is me: if I were orange, I'd probably be pretty blissful about it.) My sister will also be doing my nails, before I fly to Chicago, and helping me set up my makeup bag. I don't know yet whether my foundation needs replacement. I guess we'll find out!

Jewelry, I have earrings already, and a few necklace prospects, although I may wind up buying something at the con from Spring.

So yeah. Being a girl? Is expensive as shit, and I am hugely envious of anyone who can just rent a tuxedo and be done. But I am going to look lovely, and get my picture taken with all my favorite people. I didn't go to my high school prom.

This will do.

Hey, kids. Wanna see something awesome? Well, this coming Sunday, I will be performing as part of the Geek Fest Concert and Vendor Fair, hosted by the Seattle Browncoats.

Music! From such luminaries as Vixy and Tony, Betsy Tinney, Sunnie Larson, the Doubleclicks, and Eben Brooks (and more! MUCH MORE!). Oh, and me. I'll be performing with my usual Seattle backing band, and it's going to be AWESOME.

Vendors! Are you looking for that perfect gift for your geeky sweetie? Well, this is your chance to buy directly from the creator, cutting out silly little things like "shipping" and "waiting for the mail." Again, it's going to be AWESOME.

Admission is a mere $10 ticket, granting you full access to the concert and the vendors. Food and drinks will be available for sale. The whole shindig is going to be indoors, so we're not going to get rained on, and your admission will go to a great cause. Support geeky pursuits, the Seattle Browncoats, and the randomness of me flying to Seattle for a one-day event, and show up for the Geek Fest!

Hope to see you there!

I asked Mom if we could go by the mall tonight after I got off work. "Sure," she said. "What for?" I told her there was a store I'd heard about called "Justice," and that they might have Monster High dolls. Mom, who is endlessly tolerant in some ways, thought this was a fine idea, and away we went.

Now, for the last month or so, we've been haunting the usual stores looking for the new beach assortment, the ghoulishly-named "Skull Shores." There are five dolls in the assortment, four of which have been released (the fifth, Draculaura, will be joining the set in the next wave of releases. This keeps you coming back to the shelves, even when you think you're done). We hadn't been able to find any of them.

We reached the mall, parked, and made our way to the Justice...where I immediately found all four currently available Skull Shores dolls, AND several Toralei dolls (the werecat I recently had wonderful people hunt for in Australia). I gleefully grabbed one of each of the Skull Shores dolls and, after a moment's consideration, snagged a Toralei as well. I wanted to compare her paint to the Australian version of the same doll.

Now, Mom and I go to Toys R Us a lot. I mean a lot. So we've come to know the people who work there pretty well, and one of them, M., also buys Monster High, for his little girl. Her favorite is Abbey Bominable, who is damn hard to find, and the reason that her father has also been awaiting Skull Shores anxiously. After a little more consideration, we grabbed a second Abbey. I paid for my toys (40% off the whole store!), and we decamped for the Toys R Us.

We took Abbey and Toralei inside, Abbey for M., Toralei to show the manager, since he's had people asking for her. M. was on lunch, and the manager said we might be able to find him outside. We went looking. Upon finding him, I thrust Abbey at him, going "Look!" He was very excited, since, well. Hell hath no nagging like a little girl in want of a specific toy. I explained that I hadn't found her inside, but we'd grabbed a second in case he needed her. He stared, and said (without handing back the doll—I think I would've lost fingers) that he had no cash on him. I affirmed that I knew where he worked.

Happiest. Dad. EVER.

I showed him the Toralei, so he'd know what she looked like. He asked, excited, whether they had another of her, too...so I handed him the Toralei. Dude, I have mine, and I am happy to play toy mule for actual small children. Tomorrow, I shall return to Toys R Us to get reimbursed for toys, and tonight, when he returns home, M. shall be a hero.

Karma is important. Pass it along.

Shamelessly, I have stolen a very clever idea from John Scalzi at the Whatever, who has posted an excellent, and quite thorough, guide to obtaining signed books from him for the holidays. He has some really spiffy books available right now. You should check them out.

Anyway, I, too, have been receiving emails for about the last month, asking where people can get signed copies of my various books. Since I already have a bajillion shirts to mail (still mailing), "from me" isn't a viable answer. So...

Want a signed book? Signed by me, I mean, and not by that guy who always looks at you sort of funny on the bus? Borderlands Books is here to help. They're located in San Francisco, on Valencia Street, and they see me a lot. Like, a lot. Anyway, they'd be totally happy to take your order, and I would be totally happy to sign and/or personalize those orders. Here's what you have to do:

1. Contact Borderlands. You can send an email via their website (link above), or call their toll-free 888 number, at 1-888-893-4008.

2. Tell them what you want, and how you want the book signed. I will do inscriptions, but they need to be short, as those title pages don't leave me a lot of room to work with.

3. While you're at it, you might want to consider picking up a few books other people have written, since you're already paying for postage, and isn't getting a big box of books always better than getting a small box of books? I'll be posting my holiday recommendations soon, none of which have a damn thing to do with the holidays, but in the meanwhile, there are lots of books out there looking for a home.

