Sometimes sitting on news is hard.

I mean, part of my job involves not telling people things until I'm given permission. I'm bad at remembering who I've said what to, and so usually, I just tell people everything, sometimes eleven times; that isn't always an option these days. I have to accept that it's not lying when I refuse to talk about embargoed information. Sometimes I have to accept that it's not lying even when it is, when people go "hey, do you know anything about ________?" and then respond to "I'm not allowed to say" with a smug grin and a "that means yes!"

Silence doesn't always mean "yes," but sometimes people thinking they've tricked me into saying something one way or another can mean that the thing doesn't happen, because now I've run my mouth off and can't be trusted and so I'm off the project. So I sit on news, and I say nothing whenever possible, and I tell absence of information lies when I'm backed into a corner, and I twitch a lot.

Here's my latest point of twitchy goodness:

HOLY SHIT Y'ALL I'M A SPECIAL GUEST AT THE 2016 SAN DIEGO INTERNATIONAL COMIC-CON!!!!!!!!

Me! A Special Guest! At the con I've been attending since I was sixteen! Me! I AM A FANCY LADY AND I AM MAKING A NOISE THAT ONLY BATS CAN HEAR!!!

Sitting on this one was hard. But wow, was it worth it.

...can't trust that day.

Getting out of bed this morning was complicated by the fact that I was so thoroughly covered by cats that I had to practically do sit-ups to recover the use of one arm. This is the true danger of having large cats. When they want to, they win.

Still, the weekend was good, despite back issues which kept me abed a bit longer than I wanted them to on Sunday (as in, "they kept me abed on Sunday"). The new episode of Doctor Who, "The Girl Who Waited," was stellar. The season premiere of iCarly was excellent. I managed to package two-thirds of the pending poster orders for shipping. I made Chris watch War of the Worlds: Live, which was the big concert of selections from the War of the Worlds musical (complete with giant floating Richard Burton head). And Contagion...

...seriously, this movie was designed to be porn for Seanans. It could not have made me happier if it had come with the first theatrical trailer for the upcoming prequel to The Thing.

OH WAIT. IT DID.

Now, I want to note, firmly, that this is not a movie for people who are looking for plot, detailed characterization, clear enemies, happy endings, or absolutely absolute endings. It's a story about a virus. Viruses don't have secondary motivations. They don't have desires. They just have biological imperatives, and when they start exercising those imperatives, it's the job of people like the CDC, EIS, and WHO to step in and try to make them stop. Characters don't get detailed back stories or motivations, because there isn't time.

And yes, lots and lots and lots of people die. That's what happens when this sort of thing occurs. It's a good movie. It's smart, it's solid, and while the science is extremely rushed (and several layers of medical care are missing), it's rushed in the way that says "we needed a two-hour narrative, not a twenty-hour miniseries," rather than being rushed in the way that says "honey badger didn't give a fuck."

If you're not a germaphobe, I recommend this movie hugely. If you are, I recommend you stay home and watch iCarly. Or War of the Worlds: Live.

Ulla!

Back to New York!

Tuesday morning found me oversleeping, since all that puking the night before had left me totally exhausted. I eventually staggered out of bed and made my way downtown to the convention center where BEA was being held. Luckily, it was in the same convention center as New York Comicon, so I was able to find my way with relative ease, and did not wind up wandering lost through Manhattan for the rest of time. It could happen!

Alex at Orbit had already given me my badge, so I swung by registration to pick up a lanyard (v. important, lanyards) and called The Agent to let her know I was on-site. She promptly swooped in, grabbed me, and whisked me hither and yon to see people that needed seeing—including Toni and Charlaine, which was a wonderful way to begin the convention. Hugging and happiness followed, and then they settled in to do a signing while The Agent and I ran over to the Orbit booth to acquire copies of Deadline for their enjoyment. Happiness is giving early copies of books to your friends.

With the hauling about portion of our program complete, The Agent freed me to wander where I would. So I wandered.

Book Expo America is a lot like New York Comicon, scale-wise, which probably explains why they fit in the same convention center. Only instead of toys, you have books. And instead of media goodies, you have books. And instead of scantily-clad booth babes, you have booth librarians, which is kinda more awesome. And did I mention the books? It's like lit-geek Disneyland, only without the teacup ride.

Which is sort of a pity.

All too soon, I had to leave the convention center and head for DAW. Because I was running late, I cleverly decided to take a taxi. Unfortunately, my streak of "always pick the taxi with the driver you have no languages in common with" continued, and my request for the PATH station resulted in my being dropped at Penn Station. Argh. I found my way to the PATH (only about three blocks away) and hopped on a train, which delivered me promptly and without fuss to the correct locale. Hooray for trains!

Better yet, hooray for DAW, which was exactly as welcoming and familiar and wonderful as I hoped it would be. DAW is one of my favorite places to spend a day, and not just because I can usually cadge someone into taking me to visit the "take" shelves of free books scattered around the building. I love everyone there, and I'm comfortable there, which is rare for someone as twitchy as I am.

I had a nice talk with The Editor, and got my revision notes for Discount Armageddon, which is next on my agenda for working on. Eventually, The Agent showed up, and we all went out for delicious Indian food dinner, where I ate goat and chicken and mushrooms and fish and naan and om nom nom Indian. Seriously, we ate so much Indian food it ached. I wanted to go home and collapse.

...which was naturally the cue for me to be hauled through half a dozen BEA after-hours parties. Good: I saw (and hugged) Cat and John Scalzi, who looked as terrified of the noisy crowds as I did. I also saw (and hugged) Tempest, who had a fan, and looked totally at ease. And I met Scott Westerfeld! Serious awesomeness.

Eventually, The Agent noticed that I was wilting, and I was loaded into a cab with a driver who understood where I wanted to go and took me to the PATH station. I returned to Jersey City, staggered home, and collapsed into bed too tired to die. Which meant, of course, that Wednesday was going to be the big day in town...

Next: Wednesday at BEA, mojitos in my eye, and signing Deadline.

Monday dawned bright and (very, very) early, since DongWon had asked that I be at Orbit at nine a.m. to do some recording. Now, Orbit is located near Grand Central Station, which is very much Properly In Manhattan. I was staying in Jersey City, which is very much not Properly In Manhattan. It is, in fact, in a different state. As a California girl, this causes me a certain amount of existential confusion every time I need to go from one to the other very quickly, since I know, deep down in my soul, that it takes at least eight hours to go from one state to another. Such is the eternal divide between the East and West Coasts.

Since I needed to get to Orbit by nine, I got up at seven. This means that, on some level, I got up at four. There is a reason I occasionally demand love and caffeine from my editors. I am comfortable enough with Manhattan at this point that I was able to get myself to the office with a minimum of trouble (barring a brief "walking the wrong way up 6th Avenue" incident, and really, that could have happened to anyone), which is good, since I was carrying my laptop. Yes, the big orange one. Yes, the one that weighs as much as one of the cats. Why?

Because I was having dinner with The Agent and a few more of her clients that evening, which meant there was no way I was getting back to Jersey City. And if I was going to be at Orbit all day, I was damn well going to get some serious work done.

I beat DongWon to the office by almost twenty minutes, and was detained by security until he arrived. I am never letting him forget this. Never ever ever never. But! He did eventually show up, and we were able to get into the office, finally, where there were greetings and huggings, and presentations of really fancy chocolate (from me to the office, not from the office to me). I had time to inhale one doughnut and drink a bottle of Diet Dr Pepper, and then it was off to the recording studio, where a very nice engineer explained how a recording booth worked. Thanks, nice engineer! Nobody had bothered to tell him that I have three studio albums out. Sorry, nice engineer.

My first task: recording the audio book edition of "Apocalypse Scenario." Super-fun! I managed not to get too into it, but wow was I glad to have done voice work before. It was nice and smooth and lovely. I followed it with two different podcast recordings, all done in the same wee room. Everything was professional and well-orchestrated, and before I knew it, it was all over, and I was being settled at the only open desk in the office.

