May 13th, 2009


What a difference a DAW makes.

One year ago today, I got up, got dressed, and went to work. I put on jeans, a bright yellow tank top, and my pink-and-yellow Chimera Fancies pendant that reads "fairy changeling this is all a dream." This sentiment would become very, very easy to believe, very, very soon.

One year ago today, The Agent was out beating the streets as she looked for the right house for my Toby Daye books. Actually, we knew what The Right House was: it was DAW Books, the very first publisher we'd been in contact with, after being referred there by one of their existing authors. They had exactly the right sort of atmosphere, and they'd published a lot of books I've really loved. I wanted to work with these people. I just had to hope that they wanted to work with me.

One year ago today, my phone rang. My display informed me that it was The Agent (which is actually what her number is saved under in my phone, because I am occasionally bizarre like that), so I excused myself to take the call.

One year ago today, The Agent said these words to me: "We got DAW."

This was followed by a lot of other information about contracts and money and publishing schedules and blah blah blah fishcakes, because I had really checked out completely. Out of the conversation, out of body, out to lunch, buh-bye. I made all the appropriate noises of assent, and managed to sound like I wasn't crying, because years of fake-it-til-you-make-it has made me really, really good at that sort of thing. (Severe back injury plus chronic pain issues plus "suck it up" equals I can sound perky and happy about my situation while being consumed from the toes up by a giant snake. It's awesome. Also sort of bad, because my automatic response to trauma is frequently "gosh, what fun.")

Eventually, the call ended. I went outside. I called Vixy. I made horrible shrieky bat-noises, causing dogs all around San Francisco to bark themselves hoarse, run in circles, and slam into trees. Pigeons lost the ability to fly, and splattered down on the pavement like really disturbing rain. Vixy, upon determining that I was shrieky with joy, not distress, made suitable noises until I calmed down enough to tell her what was going on. Then she started shrieking, too. It was a shrieky day.

One year ago, I sold my first trilogy. Today, I have three framed cover illustrations on my living room walls, I have cover blanks on my dresser, and I have stacks of ARCs on my bedroom floor.

One year ago today.


Poetry contest still open!

Hey, folks, remember that you can still enter a poem to win a copy of Rosemary and Rue! The entries we have so far range from the seriously silly to the seriously sublime, and I can't wait to see what else people will come up with.

Entries will close Sunday evening, and I'll be putting up a voting post with my favorites, plus a few random selections, on Monday. After that, you'll have all week to vote for your chosen winner, and see where the latest free-range ARC goes! (Also remember that everyone who enters is entered into a random-number drawing for a cover flat. So there are lots of ways to win!)