3b. I won't sign those books. Unless you really, really want me to.

4. Give them your mailing address and billing information. You must be prepared to pay for inscribed books when you place your order. It's a logic thing. Once I write your name in it, they can't sell it to anybody else.

5. Your books will magically appear at your home! It's amazing!

If you want your books in time for Christmas, I seriously suggest ordering by December 12th. The mail will be insane by that point, so sooner is probably better. I'll visit the store for the last time this holiday season on December 19th (Alice's third birthday!), but I'm leaving for Orlando after that, so any orders placed beyond that point definitely won't reach you before 2012.

Borderlands can ship internationally, but postage will be spendy, and you need to work it out with the bookstore.

In case you need a recap on what's currently available:

TOBY BOOKS (in order): Rosemary and Rue, A Local Habitation, An Artificial Night, Late Eclipses, One Salt Sea.

MIRA GRANT TITLES (in order): Feed, Deadline.

ANTHOLOGIES I AM IN: Home Improvement: Undead Edition (hardcover, Toby story), Tales From the Ur-Bar, Zombiesque, The Living Dead 2 (as Mira Grant, Newsflesh story), Grants Pass, Human Tales.

ESSAYS AND NON-FICTION: Chicks Dig Time Lords, Whedonistas.

If you have questions, let me know...and if you do decide to order, thank you so, so much for helping to support both my endless quest to feed the cats and my beloved local independent bookstore. You are awesome.

Once again, we rewind to late May, when I was in New York City enjoying friends, humidity, publishers, and pigeons. Or, more specifically, we're rewinding to Sunday the 22nd, when I was scheduled to a) go into Manhattan to have brunch with The Agent, b) meet up with Will, and c) have dinner with several of my friends, including Batya, Alex, and the lovely Priscille. Everybody wins!

Foolishly, I thought that in New York, "brunch" meant, well, "brunch," and so expected to return to Jersey City during the day. Yes, yes, laugh at my pain. Anyway...

I rose, showered, dressed, and made my way to Manhattan, following the now-familiar path to the PATH train. I enjoy riding the PATH. It's easy and predictable and not really like riding the subway at all. Finding The Agent on the other end was easy, and we had a lovely, leisurely brunch at Cafeteria. I had a waffle with berries and cream. She had green eggs and ham (pesto is a magical thing). We split lemon pancakes with more berries and cream for dessert. Yes, I have now blogged what I had for breakfast. You have my permission to weep for mankind.

After brunch came the ceremonial Wandering Around Manhattan, wherein I actually did the traditional tourist thing and went shopping in New York. Sure, it was at Old Navy, where I bought half a dozen more tank tops in a variety of rainbow hues, but that counts, right? The Agent turns out to be hysterically funny in Old Navy, by the way, and even pickier about her tank top fit than I am. All hail compatible crazy.

We finished shopping and settled at the local Red Mango frozen yogurt, where The Agent ate yogurt and I didn't, because ew. Will came and got me, because he is awesome, and we bid The Agent what would be the first of many fond farewells. Will and I walked a great deal. I got an artisan Popsicle! Life is good. I also got to see Will's apartment, which was very clean and grownup, as befits a new law school graduate. Totally awesome.

After frozen treats and apartment visits, we made our way to the bus stop, hence to ride to the kosher Indian restaurant where we would be having dinner. Priscille wound up on the same bus, which was AWESOME, and much laughter and happiness accompanied us all the way to food, where we were met by Jon and Merav, Batya and Alex, a surprise Constance, and an extra bonus Jessica. Constance couldn't stay, but there was hugging, and then the rest of us went in to do some serious eating. I had goat. Who's surprised?

Dinner was followed by ambling aimlessly around the city, stopping by Dylan's Candy Bar, and finally drinking sugary things at Starbucks. Jon and Merav had actually driven into Manhattan, and so I was able to get a ride back to Jersey City, where I tumbled into bed, full of goat, happy, and ready to face the week ahead.

Which is good, because the week ahead was about to KICK MY ASS.

1. I'm still taking entries in my "ask a question, win an ARC" drawing. Remember that two prizes will be awarded, one by our old friend, Random Number Generator (oh, Genny, you're so capricious), and once by me choosing the best question of the bunch. Please, please don't ask for spoilers. Ask questions that would potentially be found in an FAQ, even one as profoundly silly as mine.

2. I'm a Barbie girl! Well. Sometimes. The brilliant Tara O'Shea (who does my website graphics, and isn't she amazing?) does Barbie customs, because she is marginally insane, and is now making me my very own Alice Price-Healy, because I am marginally insane. Tracking down 1/6th scale weapons and camping gear is surprisingly soothing. As is the part where, when I'm done, I get to ship it all off to Tara, and not deal with it until it comes back as a real, live Barbie of one of my characters. My life is so hard sometimes. (This will not be my first custom Barbie. That honor goes to Lt. Anis Bihari of the USS Rutan. She has spots!)

3. According to DAW, finished copies of Late Eclipses now exist, and I should have mine in a week or so. So you can look forward to pictures of Thomas putting the now-traditional toothmarks in the cover of my file copy, right before I start hyperventilating.