Cue working. Type type type. Type type type. I was supposed to have lunch with some friends who were also in New York for BEA; when they didn't answer their phones, I had lunch with DongWon and Devi (another Orbit editor) instead. We went to a seafood restaurant, where I ate mussels and potatoes and hot fudge sundae, om nom. DongWon had to run before we finished eating, leaving Davi and I to talk about him behind his back. Ha ha, DongWon. Ha, ha.

Back to the office; more working; more whining at my computer. I actually had to borrow copies of Feed and Deadline to use as reference material, since otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to verify the continuity of what I was writing. This is why it's good to write at your publisher's. They'll always have copies of the books you need on hand.

Eventually, the day ended. Poof. And I, being the sensible girl that I am, loaded up my tote bag with my laptop and all the books I had managed to collect over the course of the day and went hieing off to downtown to meet up with The Agent for dinner. She had directed me to a library, in an alley, in an unfamiliar part of the city. I assume this is because she wants to see whether I will survive being eaten by a Grue. I found the library, and felt very smug about it, right until I went inside, went down to the floor where the YA author event I was meeting her at was being held, and discovered that I had, in fact, descended to a very unpleasant and specialized CIRCLE OF HELL.

Seriously. What seemed like several hundred people (and may have been just fifty, I don't know, it was a CIRCLE OF HELL) were crammed into an itty-bitty space, creating an immense amount of heat and noise. And somewhere in all that chaos was my agent. I sought. I strove. I gave up.

Spotting a woman with a Diet Dr Pepper, I begged to know where it had come from, and damn near wept when informed that she had brought it with her. Then I discovered, much to my surprise, that she was actually a book blogger I know through her reviews. And then she took me to the secret cluster of book bloggers hiding from the heat near the elevators. Yay! Much joy and chatter and hugging followed, lasting until The Agent appeared, her new client Claire in tow, to whisk me away to a less hellish locale.

Did I attack the first gas station we passed like it was the Promised Land, coming away with a sack of Diet Dr Pepper? Yes. Yes, I did.

We had dinner at a lovely place near Waverly Place (still no wizards), where we ate bread and cheese and I had fish and eventually went downstairs and was horribly sick due to a fish bone sticking in my throat. Since I had not retained dinner, The Agent bought me a cupcake. Happy times. Claire was awesome, but I was tired, and BEA was the next morning, so I returned to New Jersey and slept. FOREVER.

Next: BEA and DAW. It's acronym day!

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.

Time for our time-delay travelogue, in which I attempt to prove that I am, in fact, still a real person! Yay! So...

Last Saturday, I flew to New York to begin my whirlwind tour of the East Coast and Midwest, as represented by New York, New Jersey, and Wisconsin. Seriously, even considering this particular set of stops probably qualifies me as slightly out of my tree. Actually doing it? Totally insane.

I began in San Francisco, where my mother and youngest sister drove me to the airport. I dressed for success in business class, wearing a bright green tank top and my Scooby-Doo Halloween pajama pants, with my hair in pigtails. I wish I could say this was me making a statement, but in reality, it's just that I travel so much, and the security theater has become such a circus, that I am no longer willing to deal with uncomfortable clothing on top of everything else that air travel entails.

Virgin America (my preferred airline) has recently moved into SFO's newly reopened Terminal 2. This was my first trip to the new terminal. I was dubious, but after five minutes experiencing Terminal 2's charms, I am here to tell you that I, brothers and sisters, am a true believer in Terminal 2. A full-sized supermarket! A wine bar! A burger joint selling Diet Dr Pepper inside security! And a full-sized bookstore, to boot. I have seen the airport promised land, and it is Terminal 2.

I found copies of Feed and the Toby books in the airport bookstore, and signed them, pigtails and orange Halloween pants and all. I believe I am now marked down as one of the bookstore's more surreal author visits.

Thanks to a combination of good luck, good timing, and flying Main Cabin Select, I managed to be the first one on the plane, and nested myself solidly in my lovely exit-row seat, with velociraptor, laptop, sack of DDP, and lots and lots of work to do. As soon as we were off the ground, I commenced to doing just that, working on Blackout, "Rat-Catcher," "Landslide," and reading a manuscript I've been asked to blurb. The flight was smooth, the middle seat was empty, and it was, all in all, lovely...with one notable exception.

The people behind me (and in the row across from theirs, making six in total) seem to have taken Jersey Shore as an etiquette guide. They talked loudly, even shouting across the plane. They argued with the flight attendants. They listened to some sort of media player, again loudly (I could hear it through my headphones) without using headphones of their own. One of them passed gas several times, causing the rest to laugh uproariously. I didn't recline my seat, since I was working; somehow, this wasn't enough room for the person behind me, who kicked me, a lot. Seriously, what were these people, twelve? No, most twelve-year-olds have better manners. It was a real relief to get off the plane and see them nevermore.

Jon and Merav met me at the airport with Subway and DDP, and whisked me away to scenic Jersey City, New Jersey, one of my many homes away from home, where we watched Doctor Who before stumbling to sleep the sleep of the righteous, the just, and the exhausted.

My New York adventure was underway at last.

Just a handy reminder for those of you who may be present at Book Expo America this week:

I (Mira Grant) will be signing at the Orbit booth from four to five PM today, or until people stop coming up and thrusting things at me to have them signed. Will there be copies of Deadline? Statistically speaking, that seems very likely indeed...

Hope to see you there, if you're in the area at all!

Last night, in an effort to keep me off the Internet on my book release day (you can thank her later; I thanked her already), Our Meg hauled me off to the San Francisco stop on the current Emilie Autumn Asylum Tour. This may make it sound like I wasn't a willing conspirator. I was, to the extent of ordering cupcakes to be delivered to the venue (a brilliant stroke of genius on Meg's part, and one which I was happy to see come to fruition). We had three boxes sent over: one of Mad Tea Party (chai cake, ginger buttercream, and strawberry jam), one of mixed Vanilla and Pretty Pretty Princess, and one of mixed Chocolate and Grasshopper. Yes, we are quite possibly evil.

I get off work before Meg does, so I hied me down to Borderlands, where I hung out with Naamen and Cole, ate a scone, and signed some books. Then Meg collected me, and we went for dinner at Fritz's, where delicious mussels prepared me for the hike ahead. The club Emilie was appearing at, The Bottom of the Hill, was waaaaaaay the hell down 17th Street, in a neighborhood I didn't even know existed. It was a hike and Toby research at the same time!

Because we had VIP tickets, we had been advised to arrive at the venue by 7PM. Because we are, well, us, we arrived at the venue by 5:30PM, and watched as the steampunks, neo-punks, Victorian gaslamp burlesque girls, and other Plague Rats came trickling up. Meg sat on the sidewalk and performed her costume change, because she's awesome that way. I fidgeted and poked at things, because I'm predictable that way.

Eventually, we were let inside, where the stage manager recognized us as the cupcake girls, and made sure the rest of the VIP ticketholders knew who we were. Her pronunciation of my name was epic, and may have actually been one of the secret words which unlocks the walls of the world. We then went back to the little room where the tea and cupcakes had been set up, and there was much nomming, and all was right with the world.

Emilie Autumn is a tiny little thing who can wail on a violin, and I want to see her play with Amy. Just saying.

After the VIP gathering was over, everyone went and lined up to wait for their turn to get a picture and an autograph. Meg called me by name when I went back for a strawberry cupcake, and a woman ahead of us blinked, and asked, "Seanan McGuire?!" I agreed that this was so. She produced a copy of Late Eclipses from her bag. I signed it. Life was good. Meg and I were giggling about the oddity of it all when another girl in the line asked what I wrote. I told her...and shrieking happened.

So, you know. Apparently, I have fanbase overlap with Emilie Autumn. Who knew?

