Newsflesh trilogy, final stats.

Start date: September 4th, 2005.
End date: September 2nd, 2011.

Volumes: Three.
Words: 455,814.
Pages: An awful lot.

...so yeah. That happened.

Last night, at approximately 9:15PM, I finished processing the last of the editorial changes to Blackout, and kicked the manuscript off to The Agent for a final typo check. She kicked it back to me this morning, and at approximately 5:21AM, I finished correcting the last of the grammatical and typographical errors. The book is back with her for a final final check, and then it's off to The Other Editor, to begin the process of transforming into something you can read.

It's over.

I have other things to do in this universe, other stories to tell and to enjoy telling, but this story, this trilogy...it's over. I am finished with the Masons. Their tale is done.

I've never finished anything like this before. I feel a little numb and a little scalded and a little overwhelmed, all at once.

Thank you. Thank you to everyone who's read these books, recommended these books, loved these books, hated these books, or interacted with them in any way. Thank you to Michael and Amanda, Kate and GP, Spider and Steve, Alan and Jude, Brooke and Vixy and Bill and Mike and Rae and Sunil and Amy and Cat and...and...and everyone. Just thank you.

Thank you for helping me tell this story. I never could have done it on my own.

Alive or dead, the truth won't rest. Thank you for helping me to rise up while I could.

Behold! For now I wear the human pants! I have processed all machete squad and agent notes on One Salt Sea, gone through the book end-to-end to make sure everything still makes sense, returned it to The Agent, and made final tweaks based on her commentary. Now it's finally off to have a nice nap on The Editor's desk while she's in Australia, which means a) I made my deadline, and b) I can finally get to work on Ashes of Honor.

The current book stats:

Pages, 420.
Words, 113,912.
Chapters, thirty-five.
Diet Dr Pepper consumed, probably equivalent to Loch Ness.

Despite vicious trimming and dropping several sub-plots, One Salt Sea still wound up fifty pages/almost 7,000 words longer than Late Eclipses, because frankly, there's a lot of shit going on, and very little of it is "padding" in any sense of the word. Toby has matured a lot from where I first met her, in the short story that pre-dated Rosemary and Rue, and it shows. I've matured a lot as a writer, and that shows, too. This book is so much better than I expected it to be, and I'm so excited to have The Editor turning it into something even more awesome.

In conclusion...

...DINO DANCE PARTY!

Well, that's that; my magical murder pixie toils are done, and they have borne sweet, sweet fruit, has the second book in the Newsflesh trilogy, Deadline, has just been sent back to my publisher in final draft form. Barring acts of god or unforeseen gaping plot holes, my part in this book is over until the page proofs. Which will probably hit around October, assuming we follow the timeline we followed for Feed. Post-It notes in Ohio, here we go again!

Final book stats, including Dedication and Acknowledgments:

150,001 words.
525 pages.
Twenty-seven chapters.

When asked to say something about the book, Vixy says, "Fucking brilliant. Gripping. Terrifying. Satisfying. It's about heroes." So, you know. Fucking brilliant. You heard it here first, folks. Really, I'm scared out of my mind—I always am at this point—but I'm also deeply relieved, because it's done. It's finished. My baby is heading out into the great wide world, and there's no more chopping or stitching or graverobbing to be done. (What? You mean everyone doesn't assemble their offspring out of transistors and corpse parts?)

I'm done.

One more book, and this grand adventure is over; one more book, and we find out whether or not I can stick the landing. I think I can. I hope I can. I believe I can. Because alive or dead, the truth won't rest.

Rise up while you can.

Behold! For now I wear the human pants! I have finished processing the editorial notes on Late Eclipses, gone through the book end-to-end to make sure everything still makes sense, and finished processing the corrections in Vixy's gloriously detailed machete file. Then I packed it a lunch and sent it off to play with the Machete Squad, who will doubtless hack it to hell before it gets to go back to The Editor for the final time.

The current book stats:

Pages, 369.
Words, 107,372.
Chapters, thirty-seven.
Cans of DDP, oh, wow, I cannot tell you.

I'm finally happy with this book. It's in a very awkward position, because book four is sort of where you get to say "here's when shit gets real," and make people stop treating you like you're writing a trilogy (which I never was). It's a transition book, and it follows An Artificial Night, which is still my favorite in the series. But it's also better than I ever dreamt it would be, and I'm so thrilled to have watched it grow into something wonderful.

In conclusion...

...DINO DANCE PARTY!

Yes! I have the sign-off, and the second book in the Newsflesh trilogy, Deadline, has been sent safely off to my publisher, where it can be someone else's problem for a little while. (Note that this doesn't actually mean the book is in its final form, since Orbit has the right to request changes and edits—I made changes and edits to Feed after it had been turned in—but I become a much happier bunny after it's slammed down on my editor's virtual desk. That means I made my deadline. I win)

Final book stats:

149,142 words.
513 pages.
Twenty-seven chapters.

I love finishing the process of finishing a book (and yes, that sentence is supposed to look like that; finishing things is hard). It lets me fall in love all over again. I talk about writing books like it's building a house. Revisions are what happen when the house is flawed, and needs to be torn down and built back up again. But finishing is just going through and making it a showplace, ready to be shown off to the world. The heavy lifting is done, and suddenly the book...the book is just amazing all over again. It's a book.

If there's any point during the process where I am totally uncritical of myself, it's this moment, right here. Don't worry, it will pass.

Now I get to settle in and work on the third book in the trilogy, and then...then I'm done. All finished, no more effort, no more struggle, just done. I love these people. I've loved them for years. I hope that when you meet them, you'll love them, too. But for now, I'm turning it in.

Yay.

I have sign-off! Yes! Toby Daye, book three, An Artificial Night, is ready to ride the bullet train to my publisher's desk! (Note that this doesn't actually mean the book is in its final form, since DAW has the right to request changes and edits -- I made changes and edits to Rosemary and Rue after it had been turned in -- but I become a much happier bunny after it's slammed down on my editor's virtual desk.)

Final book stats:

111,304 words.
377 pages.
Twenty-three chapters.

The best part about finishing the finishing of a book (since even the finishing process can take several shots) is falling in love with it again. The revision process is sort of like cleaning a really messy house. When you're doing the heavy lifting, you pretty much hate the place and want to burn it down with a flamethrower. But when you're just going through the pretty, pristine rooms, wiping up those last smears of dust and straightening those last few books, well...

It's wonderful, because it's yours.

This book is wonderful because it's mine. Also because it's just a pretty rockin' book, all full of adventure and excitement and actual pie (and Toby being so very, very Toby that it hurts). And I have sign-off.

YAY.

The second of the Toby Daye books, A Local Habitation, has officially been turned in to DAW. Everybody dance! There's a lot of editing to come on both the books I've turned in -- the in-house editorial process hasn't even started, and you'll all have the opportunity to watch me lose my tiny little mind as things get going -- but the editing and correction that can happen independently on my end is done. My babies are out of my hands.

(It probably says something about my psyche that, after sending A Local Habitation to its reward, I spent an entire train ride poking fiercely at the pacing problems I'm having with the start of An Artificial Night. Someday I'm going to write the last book in this series. The next day, I'll probably start something fifty books long, just so I never have to experience that lack of destination again.)

For right now, I will pretend there's no work left to be done, and that the books are perfectly perfect in every way. Because that allows me to throw my hands in the air and declare a velociraptor dance party to last until dawn.

DINOSAUR DANCE PARTY TIME!