4. Yesterday, I went to two flea markets with my mother and youngest sister, both of whom acquired Immense Amounts of Crap. Despite bringing my naked Gloom Beach Draculaura along so that I could try clothes on her (Monster High dolls can wear many Bratz and Moxie Girl fashions), I managed not to buy anything except for a bottle of water. I compensated for this by swinging through the Berkeley Half-Price Books and acquiring yet another sack of books I won't get around to reading for a month or more. I need help.

5. And by "help," I mean "I need someone to come over and shelve things with me for about seven hours solid." Even that may not conquer the leaning piles of literature and restore my capacity to see the floor, but I am occasionally a crazy idealist where such things are concerned.

6. In an effort to not be a total wreck today, I spent about two hours last night sitting on the couch, watching telly. Specifically, the post-Superbowl episode of Glee, which I loved, and the first episode of the North American Being Human, which I loved. So it was a night full of love. That's even before you take into account the seven-month-old Maine Coon draped across my lap, loving me so loudly that I had to turn up the volume on the TV (kid has a purr like a lawnmower).

7. CD Baby has sent me their restock request, and so I'll be mailing them restock of Wicked Girls, Red Roses and Dead Things, and Pretty Little Dead Girl tomorrow. If you're looking for Stars Fall Home, I really am sold out, but Southern Fried Filk has several, as do many other filk dealers I know.

That's my Monday. What's new in the world of you?

...the chewing.

I woke up this morning to find my iPod on the floor, still tethered to the computer. Okay, whatever. Things on the floor don't necessarily mean there's been feline intervention; last night I, personally, was responsible for my alarm clock, three pillows, a duvet, a stack of books, and three My Little Ponies hitting the floor. (Myopic author attempts to navigate to the bathroom in dark house without donning glasses, film at eleven.) So I didn't think much of it until I was walking to the bus stop, and discovered that I had no volume.

I smacked the iPod. I re-set my settings, which usually results in temporary deafness. I smacked the iPod again. And then, my sleep-addled brain finally reached the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, it would be a good idea to check the headphones. The just-bought-last-week headphones, which had no reason to be malfunctioning.

Well. No reason except for the part where they'd been chewed clean through in three different spots. Which is really a pretty good reason for them not to be transmitting sound, if you really think about it.

I muttered. I swore. I rode to San Francisco in silence, which was vexing, and proceeded straight into the nearest CVS, where twelve dollars united me with a brand-new pair of headphones that had not been eaten by a Maine Coon, and were thus happy to transmit sound if I wanted them to. I am now wrapped in the warm embrace of the new Christian Kane album, and thus less inclined to make mittens.

So let this be a reminder: Kittens chew on things. I always forget this in the long gaps between kittens, and then the kittens come into my life, and things get chewed all over again.

It's a damn good thing they're cute.

As I've discussed before on this blog, I have OCD, which manifests itself most specifically in pattern-formation and obsessive tracking. Oddly, you can use my tracking as a bellwether for my overall mental health: If I'm tracking, I'm good, and if I'm not, I'm probably getting pretty alarmingly de-stable, and should be encouraged to start counting crows and writing down my results as quickly as humanly possible. (I saw six crows yesterday, indicating gold, in case you wondered.) I am at peace with my diagnosis, and have learned to live with my idiosyncrasies just as much as "normal" people live with theirs.

Of course, part of managing my flavor of OCD involves keeping my tracking detailed, dependable, and most of all, consistent. Which is why I depend on Franklin-Covey's planner refills to keep me from snapping and killing everyone in an unformatted rage. Only there's one small problem:

Since they unexpectedly redesigned the "Blooms" planner pages in 2005, I've insisted on going to the Franklin-Covey store in person, to be sure that what I'm getting is something I can actually use. And both California stores have been closed in the last year, resulting in great dismay and sorrow on my part.

Enter salvation, in the form of Washington, and Ryan. Because there is still one store—one beautiful, wonderful store—in Redmond. It opens at ten on Saturday mornings. Which is why, at nine-fifteen, Ryan picked me up and drove me to that glorious wonderland I often refer to as "the OCD porn store."

On the way, we saw a bald eagle. Just sitting there. Being the stone-dumb symbol of our country. DUDE WHAT THE FUCK. I mean, seriously.

Finding the store was easy, and we were the first ones there, probably because we were actually there before they opened. The manager on duty was a friendly, well-groomed blonde woman, originally from California, who said we were lucky to have come when we did, as the store will probably be closing in January. My heart broke a little. While I can understand that high-end planner products are probably more economically sold online, I always spend more in the physical stores, because I can put my hands on things, and really understand why I might need them.

Case in point: a deeply discounted orange leather purse. I opened it. I peered inside. I commented on all the pockets.

"I can put my planner in here," I said.
"Yes," said Ryan.
"I can put my Netbook in here," I said.
"Yes," said Ryan.
"I can put Alice in here," I said.
"Maybe," said Ryan.
"What's an Alice?" asked the manager.
"My cat," I said.