The show itself was, as expected, insane, a mixture of electronica and burlesque, madness, music, and mayhem. Meg and I had seats (yes, actual chairs) toward the back, and we treated them like gymnastic equipment, climbing to watch delighted as Emilie and the Bloody Crumpets owned the stage. Veronica stripped, Captain Maggot hooped, and the Contessa threatened to eat us all. Tea was tossed, audience members were kissed, and Emilie did half the show dressed as a Plague Rat.

Life is good.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am so glad I got to go.

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

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

(***Sorry, Perry the Platypus.)

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

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

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

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

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

Australia!

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

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

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

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

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

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

The panel was cool, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dude.

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

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

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

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

Okay, like, wow. How is it October? It's not supposed to be October. It's supposed to be, I don't know, somewhere comfortably in the middle of August (only then I suppose the Hugos wouldn't have happened yet, and I'd still be a neurotic mess, so maybe that's not the best thing for me to be wishing for). I love the fall, it's my favorite time of the year, and I love October, it's my favorite month of the year, and since I both need a three-week-long nap and a finished draft of the fifth Toby book, this whole "welcome to October" thing isn't working out for me as well as it otherwise might.

On the plus side, however, I'm mostly packed for tonight's red-eye to New York. I'll be met on the other end by Jon (of Jon and Merav), who will carry me off to my East Coast home in Jersey City. (Let's face it. Once I understand how to handle your recalcitrant plumbing, I basically live with you.) I will then take a really long nap, because good ye gods, red-eye flight, before a) letting Kate into the flat, b) calling The Agent about lunch, and c) heading into Manhattan for the big adventure.

What big adventure, you may ask? Why, me, reading with Cat "the Crusher" Valente at the New York Review of Science Fiction. TWO AUTHORS ENTER, BOTH AUTHORS PROBABLY LEAVE. I'm so excited! When you put me and Cat on the same stage, and give us a microphone, a good time is basically guaranteed. The doors will open at 6:30 PM, and there's a five dollar suggested donation. I recommend arriving early, for good seating (although I don't think there's going to be a splatter zone). Cat put it really well. She said, "Sometimes I get matched up with another reader with whom I become friends, but being paired with one of my sisters and shipmates just makes everything so fun and relaxed. Plus, we encourage each other dreadfully." So come and see us encourage each other dreadfully! It's going to be a fabulous time.

I'm also going to be at the New York City Comic Con this upcoming weekend, as both myself and my own evil twin. Seanan will be doing the Penguin Panel on Friday night, and a signing at the Penguin booth on Saturday. Mira will be doing the Zombie Panel on Saturday night, and a signing at the Orbit booth (also on Saturday). I'd love to meet you! Please, swing by if you're at the convention! Just, y'know, please don't show up for my Seanan-signing with eight copies of Feed, or my Mira signing with all the Toby books. I try not to antagonize my publishers like that.

I get to see The Agent, and The Editor, and all my New York friends. I get to eat interesting food and ride the PATH train and generally have a wonderful time. All while making word count every night, because a girl has got to eat (or she'll end up on the street). And then I get to fly home, and keep making word count, because word count never rests.

Anyway, if you're in New York, I hope I get to see you, and if you're not, I hope I get to see you some other time. Any pending prizes will be mailed when I get back, as I am a bad blonde, and forgot to buy new book mailers.

Oh, babe, I hate to go.

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

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

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

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

Oh. Wait. BEST PANEL EVER.

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

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

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

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

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

I did not sleep through the night.

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

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

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

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

Thank Heaven for 7-11, yo.

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

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

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

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

Australia is amazing.

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

10. It's Friday! And that means that tomorrow is Saturday, which further means that it's finally time for me to have a book event at the Other Change of Hobbit! Conveniently located next to Ashby BART, spacious, and full of neat things, this is one of my favorite bookstores. You should totally come.

9. Karen Healey (I know, right?) has a poll for the best moment of WorldCon 2010/Aussiecon IV, and yes, my squeaky acceptance of the Campbell Award is currently in the lead. Which is the sort of thing that makes me blink and cry a little. But in the good way, I promise! Also, John Scalzi licking stuff.

8. After our horrible "oh crap the house is full of fleas" experience this summer, everything seems to have settled down. Alice's belly-fur is growing back, no one's trying to claw their own flesh off, and our strict regimen of flea powdering the carpets and pouring poison on the cats is keeping the blood-suckers away. Thank the Great Pumpkin.

7. SHARKTOPUS! Tomorrow night on SyFy! Because Coyote loves me and wants me to be happy.

6. By the same measure, have you seen Jane Austin's Fight Club? Because seriously, this video is love. (Technically safe for work, if you're allowed to watch videos at work and feel like doing some potentially awkward explaining about why all those girls are smacking the crap out of each other.)

5. Resident Evil: Afterlife actually doesn't suck. I know, I'm as surprised as you are. Sort of tickled, too, but mostly just surprised. It's not as good as Resident Evil: Apocalypse, but then, what is?

4. Jean Grey is still dead.

3. Things that are back on the air: Glee, Fringe, Big Bang Theory, Bones, and America's Next Top Model. Things that have managed to stick the landing in their season finales: Rizzoli and Isles, Leverage, Unnatural History, and Warehouse 13. Things that make me happy: watching too much television.

2. Despite my currently perennially delayed posting schedule (curse you, Australia, and your lack of Internet), the latest iteration of the Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show went well, and we all had a fantastic time. Plus, the bookstore now has signed books, and that makes everything wonderful.

...and the best thing about today...

1. Welcome to fall.

What's awesome about your Friday?

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

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

"I get that a lot," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very good day. Even without spiders.

Australia!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blink. "What's candy corn?"

"Honey, mallow, and canuba wax."

"How much is five pounds?"

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

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

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

Australia!

1. I am in Australia.

1a. I am in Melbourne, Australia.

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

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

3a. And penguins.

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

5. See you soon.

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

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

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

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

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

One of my favorite things about Brooke is the way she gets excited about a lot of the same horrible things that I get excited about. I love all my friends, but very few of them respond to "Hey! I found a horrific multi-segmented exoskeletal thing under this rock!" with "Oooh, neat, let me see!" the way that Brooke will. Brooke is awesome.

Since the book release party was Saturday, and Brooke was going to be staying with me all day Sunday, we started talking about California Things We Could Do. Somehow, this led to my announcing that we have foot-long electric yellow slugs available for viewing in Muir Woods. INSTANT RELEVANCE TO BROOKE'S INTERESTS. And this is how my long-suffering mother found herself roped into spending Mother's Day driving out to Muir Woods so that we could go hunting for monopods in the damp redwood forests of Northern California.

Once again, the apple really didn't fall all that far from the tree.

Muir Woods is about a ninety minute drive from my house, and we used the excursion as an opportunity to educate my mother about Canadian music, blasting Moxy Fruvous and Great Big Sea (she was tolerant). She did ask me at one point whether I'd called the park to be sure they were open. I confirmed that I had. Then...

"Well, did you ask if the banana slugs were out?"
"It's not like the park rangers were going to go and check."

There is no banana slug time clock.

Muir Woods was surprisingly crowded when we arrived; apparently, I wasn't the only person who thought celebrating Mother's Day with giant yellow slugs was a good idea. Brooke and I were ready to be thrilled by nature; I started with being thrilled by the chipmunk in the parking lot. SO CUTE. After that, we were thrilled by a Banana Slug Crossing sign, a First Amendment Zone, and the bathroom. Did I mention that we're excitable?

It was misting lightly as we entered Muir Woods: perfect weather for casual hiking and banana slug-hunting. We had barely been inside for five minutes when the first banana slug sighting occurred, with a three-inch yellow guy* waving his eyestalks saucily at us from the clover next to the walkway. Brooke took his picture. Two minutes later, banana slug sighting number two occurred. So here we are, wandering through this cathedral of redwoods, the tallest trees in the world standing sentinel all around us...looking at the ground. I love my friends.