Ryan produced his iPhone, and produced a picture, which we showed to the manager.

"Holy crap," said the manager.

I bought the purse.

It was a glorious morning, filled with victory (and later, with pancakes). We even saw the eagle again, flying over the water, looking for breakfast. I mourn for the loss of the OCD porn store, where I never feel odd at all, just really, really efficient. And Alice does, in fact, fit inside my purse.

So before we get too far from the convention, a few high (and low) points of San Diego 2010. Because otherwise, y'all will beat me with bricks in a dark alley somewhere, and I just don't have time for that.

This year, I was able to import Tara and Amy (webmistress and fiddler, respectively), and the three of us shared a room with Sunil (media madman) at the Gaslamp Marriott. Not only were we less than a five minute walk from the convention center, allowing us to easily drop things off in our room, but the hotel gave us free candy. Right there at the front desk, free candy. Amy and I decided that we were having the convention experience we would have designed for ourselves at age seven. Except for the drinking, this was probably true for the entire weekend.

Rebecca and Ryan were kind enough to pick me up from the airport; after they dropped me off, Amy and I went to get our badges while the car went back for Tara and Sunil (landing two hours later than I did). Hilarity and admission followed. Tara went off to hang with her friends, while Sunil, Amy, and I went to see an improv performance by Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em. They were decent, and the show was fun (especially since Amy got me a Long Island Iced Tea). The only real downside was Sunil accidentally ditching us while we were in the bathroom, but we went and met Rebecca and Ryan for Wendy's, so there was really no bad there.

Thursday was my first panel, The Power of Myth, which was a lot of fun, as was the signing which followed. I gave Amber Benson a copy of An Artificial Night, which she thanked me for, as now she would not be required to steal it. Tara, Amy, and I had lunch with Tanya Huff at the Cafe Diem, because the Cafe Diem is awesome. I also shopped. A lot. I enjoy shopping. I got a White Phoenix Jean Gray doll for my cover designer at Orbit, because I believe in bribery, yo. It was fun!

Thursday evening, Tanya, Tara, and I attended the Brilliance Audio author dinner, which I spent drinking Mai Tais, eating interesting things, and chatting with Phil and Kaja Foglio. My life, so hard.

Friday was my booth signing at Orbit, during which I signed a hundred copies of Feed. In the process, I drew ninety-nine tiny chainsaws, and one tiny Godzilla destroying a city. Again, my life, so hard. I had to miss the X-Men panel to do the signing (wah!), but I was able to attend the panel on James Gunn's Super (he needs to call me), which looks totally awesome. I had a second signing at the SFX booth later in the afternoon, and we gave away another fifty copies of Feed, one to the creator of Being Human. Totally awesome.

Friday evening, Tanya, Amy, and I attended the Penguin FangFest, which I spent drinking pineapple mojitos, eating cupcakes, and chatting with awesome authors. I finally met Charlaine Harris in the flesh, and it was hysterical. Exchange as follows:

Me: "Hi, it's great to finally meet you. I'm Seanan."
Charlaine: *politely blank look*
Me: *displays name tag*
Charlaine: "SHAWN-ANNE!"

*hugging*

I love having a weird name. After that, we went to the Boom! party, where I met Paul Cornell and his lovely wife, Caroline. Paul is one of my favorite humans, as he shares my love of the Black Death and giant flesh-eating lizards. I'm just saying.

Saturday was my second panel, The Rise of Zombie Fiction, which was a) mad fun, and b) reinforced my desire to write up a handbook for people doing panels at this sort of thing. Priscille from Books for Boobs came to the signing in a perfect Delirium costume, and I tried to eat her plush bear. Amy and I managed to catch the Warehouse 13 panel (Allison Scagliotti for Georgia Mason, anybody?), and then went off to dinner with John Grace at a very nice steak house. They served me port. MY LIFE, SO HARD.

Sunday, it was goodbyes and final shopping runs, and Tara and I had breakfast with Paul and Caroline before Amanda and Michael came to carry me away.

It was a good con. This writeup does not include hiding behind Anton, getting awesome swag and buttons from Rae, lots of hugging, accidental soda-based encounters, the dissolution of the Sacred Order of the Deli, ice cream, Gini Koch, late-night sammiches with Tanya, awesome dealer's room finds, free books, cheap books, expensive books, cookies, the art show, or repeat encounters with Felicia Day. But it does include a lot of awesome.

Also, if anyone came away from the con with a spare Sanctuary T-shirt, I am open to trades. Just saying.

Today was my signing event at the Pleasant Hill Borders. I woke bright and early (too bright, and too early; after waking up at 6:20 AM, I went back to bed for another hour and a half), walked to the grocery store for a fresh fruit breakfast, and came back to the house to shower and watch The West Wing while I prepared myself for the day ahead. Wonder of wonders, Mom wasn't just on time, she was early, and we got on the road with time to spare.

After stopping at a yard sale en route, we reached the Borders, parked, hit the Farmer's Market for several pounds of cherries, and went into the bookstore, where I had a small table dedicated to my use, thoughtfully outfitted with some Sharpies and a few bottles of water. People showed up. I signed things. We chatted. It was very nice, although the sheer size of the stack of books made me feel rather like I was letting down the team, and should have been sneaking ninja-like around the store, sliding paperbacks into purses and making people pay to avoid shoplifting fines.

(One fascinating facet of being a "visiting author" in a bookstore: no one wants to meet your eye, for fear that they'll be forced by guilt to buy your book. Much like a Venus flytrap, I had to adopt a strategy of "ignore them until they're too close to escape." Also, once the bookstore employees stop looking you in the face, it's time to leave.)

We eventually took a break for lunch and errands, running to the Best Buy for a new camera* and then to the Texas BBQ for tasty, tasty lunch. I had BBQ chicken, and we split a blackberry cobbler, to which I can only say HOLY CRAP NOM. After that, it was back to the bookstore for a pleasant hour of reading all their comic books while not actually signing anything. Oh, well.

And then the fun started.

See, when we left the bookstore, the car wouldn't start. Several people ignored Mom's pleas for a jump, leading her to call a friend to come jump us. The battery was essentially a zombie at this point, obeying our commands only so long as we didn't feed it salt...so it was off to Pep Boys to buy a battery. Um, yay? I was so tired I was yawning the whole time, and read several old Women's World magazines, which taught me that a) desserts are good, but b) I shouldn't eat them ever, or I'll be fat and no one will love me, and c) men like sex, presumably after a good dessert that I'm not allowed to eat. Again, um, yay?

Having purchased a new battery, Mom drove me to the comic book store, and I salved my wounded soul with graphic novels. Which I will now read. So if you're wondering where I am? I'm in the back of my house, reading the new X-Babies.

Snikt.

(*Yes, this means kitty pictures soon. You're welcome.)

Are you wondering what to get for the person in your life who has everything? How about for that workplace Secret Santa, the one you barely know but sometimes see in the mail room? Or are you just looking for a treat to reward yourself for getting through 2009 without killing anybody with an axe? Well, then, might I recommend Rosemary and Rue [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy]? Which, to make things even more exciting, made the Locus Magazine Bestsellers List for September 2009? See? It's a bestseller! That means it's the perfect winter holiday gift! (Also, it takes place at Christmas, although hopefully, your winter holiday of choice will be more pleasant than Toby's.)

If you were hoping to get a signed copy, they have them at Borderlands Books in San Francisco, and they do ship. And, of course, all three of my CDs are available through CD Baby (the live album, Pretty Little Dead Girl, is about six inches from going out of print).

By this time next year I'll have four books and four CDs to worry about, so I won't necessarily be fussing quite as much over a single title (although, having met me, like, ever, you know that I will). But anyway, in short, Toby makes the perfect holiday gift. She'll drink all the eggnog and pass out on your living room couch, and she may throw things if you try to wake her, but on the whole, she's a really mellow house guest.

Really.

I swear.

Now please get her out of my house, and into yours.

My flight from SFO was both exceedingly eventful and completely uneventful, which is always a fun combination (I'll explain in a second). I was flying Northwest—despite having originally thought that I was flying American, which, it turns out, is actually my airline for DucKon; this is why I try to stick with Virgin America whenever possible—out of SFO. "Northwest out of SFO" is another way of saying "Northwest out of the Torture Terminal." Seriously. There is one crappy coffee shop at the end of the terminal, and there are way more passengers than seats. Pretty much everyone who was taking my flight had to stand until they let us on the plane.

I had a Rice Krispie Treat and a Diet Coke for breakfast. This is how dire the terminal was. I did, however, see a woman with an electric orange and green messenger bag while I was going through security, and I was able to catch up with her to go "I covet that, where did you get it?" Turns out she got it from Timbuk2 in San Francisco, which will make you a bag in any color combination you want. They're not cheap, but I now have a total target for the next time I decide to splurge on something.

(Last year, I splurged and bought an iPod. This year, I splurged and bought a kitten. Next year, who knows? I am the worst impulse shopper in the world—I actually schedule my impulse buys a month in advance.)

On the plane, I was seated next to a very tall woman from Canada. I asked where in Canada, which turned out to be the perfect conversation starter, because we chattered for three hours. Want proof that I exist in a reality-warp? She's works in pandemic planning and preparedness. Seriously! (It wasn't until much later that either of us realized that maybe discussing immunodepressant smallpox, the Black Death, pandemic flu, and how many bodies you can fit in a hockey rink could have gotten us reported as international terrorists. I swear we're not, Homeland Security Monitor Guy. We're just weird.)

My hotel is small, cozy, and conveniently close to downtown. Since I woke up at seven this morning—jet lag? What's that?—being able to go and get a salad and a soda before most of the world was awake was a real blessing. I also found Borders store number one, and bought Queen of Babble Gets Hitched and In the Forest of Hands and Teeth for the flight home. (Did I read everything I brought already? Yes, I did. I swear, my reading speed accounts for more frantic bookstore visits than I like to think about.)

I will now go put on my Disney Halloweentown Princess Pants and get ready for my business meetings, which should be interesting (they always are). And then I meet with Jim and fly on home. I'll be trying to finish Late Eclipses on the plane. So...close...