We did stop to gape at redwoods, and Brooke took many, many pictures. Eventually, we turned onto a side trail, where we proceeded to hit the banana slug jackpot, finding a four-inch Pacific banana slug and two seven-inch California banana slugs in quick succession. Yay!

Now, there's an old tradition that, if you disturb a banana slug while in the woods, you have to kiss it before you put it back. I was watching the Pacific banana slug industriously ooze around on my coat sleeve when a family with three little boys walked up, irresistibly drawn to my slimy friend. Not wanting to be responsible for the squishing of every slug in Muir Woods, I told them about kissing slugs, and that I'd have to kiss the slug before I put it back.

They looked at me expectantly.

I kissed the slug. (I admit this only because Brooke was carrying a camera, and hence has proof.) The eldest of the boys also kissed the slug. His mother made sure to get it on camera, and will thus be able to horrify his prom date in a decade or so. That's me, making the future harder since 1978.

We stopped at the park gift shop when we finished slug hunting, and Brooke acquired a glow-in-the-dark Slug Patrol T-shirt, which she chortled over with great glee. Then it was off to the car, and onto what Brooke termed "the roadkill buffet." A deer came bounding in front of our car, causing Mom to shout and point it out to Brooke (because they don't have deer in Canada, apparently). She was so busy shouting and pointing out the deer that she totally missed the fawn that was following its mother across the road. I screamed. Brooke screamed. Mom hit the brakes, missing Bambi by inches. I swear, if she had hit that damn deer, we'd still be up in Muir Woods. Mourning.

We started moving again after the fawn cleared the road. A wild turkey came strutting across the roadway, unconcerned by the large motor vehicle hurtling toward it. Mom stopped for the turkey.

"You have turkeys here, just wandering around," said Brooke, nonplussed. "That's a thing."

Also featured on the roadkill buffet: joggers! Suicidal joggers! Some people really don't want to live to breed. We managed to not kill any of them, and went rolling merrily back toward home, Mom and I bellowing along to the radio, Brooke slowly passing out in the backseat.

Happy Mother's Day!

(*Technically, banana slugs are hermaphroditic. Really, I don't think they care.)

I'm off for Wondercon, in sometimes-sunny San Francisco! I have no official programming this year, but will definitely be attending the following (unless I get bored, or find something else to do, or need lunch):

Friday at 4:30, Fringe screening.
Saturday at 12:00, Disney sneak peeks.
Saturday at 1:45, Resident Evil 4 panel.
Saturday at 2:30, the future of the X-Men.
Saturday at 4:00, Trailer Park.
Saturday at 4:30, Kick-Ass presentation.

I have no specific plans for Sunday, and may or may not attend, depending on my word counts. I'll have my mother and my younger sister (and my younger sister's girlfriend) in tow for much of the weekend; if you spot us, feel free to say hey, and get anything you might be carrying signed. There will be shiny new bookmarks on the freebie table. I'll post when we have a time for the cupcake run.

Whee!

So I currently have all of Tricky Pixie (S.J. Tucker, Alexander James Adams, Betsy Tinney) inhabiting my house. This is pretty awesome, since they're pretty awesome people, and I've been spending a lot of time with them (as one does). If you'd like the chance to spend some time with them, and are in the San Francisco Bay Area, well, tonight's your chance!

Tricky Pixie at Borderlands Cafe.

When: Friday, February 26, from eight to ten PM.
Where: Borderlands Cafe, 870 Valencia Street, San Francisco, CA 94110

To quote their website:

Borderlands is delighted to welcome SJ Tucker back! "Telling a story is sometimes like weaving a spell. Images and concepts wrapped in rhyme and rhythm are a gift to the imagination. S. J. Tucker specializes in such magic and such gifts, enfolded and delivered in folk rock music that moves the body and soul." S. J. performs at Borderlands on Friday, February 26th 2010 at 8pm, joined by brilliant cellist Betsy Tinney. Do not miss this celebration in song—our last event with SJ was standing-room only, so come early!

So come! Witness! Enjoy! Be amazed! And get a delicious taste of what's coming up at my book release party.

See you there.

Yesterday, I was demonstrating to a friend of mine (who finds my fascination with ASL charming, if odd) that I can now sign "Behold! For now I wear the human pants!" My grammar is a little wonky, but I'll be seeing Judi in a few weeks, so right now I'm just working on getting the signs committed to muscle memory.

A Deaf gentleman about my age saw me signing, and got very excited. He came over, and signed, "You know ASL?" (In the case of signs that I don't know myself, but whose meaning was evident from context, I'm including them to form actual sentences.)

I signed back "A little." Emphasis on "little."

He asked what I knew...so I showed him. Around the time I hit "working in a mine for our robot overlords" and "did I say overlords? I meant protectors," he started to look, well, dubious. Like there was a chance I thought I knew some ASL, when really, someone was messing with me.

Then I signed "The Turtle can't help you."

His eyes widened, and he proceeded to finger-spell "IT?" I nodded. He made an "S" sign, followed by a gesture like putting on a crown. I nodded again. He got even more excited, especially since now he knew I actually understood my messed-up assortment of signs. He had me teach him "robot overlords," and he taught me the sign for "weird."

ASL and Stephen King: bringing the world closer together. The best part is that, for once in my life, I can legitimately say that the Turtle did help us.

Sunday afternoon, Alice* decided that I was stressing out too much about making my word count for the weekend, and brought me a present to take my mind off my troubles. More specifically, she brought me a live alligator lizard approximately eight inches in length, which is super-villain territory if you happy to be, I don't know, my toes.

I like lizards. The sight of lizards isn't one of those things that makes me scream and scramble onto my chair. I was also barefoot when the lizard arrived, barefoot when the lizard was helpfully released under my desk, and barefoot when the lizard decided to take its reptilian fury out on the nearest available target, IE, my toes. That made me scream and scramble onto my chair, at least until I could get some damn shoes on.

I glared at the lizard. The lizard glared at me. Alice looked pleased with herself, as I was clearly now distracted from my horrible horrible work. Attempts to get Alice to retrieve the lizard caused her to begin grooming herself. Attempts to retrieve the lizard myself caused the lizard to begin attempting to eat my thumbs. I like my thumbs. I decided the lizard could stay.

At several points during the evening, the lizard attempted to make a break for the door. Every time, Alice calmly picked it up and deposited it back under the desk. I put Lilly under the desk, thinking that perhaps my second cat would be more sensible. The lizard hissed at the cat. The cat ran away. Great Pumpkin preserve me from the bravery of the Siamese.

When I got up yesterday morning, the lizard was still there. When I got home from work yesterday afternoon, the lizard was still there. Around six o'clock last night, Alice walked under the desk, picked up the lizard, and walked away.

I did not pursue.

As I did not find lizard bits strewn around the house this morning, I think Alice put the lizard back where she found it, perhaps congratulating it for a job well done in the "distracting the human" category. That, or the lizard got away, and is even now lurking under a piece of furniture somewhere in my house, waiting for me to take off my shoes.

Visitors, beware, and guard your toes. There very well might be an alligator in my house.

(*Alice Price-Healy Little Liddel Abernathy McGuire, my blue classic tabby and white Maine Coon. Yes, I call her by her full name, normally when she pulls stunts like the one described above.)

So here I am, in New York. (Technically, as I write this, here I am, in New Jersey. It seems like I always wind up staying in New Jersey while here, and commuting to New York. This is because the East Coast is made entirely of tiny little postage-stamp states. Postage-stamp states. I realize and understand that this is a California thing, but really, I don't feel that I should be able to casually wander over state lines and not really notice.) Since arriving...

...the motor on the fridge has decided to die, filling the apartment with smoke, covering the kitchen floor with water, and triggering an impromptu dinner party, complete with enormous and only semi-expected mob. One member of the mob, upon encountering certain jet-lagged idiosyncrasies of mine, wailed, "But my Seanan List* didn't include what to do about the liver hat!" Sometimes it's nice to be me.

...visited the GINORMOUS Manhattan Apple Store, in which a charming young man at the Genius Bar was kind enough to inform me that my iPod was, in fact, dead beyond all reasonable repair. He offered to zombie it for a short period of time, but made it clear that this manner of resurrection was counter-recommended, and would probably result in an army of undead Apple products shambling around the city. As I have things to accomplish this week, I declined, and will be getting a new iPod.

...visited FAO Schwartz, home of the giant piano, and many, many, many toys. I did not actually buy any toys, largely due to their tragic dearth of dinosaurs. I judged their stock most harshly. I judged their stock most harshly with the powers of my mind. (I did not, however, judge their MUPPET FACTORY with anything beyond delight and glee. Because dude, MUPPET FACTORY.)

...went to Serendipity 3 with The Agent. We consumed frozen hot chocolate, which was amazing, and had lunch, which was less "amazing" and more "faintly horrifying." My chef's salad contained a pond's-worth of watercress, an orange, a cup of fruit salad, steamed asparagus, and avocado. This is what those of here in the real world like to refer to as "overkill." We split a sundae after eating. This, too, was overkill, but in the good way, since we received roughly enough hot fudge to replace all the mucus in the average human body.

...ate an apple cider doughnut. What the hell is wrong with some people?

...went to visit everybody at Orbit (Mira's editor). I'd already met my editor (at World Fantasy) and my contact in the marketing department (far more pleasant than Vel's Marketing Department), but it was a real treat to meet all the other folks involved in making the book a reality, including the art director who did the cover design (which is, I must admit, fucking fantastic). After our meeting, The Editor2 took The Agent and I out for lunch in Grand Central Station. Sadly, this involved cutlery and bread service, rather than hot dogs of questionable origin and things scraped off of crusty bakery trays, which is what I think of when you say "hey, let's go eat in the train station."

...passed out cold from a migraine and lost approximately sixteen hours. Because sometimes, jetlag hates me.

(*She was actually equipped with a Seanan List to assist her in surviving our encounter. Presumably this list came with a box labeled "In Case of Seanan Break Glass." The contents of the box are left to your imagination.)

How's been by all of you?

Well, I'm off to board a giant metal sky-bird and wing my way across the country to Columbus, Ohio, with a stop in the middle to switch planes in Chicago. I'll be in Ohio (and hence on limited Internet access) until Monday, when I come back to California. If you're in the Columbus area, feel free to swing by OVFF to say hello, hear some awesome music, and maybe get a book or two signed.

See you when I get back!

Tomorrow night, I will be participating in the fifth annual LitQuake LitCrawl, as one of the featured authors on the second stage of the Crawl. For the full schedule, and details on who else you can catch reading tomorrow, check out the website here:

http://www.litquake.org/category/schedule/

My stage of the crawl will run from 7:15 to 8:15 PM; I'll be showing up at my assigned venue, the lovely and ever-popular Borderlands Books, at around 6:00 PM (6:30 at the latest), so feel free to wander by, get things signed, and get yourself well-positioned for the readings to come. There are three authors reading during our assigned one-hour time frame: myself, John Levitt, and Loren Rhoads. I'm the second author up, but can't tell you exactly when I'm going to start, and I'll be reading a story you have Probably Never Encountered Before (dun-dun-DUUUUUUUUN).

This is a great opportunity to support local authors, support local literature events, and best of all, support your local bookstore. And, on a personal note, not only would I love it if you could come out, but Rosemary and Rue [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy] was the best-selling mass-market paperback at Borderlands for the month of September, and it would be awesome if we could finish out October at least in the top five. So if you've been considering nabbing another copy (they make great trick-or-treat prizes!), this would be an excellent time to swing by and snag it. I'll even sign it for you. Or for anybody else you want me to sign it to.

Hope to see you there!

My original plans for today, which centered around bad horror movies and lounging about, fell through when my date for the afternoon was forced to cancel for reasons outside his control (something about "surprise apartment inspection" inspired him to think he should stay home and tidy). Since I'd previously been making grumpy noises about missing the book release party for Gail Carriger's Soulless [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxy], I decided that this was the universe hinting that I damn well ought to go off and get some books signed already. Thus was it decided: a lazy Sunday in San Francisco for me!

I departed early enough to seek out and indulge in the sweet fruits of Dynamo Donuts, San Francisco's answer to Voodoo Donut. Sadly, they didn't have the pumpkin spice donut, or the bacon donut, but I salved my wounded sensibility with a chocolate rose donut (Luna would approve), and made my way to Borderlands for the event. I made it easily in time, and snagged a few extra copies to have signed for friends (as well as the next two books in the Weather Wardens series, because I am a greedy blonde sometimes). Taking a seat, I settled to enjoy the event.

The author herself was introduced by the inimitable Jude, who punished me for some unspoken slight by calling out my presence in the audience. (It was actually very sweet, as she said that Soulless was one of "only two first novels this year" that garnered huge amounts of excitement, the other being Rosemary and Rue, "whose author, Seanan McGuire, is sitting there looking unobtrusive." So I failed my stealth roll. Probably the bright orange coat didn't help.)

The lovely Ms. Carriger was smartly dressed, witty, and sweet, and read a passage from Soulless before submitting to questions and signing. I had all three of the books I had with me signed, and chatted a bit about editors at Orbit before moving on. She hadn't realized I was also Mira Grant. The world, she is very small. There was a full tea service. I, being me, didn't drink any tea—blech—but did eat some very tasty tea cookies. People hung out for a while, being chatty, and then mostly dispersed, leaving me and a sweet lady named Andrea to chatter at Jude and Jeremy as we helped to tidy and amused the cat.

It was a good, easy Sunday, and I highly recommend Soulless (review to come in a bit; suffice to say that it made me laugh out loud). If you want an autographed copy of your very own, Borderlands does ship, and would be happy to sell you one. Just call the store and ask.

Life, as they say, is good.

My love for you is jellyfish love. It is the kind of love that you can only give when you happen to be a delicate floating construction of diaphanous membranes, primarily water-based fluids, and stinging tendrils. That makes it very difficult to see before it brushes up against you, and kind of cool, but not if you happen to be adverse to lumps of formless ooze. Or stinging fronds. But because my love for you is jellyfish love, you are not on my list of things to sting, paralyze, and eventually engulf. Be glad.

Jellyfish spend most of their time floating aimlessly through the ocean, going wherever the current takes them, generally just chilling out. When they encounter something they can eat, they casually wrap it in their stinging fronds and keep on going, off to do whatever it was they were doing before lunch came along. Jellyfish things, like processing edits, or picking blackberries, or watching too much television. Or maybe just bobbing around in the surf and sending unsuspecting swimmers to the emergency room, if you want to be literal about things. It doesn't matter to me. Because see, those jellyfish float along in huge, beautiful schools of delicately layered membranes, and once something has been caught by the tendrils of one jellyfish, they all get a little bit to eat. They aren't greedy, those jellyfish. They share.

If you watch jellyfish floating along, you'll see that they're constantly twining over and under and around and even through one another, like this giant, glorious underwater macrame, and yet somehow, they never get knotted up. They're always together, but they're always willing to let each other go. And that? That is how I feel about you. I totally spend my days wrapping my long, stinging tendrils around delicious things, because I know that even if you float away from me, you'll come back, and you may need something to engulf.

Only they aren't real stinging tendrils. And we all have skeletons. And if you decide to try to exist by absorbing raw fish and plankton through your porous skin, you're probably going to need to eat a sandwich, too, because man cannot live by metaphorical osmosis. But the basic concept is there. I spend my days floating free, loving you.

My love for you is jellyfish love.

Bloop bloop bloop.