Catch you soon!

1. Home from Friday at Wondercon.

2. Friday at Wondercon was every bit as awesome as I'd hoped! I wandered the floor, saw old friends, made new friends, bought cool shit -- I mean, seriously, comic book conventions are where I go to discover cool shit that I didn't know I was incapable of living without -- attended a panel on the future of Marvel's Ultimate Universe (it's not pretty, but it should be awesome), and managed to land on the commission list of an artist I admire. Major wins all around.

3. Alas, some other artists and authors I was really hoping to see didn't make this year's convention, for reasons ranging from 'the economy sucks' to 'twisted his ankle and didn't want to make with the massive lugging of crap through a crowded convention center.' So that's a little bit disappointing. Fortunately, most of them are scheduled to attend San Diego, so I'll get to see them there.

4. As an addendum to the last, I finally got the professional registration information for San Diego, and it's going to be my very first mass-media convention as an actual attending pro. Signing things. Things like, I don't know, maybe things related to Rosemary and Rue. You could actually get your hands on actual text, maybe. If you came looking for it...

5. I do still have art cards, and they will still be distributed first come, first serve throughout the remainder of the con, or until I run out, whichever comes first. Also, since I've been asked, I'll probably wind up selling whatever's left over, thus fueling my eternal need for more art supplies (and more cool crap I only seem to find at comic book conventions).

That's all for now. Now we must rinse.

So I keep meaning to say deep and meaningful things ("I got carnivorous plants for Valentine's Day!" "No, really -- one of my sundews is eating moths already, like a wee sticky Audrey II."), or at least report on the progress that I've been making on The Mourning Edition ("Epileptic miniature bulldogs are the pet everyone's going to be screaming for this season."), but all I really seem to manage is vague grumbling noises, accompanied by the distracted waving of hands. I am wiped out.

Why am I wiped out? Well, let's see. Today, I...

* Carted THREE BOXES OF TRASH out of my house, which entailed, of course, initially generating three boxes of trash. Admittedly, it was made easier by the presence of several water-damaged shipping boxes (one of which originally contained the aforementioned carnivorous plants), since I didn't have to scrounge to generate box-shaped piles of trash, but still.

* Went shopping with Kate, who managed to convince me -- through cunning application of the Weather Channel, which insists that it gets cold on the East Coast -- that I needed some wool trousers. So we went to the mall. For wool trousers. To wear in New York, in March. Well, I have wool trousers now. Also green corduroys, a very nice 'statement piece' blouse, two new bras, and a double-breasted kelly-green coat. Behold, for now I wear the human pants. I hate shopping so hard.

* Did my Richard Simmons workout tape for the first time in months and months. Look: I'm one of those people who starts every day with an energy bar that has somehow been turned up to two hundred percent of safe storage. If I don't walk a mile before breakfast, I get twitchy. For a long time, I was controlling my natural desire to fidget with DDR and Richard Simmons. Only it turns out that I have three severely herniated disks in my lower back, and they're not so hot on all that high-impact stuff. So anyway, after a lot of healing time, a lot of pills, an MRI, and some PT, I'm finally trying to get back into a certain amount of actual exercise. It makes me paradoxically less tired. Only not today, since today, my body is very confused, and hence yelling at me.

So on that seriously more-productive-than-it-looks note, I'm going to close this down and take myself to bed, to sleep the sleep of the good, the just, and the just plain tuckered. I'll be interesting again tomorrow, I promise.

Step one: Get off work. Go to Target. Buy microwave lunches for the next week, because Target is the only damn store in the damn Bay Area that reliably carries the kinds that I'll actually eat. Is it so hard for Safeway to keep Chicken Mirabella, Shrimp Marinara, and Tuna Casserole on their shelves? Apparently, yes. Yes, it is. (I'm only willing to eat like four kinds of microwave meal, and even I eventually get tired of spaghetti.)

Step two: Go to the comic book store. Engage an annoying patron in a vigorous discussion of why, perhaps, declaring "Fuck the Gemworld!" in a store containing, well, me, is not the world's very best idea. Amuse the counter monkeys immensely. The counter monkeys like me, as I am reliable, polite, and very, very addicted to comics. The counter monkeys have no such fondness for annoying patron, hereby referred to as 'the cat-toy.' The cat-toy survived our encounter, but did not linger.

Step three: Go home. Set the kitchen on fire making cranberry sauce.

Step four: Put out the fire.

Step five: Read Hack/Slash while eating dinner. After the dinner part of the program is done, ink and watch two episodes of Big Bang Theory (season one). Mr. Memory and The Human Labyrinth are now fully inked, as is the masthead. Most of the Ragnaroctopus still needs to be finished. But I found my zip-a-tone, so all will be well.

Step six: Process the final edits for my Grants Pass story, which is pleasant and nice and not at all disturbing.

Step seven: Muck around with my clicky Vampire Wars game on Facebook. Damn you, Jennifer, damn you.

Step eight: Make this entry.

Step nine: Retreat to the back room for Leverage and more comic books.