Let's go back in time, to Friday, September 4th. (Feel free to make Wayne and Garth time-travel hands. They're like jazz hands, only awesome.) Rosemary and Rue has been available for purchase for less than a week. My house has been thoroughly invaded by book preparation, and also by Amy, who arrived while I had Martian Death Flu and didn't run screaming. My sanity is at a record ebb, since there's so much that needs to be done.

What a perfect time to have a party.

My first book release party was scheduled to happen at Illusive Comics, a comic book store in Santa Clara, California, owned and operated by my friend Anna. It was nepotism that got me the gig, I make no bones about that, but I really wanted a South Bay appearance, and she really wanted an excuse for a party, so hey, nothing wrong here. (My book release was Anna's first-ever non-comic book event. To say that we were both a little nervous is like saying that millipedes are a little over-equipped in the "legs" department.

While I spent the day at my day job, slogging away and trying not to chew through my fingers, the invasion began. Members of the Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show poured in from all over the place. Vixy, Tony, and Betsy came from the Seattle area; Brooke came from Vancouver, Canada; Sooj and K came via car from their ongoing magical musical road trip; Mia and Ryan came from Portland, Oregon. (Mia and Ryan, in fact, came at 5:27 AM. Because driving from Oregon to California is awesome.) They slowly filled my house to capacity, frightening the cats and waiting to pounce.

Amy spent the day at Kristoph's, doing awesome fiddle things, and when I called to ask her for an ETA, said that Kristoph would be delivering her to the house. Score! Everything's better with Kristoph.

Mom collected me from the train station, and we arrived home to find it occupied by a Mia, a Ryan, a Brooke, and an Amy. Hugs happened, followed by rapid-fire gathering of the things we'd need for the evening, and then we were off to the hotel where Vixy, Tony, Sooj, and K were staying, to collect the four of them (plus Betsy, who'd initially gone to the hotel when she arrived) and all their musical instruments. Mom had wisely borrowed a van from a friend for the weekend, and we filled that thing to capacity. More hugs were exchanged, and we took off in three vehicles, after a short stop at the 7-11 for provisions. (This is where I mention that my little sister, Rachel, and her girlfriend, Chris, were also in the van.)

We were off! We were running! We were on fire! We were...lost in very short order, leading to my mother stopping at a gas station for directions, while I went into the bathroom to throw up from sheer panic. I don't handle being late very well.

Still, wrong turns and panic attacks aside, we got there only fifteen minutes after the official start, and were met at the curb by the first of what would be many, many bags of candy corn. Inside, the joint was jumpin', and Anna was doing a brisk business in copies of Rosemary and Rue, as well as a few precious copies of Ravens in the Library. (We rapidly sold out of Rosemary and Rue.) The musicians gathered at the back of the store to tune and prepare; I went behind the counter to start signing things and eating candy corn. Blonde does not live by candy corn alone, and Ryan II was dispatched to bring me back delicious samosas. Mmmmmmm, samosas.

I signed more books. Anna looked increasingly wide-eyed as we packed more and more (and more and more) people into her little store. The Magic: the Gathering players set up between us and the bathroom looked more and more concerned that we were going to eat them. My food arrived. I ate my food. Time for music!

Much of the Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show had never actually shared a stage before that night, although all of us had played with some combination of the others. We opened with "Wicked Girls," and more than half the room was singing along. I nearly cried. From there, the music was a selection of offerings from each of our musicians—Vixy and Tony's "Thirteen," Betsy's "Wildlife," Sooj's version of "Tam Lin," Brooke's "Rosemary and Rue," and Amy doing mad reels like she thought the night might actually catch flame. Paul Kwinn even joined us for one number, and we did "This Is My Town" live for the first time in years. "Dorothy" was added to the set at the last minute—it turns out Anna, who used to publish the comic that inspired the song, wanted to hear it! Who knew? (This is by no means a complete set list.)

We closed the night with "Alligator In the House," with hugs, with laughter, and without an unclaimed copy of Rosemary and Rue in sight. The Circus was officially underway—and what a magical beginning! Could it get any better?

Actually, yes. It could. Next up, Saturday, San Francisco, slinky Sphynx, and serious sirens seriously invading one of the Bay Area's best independent bookstores. It's time for the Circus to hit Borderlands like a meteorite hitting a cornfield in a horror movie! Yay!

So—as you all probably know by now—last weekend was the first-ever assembly of the Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show, an amazing conglomeration of incredibly talented people who came together, as if by magic, to help make the book release parties for Rosemary and Rue even more awesome than they might otherwise have been. Seriously, it was incredible. It was like I made a wish-list of everything and everyone I could possibly have wanted to be there, and while I didn't get everything I asked for, I got so much of it that it would be insanely greedy to go "but wah, where's my pony?" I felt loved and honored and truly blessed to be surrounded by so much pure hammered awesome.

Actual, physical attendees who traveled more than a hundred miles to run away with the circus included...

* Amy McNally, from the depths of Wisconsin.
* Vixy and Tony, from Seattle, Washington.
* Betsy "Alice's breeder" Tinney, also from Seattle.
* Brooke Lunderville, from Vancouver, Canada.
* Mia and Ryan, from Portland, Oregon.
* SJ Tucker and K, from here, there, and everywhere.

Our parties were confirmed for Borderlands Books, in San Francisco, and Illusive Comics, in Santa Clara. (The third event, at Other Change of Hobbit in Berkeley, was unfortunately cancelled due to staffing conflicts.) Jude and Alan at Borderlands, and Anna at Illusive, were wonderful at helping to set up timing and guidelines before the events, and without their amazing support, our kitchen party wouldn't have been half as good.

But that's not the half of it.

Mia Nutick (copperwise) is the proprietor and creative force behind chimera_fancies, where she recycles old fairy tale books into works of wearable art. Her pendants are incredible, unique, and highly coveted by those of us who know about her—she's like the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab of jewelry, only everything she makes is a Limited Edition, and that edition is limited to one. Her sale days are sort of like watching piranha go for a cow. A pretty, sparkly, amazingly collectable cow.

Because I love Mia, I asked her if she'd be willing to recycle her review ARC (she does book reviews for Green Man) into pendantry for my book release party. Because she loves me, she said yes. And because she loves everyone, she made more than forty pendants from a single ARC, bringing them all with her down the coast to California. Five were selected to be put into the raffle at our Saturday night event. Various others were claimed by members of the Traveling Circus, because we wouldn't have time to peruse the sale table during the event itself. And all of them were signed by me, making them even more amazingly special. Pendants, handmade made from an ARC of Rosemary and Rue, signed by the author? Pardon me while I flail.

Here are a few of the glorious goodies:



Naturally, not many of them went home with Mia. If you're going all wide-eyed and "want," fear not; I sent her home with a slightly battered ARC that had been sent back to me by a reviewer, and she's going to be making a second batch, this one for Internet distribution. You can check the sale rules and price ranges at chimera_fancies; she's going to be shipping me the pendants when they're done, so that they can all be signed prior to the sale, and expects the batch to be available sometime in the next month or so. I'll post sales announcements here. If batch two is anything like batch one, they're going to be gorgeous.

Mia wasn't the only one contributing to making the event incredible. I contacted Dawn, proprietor of Polidori Chocolates, and asked if she might be interested in doing a line of truffles based around the book. Yeah. Toby-themed chocolates. We went there. We went there like it was a gold-star vacation destination with the possible added bonus of a volcano that we could toss people into for fun. And the results were incredible.

Dawn provided four flavors of truffle that were, quite simply, divine. Our truffle-tasting party on Friday night was an exercise in pure decadence. To quote one of the attendees (Book Love Affair) of Saturday's event: "Take careful note of the box of Polidori truffles, because apparently they were made by God himself. Or that's how they tasted anyway. Polidori must mean 'God of Sweet Things' somewhere."

The flavors, themed after characters, were...