So there's a used record store near me that will occasionally get estate sale lots of paperback books. I go hunting there for crumbling manuscripts that chimera_fancies can use in her jewelry. This evening, I wandered over and discovered that they had apparently become The Land of Amazingly Old Science-Fiction and Fantasy.

For serious.

( Click here to discover what Seanan just dragged home, giggling madly the entire way.Collapse )

All right, so here's the thing:

The American economy sucks right now. You know it, I know it, the guy who changes money at the airport knows it, hell, my cat knows it (the number of pre-approved credit cards Lilly receives in the mail has declined sharply in recent months). This means we're eating out less, going to fewer movies, and yes, buying fewer books. Tragedy. And when we do buy books, well, it's much easier to just give in to the retail therapy when it's three clicks on Amazon and no actual inconvenience, as opposed to going out and going shopping in an actual retail environment. We all do it. I do it, Bob over there does it, I'm pretty sure Lilly does it when I'm not home.

But.

Especially right now, with people's disposable income dwindling as rents and utility costs continue to rise, we really need to remember that our retail dollars also go partially to buy the places that we spend them. I buy all my comic books from Flying Colors Comics and Other Cool Stuff because I adore having a large, diverse comic book store within a short bus ride of my house. Could I get many of those same comics off the rack at Borders? Yes, but there are even more that I couldn't. I would never have discovered Hack/Slash, The Boys, or Finder if I was confined to the chain stores, and that would make me sad.

My local genre bookstore is The Other Change of Hobbit, practically a Berkeley institution. It's everything I believe a bookstore should be -- full of aisles made of shelves, hidden treasures, out-of-print books, and bookstore cats. (Two loaner cats, Clearsword and Patch, and two newly-acquired, formerly feral kittens, Trouble and Sam.) The staff knows their material, and can argue the merits of cover artists, short story collections, and the 'plot vs. porn' divide in current urban fantasy happily, for hours. It's a bookstore run by book people. And no, you won't get 30% or buy one get one free if you shop there...but you'll be able to find twenty-year-old paperbacks, make special order requests, and get recommendations for authors you might not otherwise have heard of.

Please, if you can, take your business to your local stores. Go to Other Change, or to your local equivalent thereof. When the economy is bad, it's these little stores that feel the hit first and hardest, and if we lose them now, we're unlikely to get them back. The super-stores make it too difficult to get established, and the little stores are the places that will keep your favorite author's entire back catalog on the shelf, arrange for signings, throw book release parties, and generally encourage your community.

You'd miss them if they were gone.

Also, as a side note that I couldn't find a way to naturally tangent into: when making small purchases at your local stores, try to pay cash when you can. Small stores can pay anywhere from 4% to 8% on credit card transactions. That may not be a big deal when you're getting more sales, but when sales drop off, that little bite can add up in a big way. Every little bit helps keep the stores that support our genre open and ready to welcome a new generation of readers. And that's awesome.

Everyone needs a biggest fan; hopefully, your biggest fan will not be Annie Wilkes, as hobbling is absolutely no fun for anyone but the person doing the hobbling, but still, everyone needs one. This goes for you whether you're an author, an artist, an accountant, or the guy who counts sea urchins for the Australian government. Your biggest fan will pretty much decide that everything you ever do is wonderful, even when they lack the critical capacity to really understand what the hell you're talking about. Your biggest fan will applaud your failures, because they're yours. And your biggest fan will cheerfully agree when you announce that you have the ugliest toes in North America.

Your biggest fan is also going to be the first one waiting to puncture your ego if it starts getting too big, the one who says 'I don't understand this' without saying 'so it sucks,' and the one who tells you to wipe your nose, zip your pants, and go deal with your own messes, because your biggest fan understands that sometimes, you just need smacked upside the head and told to get over yourself. Everyone needs a biggest fan. But I don't.

The position has been filled.

Last night, I spent about two hours shopping with my mother. We shopped for shoes (which I hate doing) and came away with two pairs that manage to be super-cute without a) being super-high, b) revealing my tan line (I walk so much, in such similar shoes, that I have two-tone feet), or c) showcasing my terrifying 'I am a marathon walker who used to take dance classes, has broken each toe at least twice, and has never had a pedicure' toes. We shopped for supplies for my trip. We shopped for picture frames, because she needed to frame one of my comic strips and wanted to be ready to start framing my book covers. We shopped for Tootsie Pops (and were nearly defeated by the candy aisle). We shopped, in general, like an enormously tightly-wound neurotic blonde girl and her deeply placid mother. (Raising me pretty much killed her capacity for panic. 'Look, Mommy, this snake makes a noise!' had ceased to be a distressing statement by the time I was nine. This was largely a matter of self-defense.)

My biggest fan: my mother. And I'm pretty much okay with that.