Toby. Espresso ganache with cocoa nibs, enrobed in sweet milk chocolate, and tasting of paradise.
Tybalt. Dark chocolate with a mint ganache, topped with a sharp, surprising ripple of lemon.
Lily. White chocolate ganache flavored with green tea, enrobed in chocolate, topped with a whisper of ginger.
Devin. Chocolate enrobed vanilla ganache with a bite of black pepper, warm, spicy, and wicked-tasting.

There are not words for the incredible awesomeness of these chocolates. Polidori's Etsy shop has been closed for the summer, due to the issues inherent in shipping chocolates when you're a small operation, but should be re-opening soon, and will have the Toby truffles available for your decadent enjoyments. Imagine eating a box of these while re-reading your favorite chapter...yum.

Honestly, I won at event prep right out the gate, and I cannot thank the people involved nearly enough.

Next up...Friday, getting lost in Santa Clara, herding cats, and too much candy corn!

Happy Wednesday! I know I promised party reporting, and I intend to keep my word; I am, however, still too tired to do so with any degree of skill or grace, and am thus providing another review round-up, with some party reports from people with more brain than I tossed in just for spice.

First off, TJ over at Book Love Affair (who you may remember from this incredibly sweet and complimentary review) couldn't make the Borderlands party, and sent her husband in her place, because that's just what you do. He responded to this assignment by taking a really crazy number of pictures, allowing her to post a full report. I'm not a fan of having my picture taken—I know, I know, it's not like I'm shy and retiring and hence avoid cameras, but I make a lot of funny faces, and I always seem to have my mouth open when the flash goes off—but as a record of the evening, this is hammered awesome. I hope you can make the next one, TJ!

My dearly beloved artbeco attended the Friday party at Illusive Comics, and, is her wont, took a lot of really fabulous pictures of the evening. I've known and loved Beckett for more than half my life, so having her document this amazing night was really an honor and a joy. I am so glad she could share this with us.

Brooke came for the whole weekend, and decided to write everything up in one amazingly massive post of pure hammered awesome. For those of you who've missed my mother's wacky antics, Brooke is here to help you fill that gaping hole in your heart, because she took transcription. Quote of the weekend from Brooke: "Who's a mighty huntress who is also slightly moist?"

Sunil also made an amazingly massive post of awesome, complete with lots and lots of pictures of people doing things. He even got pictures of Ripley, the resident Sphinx at Borderlands. Go team Sunil!

Now, on to the reviews!

Thea and Ana are the Book Smugglers, a daring duo of book reviewers who fight the forces of bad literature while stealing gems of awesome from the vast crypts of the literary world. Well, the two of them have worked together to break into the text of Rosemary and Rue and carry out a joint review.

Thea says "There are a lot of female sleuth Urban Fantasy novels out there, and October Daye is another supernatural creature to add to the ever-growing pantheon. Ms. McGuire, however, manages to create a very unique character in a stunningly detailed, harsh world of faerie that coexists with our own. I definitely enjoyed this book and will be back to this eerie version of San Francisco very soon." She also says "In terms of world building and the urban fantasy element, Rosemary and Rue shines. My favorite aspect of this debut novel is the setting itself—Ms. McGuire juxtaposes a world of fae courts and magic, unseen by humans in the city of San Francisco. And the fae aren’t just your usual devilish pixies, winter queens or rowan men, either; Toby’s world is populated by Selkies, Undines, the Daoine Sidhe and Cait Sidhe. There are rose goblins and kelpies, doppelgangers and kitsune—and the variation is a wonderful thing to behold."

Meanwhile, Ana says "Regardless of which genre it belongs to, Rosemary and Rue is simply a good story, with great characters and above all, a fantastically entertaining world in which to submerge myself for a few hours. I can hardly believe that this is Seanan’s McGuire’s debut work and I enjoyed it so much that am ready for more. Like, right now." She also says "I started the review expecting to rate it Very Good, but managed to convince myself whist writing it that this rather, a truly Excellent novel and the series has the potential to be one of the Great Ones. I devoured it, I rooted for the main character and I think this is certainly one of the best debuts I read this year."

I win at being robbed!

maverick_weirdo posted a short, sweet review over at his journal, saying that "Rosemary and Rue is an excellent read." Succinct and charming!

Our final review for today is from SFRevu at the Internet Review of Books. Gayle Surrette wrote their thoughtful and well-balanced review of the book, saying "Having read the first two chapters, there was no way I could put the books down," and "This is an outstanding story and Seanan McGuire is a writer to watch." I'm a writer to watch! Watch me! Maybe I'll do tricks!

And that's our round-up for Wednesday. I will now take a nap.

Several people have asked me if, now that I'm past my official launch weekend, I'm planning to take a nap. I have done my best not to point and laugh, because it's an honest question (and also because I would probably just dissolve into hysterical giggles if I did so). So...

Before the end of September, I'll be receiving my page proofs for A Local Habitation (the sequel to Rosemary and Rue, and the second Toby Daye book). I'll also be preparing for the rest of the fall, since things will be hectic for a while before they settle down. See, in October, I'm traveling to Ohio for the Ohio Valley Filk Festival, and will be going straight from there into November and the World Fantasy Convention in San Jose. After that, I'm flying to New York to hang out with my publishers and be underfoot for a little while. (I also have a short story, "Inspirations," appearing at The Edge of Propinquity in November. So that'll be fun.)

In December, I'm going to Seattle to spend the holidays with my Pacific Northwest family, and to pull my now-traditional "work on a Mason book at Tony's kitchen table for eleven hours straight" holiday stunt. I'll probably also be doing my best to arrange some book events, possibly including Powell's. January will see me sleeping (a lot), as well as returning to Seattle for Conflikt, before heading to England, Germany, and the UK filk convention in February.

And then it will be March, and A Local Habitation will be hitting shelves, along with Chicks Dig Time Lords. I don't currently have anything scheduled for April—I don't trust this to last—but in May, Feed comes out. So sleep? No, not so much.

It's just one big kitchen party over here.

Yesterday was my bookday birthday, when Rosemary and Rue [Amazon]|[Mysterious Galaxies] finally hit shelves in stores across the nation. Because we are all mad here, my mother, Amy, and I decided that the best way to celebrate was by taking a trek up the length of California to sign books in every damn bookstore between Concord and Sacramento.

I never said we were sane.

The routine was pretty straightforward. One, find the bookstore. Two, scout the bookstore to see if they had any visible copies of Rosemary and Rue, as this meant we wouldn't be asking anyone to go into the back of the store. Three, find someone who works there, express that I am a local author (for increasingly inaccurate values of "local" as we moved away from Concord), and inquire as to whether I might sign some stock for them. Four, sign stock. Note that nowhere in this progression of events is anything resembling "check ID." By the eighth bookstore, I was seriously tempted to say "Hi, my name is Stephanie Meyer, and I wrote this book..."

The assistant manager at the Barnes and Noble in Albany thanked me for only using my powers for good. She doesn't know me very well.

As we made our way from bookstore to bookstore, we passed through Fairfield, California, home of the Jelly Belly factory. Amy, unwisely, said "I like sugar." My mother took this as a holy mandate demanding that we take the free Jelly Belly factory tour. I don't like jellybeans. I love my mother. I love Amy. I went on the tour. Fear my martyrdom. (Actually, there really wasn't any martyrdom, because Jelly Belly also makes candy corn. Fear me in the candy corn factory.) The Jelly Belly factory was reasonably cool. Amy and I have decided to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool with jelly beans and take people swimming.

The result of all yesterday's labors? Amy has a stomachache, and there is already a "collectible" autographed copy of Rosemary and Rue on eBay for fifteen dollars. Because humanity is awesome that way.

I survived!

I don't take many baths. Oh, I take a lot of showers, but let's get real, here: baths take a lot of time, and I don't usually have a lot of time to spend on just sitting around in hot water, waiting to become clean. I strip, I scrub, I dry, I get on with it.