Well, as I noted last week, my upcoming trip to New York and its business requirements have resulted in the realization that I Need Some Grownup Clothes. (Now, just to clear up a small misconception here: I do actually wear clothes on a fairly regular basis. I am not a big fan of wandering around unclothed. It's just that mostly, I'm a fan of T-shirts, tank tops, jeans, cut-offs, and corsetry. None of these are really what we'd call 'business-appropriate clothing.' Not unless I decided to get a job as the new receptionist for the Suicide Girls, and there, I lack sufficient piercings.) Not only do I Need Some Grownup Clothes, but I Need Some Grownup Clothes That Can Be Worn In New York In The Summer. New York summer is a very different sort of beastie than California summer, both in terms of fashion rules and, y'know, the part where it is ELEVENTY BILLION DEGREES AND HUMID. And yet we're the coast where you can practically get away with the formal bikini. Something is very wrong here, folks.

Luckily for me -- and by extension, for everybody else, since my madness tends to be contagious -- I have a Kate. Kate is originally from the East Coast. Kate understands the laws of fashion. And Kate understands that I am, in fact, an anthropologist from some slightly skewed parallel dimension, here to research your strange Earth customs, and thus really don't comprehend at all why I can't wear an orange and green patchwork pinstriped jacket in a business setting. Or why it's bad to go to a business meeting looking like a Batman villain. After watching me stumble through two stores with the shell-shocked expression of a Disney Princess thrust into a real-girl world, she took mercy and agreed to take me to the mall.

Most horrifying thing I have ever heard Kate say, just before we made the approach to the Sun Valley Mall: "Oh, doing the mall properly takes about eight hours."

(I am not a shopper. I am, in fact, a seek-and-destroyer. I can browse in book stores and comic book shops and the like, but just about everything else, I want to go in, grab what's needed, and get the hell out of dodge. The idea of spending eight hours in a mall is incomprehensible to me.)

We started in Sears, largely because that was where the door was, and quickly determined that there was no point trying more things on until we'd bought me a new bra. Kate's mission in life is to get all women into bras that actually fit. She has a rant. It's a really good rant, but I'm not as good at giving it as she is, so I'll just say 'we left Sears and went to Victoria's Secret.' All hail the Vicky's semi-annual sale. Further, all hail the way the really nifty colored bras always seem to wind up in the discount bin. Who has a neon-pumpkin-orange bra? Well, now, that would be me. Who is absolutely overjoyed about this fact? Again, me. Sometimes it's really good to be the sort of person who takes pleasure in the little things. Like orange lingerie.

Kate required food, so we relocated to another level of the mall, which turned out to be awesome, because the very first store we went into after feeding her was also the last one we visited on an actual mission. YES. We found me THE PERFECT OUTFIT. To be specific, we found me...

* A black pinstripe short-sleeved fitted suit jacket.
* Matching knee-length formal shorts.
* Also, the matching knee-length pencil skirt.
* Two different variations on the lace-embellished orange tank top.

Yes. We found a suit that is so formal and so classic and so cute at the same time that I can actually get away with accessorizing in orange. Also, the whole thing is super-cute; I put it on and I've instantly lost thirty pounds. It's amazing. I now fully understand the value of the fitted suit. Having shorts and a skirt means that I can decide day-of what I want to deal with wearing, and having two tank tops gives a second range of options, since they're embellished differently.

I still need to find shoes and appropriate jewelry; this is why I am now searching for something in an orange patent kitten heel. Which is a sentence I never thought I'd write. For jewelry, I'm on the market for something enthrallingly green, and have a few places to go looking. (I'm hoping I can wear my 'witch of ripe apple' pendant, but it's going to need earrings to balance it, as it's large.) I was actually looking at shoes on eBay. At last, Kate has triumphed. At last, I embrace the native costume of my adopted world.

Also, I am mad hot in this suit. So there.

Kate is attempting to get me ready for New York City. This involves, tragically enough, Dressing Like A Human. Now, my wardrobe consists of three basic modes: 'I own more T-shirts than any single woman ever needs,' 'the zombie apocalypse is coming, and I plan to have front row seating,' and 'Marilyn Munster asks me for fashion tips.' I have been assured that none of these is actually suitable for a New York business setting, even when your business is publishing and the people you're dealing with are used to the fact that they work with authors.

Yesterday's trip was an exercise in the word 'no.' From Kate, I got 'no, you can't wear that, it's synthetic'; 'no, you can't wear that, it has no sleeves'; 'no, you can't wear that, it makes you look like a barge.' From me, we got 'no, I won't wear that'; 'no, I will not wear that either'; 'no, I don't want to wear a jacket'; 'no, I refuse to wear heels when I don't know how much walking I'm going to do.'

It is honestly a miracle that both of us walked away from yesterday alive.

(This makes it sound much more unpleasant than it was. Kate is very patient with my ignorance of many aspects of living like a grownup, and I'm generally willing to take correction, as long as the rules make sense. The issue here is that the rules of the fashion world don't make sense, and there are a whole lot of them. I swear, I'm just going to wind up wearing my Marilyn Munster-meets-Elle Woods pink dress, curling my hair, and singing 'I Am So Much Better Than Before' on a street corner somewhere until somebody makes me stop.)

We're planning to hit the mall on Sunday, which will hopefully end with something other than Kate dragging me off to food because I look like I'm about to gnaw my own leg off. At the hip. New York draws closer, and they don't let you fly naked!