Tonight, for various reasons (most of them having to do with my inability to get an appointment at the place where I get my legs waxed, and aren't you glad you asked?), I needed to take a bath. So I did what I always do when it's time for a bath: I dumped a crapload of pumpkin pie bubble bath into the water, got out my pumpkin pie sugar scrub, found my pumpkin-scented loofah, and prepared to become a pretty pretty Halloween princess of the bathroom. I am a simple soul. I enjoy simple things.

Enter Alice.

Alice is a Maine Coon, which really means that she's a magical cross between a cat, an otter, and the Great Pumpkin. The sound of Mommy splashing around in the big white water bowl was too much for her to resist, and she very quickly came to see what I was doing. And then she started batting at the bubbles. And then she started attacking the spray when I splashed at her.

And then she got into the bathtub.

I probably should have seen that coming, all things considered.

Now, I've had cats join me in the bathtub before. This is normally followed by the cat in question learning to levitate as it realizes that HOLY CRAP THAT'S WATER YOU'RE SITTING IN WATER. Not Alice. Nope. Once waterlogged, Princess Puffy-Pants decided it was just as well if she hang out a bit. Help me with whatever it was I was doing. You know. Be a good cat. Help the human.

Things that do not help me shave my legs: blue Maine Coon cats with coats containing approximately a gallon and a half of bathwater. Just in case you were wondering about that. I do, however, now have a pleasantly pumpkin-scented cat, which goes quite well with her overall autumnal glory. Lilly is still looking at her like she's lost her tiny puffy mind, for which I really can't blame her.

Cats. They're awesome. And insane.

Having been their Toastmistress (in 2007) and their Chairman (in 2003), I'm really dead thrilled to be attending BayCon 2009 in San Jose, California as a published author (May 22nd-25th). Think of it as sort of like showing up for your high school reunion after conquering Madagascar. I'M THE LEMUR QUEEN, BITCHES. Er, ahem. Or something like that, anyway. Besides, my beloved jennifer_brozek is this year's Toastmistress, which should be awesome. (Jenn is editor of Grants Pass, aka, "what if we threw a plague and EVERYBODY came?", and owns three of the craziest cats I've ever met.)

I'm reasonably lightly-booked this year, which is a nice change, and my scheduled panels so far include...

SATURDAY.

11:30 AM: Zombies Are Coming!

SUNDAY.

11:30 AM: Iron Poet.
1:00 PM: What's Your Post-Apocalypse Plan?

MONDAY.

1:00 PM: Writing For the Long Run

As always, I'm assuming that there may be some last-minute additions and subtractions to this slate, but that should give you a reasonably good idea of where I can be found. I won't be giving a concert this year, sadly, as there just wasn't time to get together with any of my assorted guitarists and rehearse, but I will have copies of all three CDs, both in the dealer's hall and on my person.

I'll be bringing a few precious copies of the Rosemary and Rue ARC with me to the convention for the adventurous to wheedle out of me (clues on how to do your wheedling are yet to come). Hope to see you there!

PS: Remember to vote your favorite poem in the ARC giveaway!

My love for you is komodo dragon love. It is the kind of love that you can only give when you happen to be an endangered species of fourteen-foot-long predatory lizard whose spit is filled with toxic bacterial soup. That makes it very rare and kind of cool, but not if you happen to be afraid of lizards. Or toxic spit. But because my love for you is komodo dragon love, you are not on my list of things to bite. Be glad.

Komodo dragons are cooperative hunters. That means that when a komodo dragon sees a goat, he bites it with his many, many sharp teeth and fills the bite with toxic spit, and then goes back to doing whatever it was he happened to be doing before the goat came along. Komodo dragon things, like reading, or playing with Photoshop, or watching bad horror movies. Or maybe just basking in the sun and frightening small children by being fourteen feet long and capable of eating people, if you want to be literal about things. I'm good either way. And see, the goat? The goat is now full of spit, which is full of toxic bacterial soup. That doesn't work out too well from his point of view, because eventually he sort of falls over and dies, and does that decaying thing. The bacterial soup helps with the dying. Also with the decaying.

And then another komodo dragon comes along and finds the dead goat, and it's hey, free lunch. And that? That is how I feel about you. I totally spend my days biting goats, because I know that even if I don't eventually get to eat their decaying carcasses, someone that I love will get a meal out of it.

Only they aren't real goats. And nothing really dies. And if you actually eat my metaphorical goats, you're probably going to need to take some multivitamins or something, too, because man cannot live by metaphorical goat alone, and besides, you'd probably get scurvy if you tried. But the basic concept is there. I spend my days biting goats for you.

My love for you is komodo dragon love.

Crunch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I appreciate my privileges, really I do, but right about now, the idea of expressing myself in an entirely coherent and cohesive manner is pretty much entirely beyond me. Conflikt was wonderful, magical, and completely exhausting, in the way that a good working convention essentially always is. There was music, there was laughter, there was passing out in the con suite and complicating the judging of the songwriting contest...the usual things.

(Having now been a Guest of Honor, as well as a Toastmistress -- which is a much more common gig for me -- I have to say that I was right all along; Toastmistress is a far more tiring position. Although all those laps around the hotel probably contributed a lot to my end condition.)

Last night was a post-convention gathering for fire-spinning, fondue, cuddling with kittens, and generally existing as happy people in a happy people world. I was prompted to tell the story of my crazy uncle and his ravens, since Batya and Merav went and wrote them into a parody; Sooj and Betsy did their version of 'Tam Lin' for a deeply appreciative audience; we broke out 'Wicked Girls' and rocked the house. The usual assortment of wonders. And then I spent essentially the entire day in transit, resulting in me hauling my broken, battered carcass over the threshold to be mugged by Siamese cats.

All but one of the pre-orders designated for at-con delivery actually got delivered (I'm going to mail the last one). Only about half the chapbooks were complete by the con, due to unexpected issues with chickenpox, and they sold out with astonishing speed; the rest will be made available when they're finished (thus actually allowing people who got the first chapbook, but weren't there this weekend, to have a shot). I have bunches of new art cards in need of coloring; right now, I doubt I could stay inside the lines if you paid me.

Bed now. Coherence later.

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

Today is Australia Day.

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

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

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

Hooray Australia!

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

My bags are packed; my carry-on is filled with books, electronics, plush dinosaurs, and things to eat on the plane (since when you combine 'picky eater' with 'allergies,' feeding me becomes a heroic quest in and of itself). My Siamese is in a tizzy as she tries to figure out what's going on, and how she can stop it from happening.

The house still smells like the turkey and cranberry sauce that I made last night for dinner; I smell predominantly like Bath and Bodyworks Pumpkin Pie shower gel and Bad Luck Woman Blues BPAL perfume. My bedroom has managed to actually remain clean throughout the packing process, unless you count the unmade bed, which I don't. Never take a trip after making everything absolutely perfect. It's bad luck. Encourages the world to think 'oh, this space has already been prepared for the funeral.'

My iTunes has been running on random shuffle all morning long, and every other song is by the Counting Crows. The soundtrack of my life, for most of my life, and (in that little thirteen-year-old corner of my heart where everything gets to be absolute and undebated) the most perfect band that's ever been. (This is also the corner of my heart where there's never going to be another book as good as IT, or another movie as perfect as Slither. I have a very stubborn heart sometimes.)

In a little under an hour, I'll head for the airport; in a little over four hours, I'll be on a big silver sky-bird, taking off for parts well-known and adventures unknowable. I have my new camera, I have directions to Voodoo Doughnut, and I have my flash drive (since it's well-known that the best way to drive me to distraction is to take it away from me). I have my writing goals and my rehearsing goals and my personal goals and my turkey and cranberry sauce sandwiches, and I'm ready for a winter wonderland.

I hope today is wonderful for all of you, whether it's something you celebrate or just a day where all the stores are closed and you can't find a parking place at the movie theater. Go gladly today. Let the world be filled with magic.

And if you want to spare a few good wishes for my flight, well, I'm sure it couldn't hurt.