Oh No! Could it be...?

The carnies are pulling into the Fairgrounds.

For those of you who may have missed my previous carnie encounters, you might want to check them out. We get great carnies up here. I keep threatening to write the "Great American Carnie Novel," but no one believes me.

Yet.

Our local fair is the last in the State of Ohio, taking place every first week of October since the first Neanderthal taught the first mammoth to do tricks. For the past few years, I worked at the bar across the street from the Fairgrounds and we were inundated with carnies. As some of you know, I love me some carnies: they're great character studies, they always have good stories, they spend their money as fast as they get it and they tip well. (the last bit was the bartender in me) But this year, I get to look at carnies in a whole different light. I no longer have to deal with them; it's purely voluntary.

So yesterday, I did some snooping around. I was pleased to see that my favorite carnies were back, including the carnie czar and a couple of the middle-aged oddballs that always made me laugh. They recognized me immediately, calling me by the wrong name and asking if I remembered their preferred drink.

"Of course I do! You drink root beer and made me cook chicken wings daily. How could I forget you??? *subtext--butthead!* "

"You're the best bartender I've ever seen."

*note to self--missing another tooth but still wears the same 'cologne.' Wonder if Old Spice will ever go out of date?*

It's nice to be missed.

So, in order to keep you guys up-to-date on carnie activity in southern Ohio, I'm going to continue my carnie blog this year--as a customer of my former bar instead of an overworked and underhumored 'girl.' (I think some of them think that 'girl' really is my name) Maybe I'll get more carnie insight to share with you; perhaps I will start researching that "Great American Carnie Novel;" or, maybe, I'll just get drunk and type incoherently for a while. Either way, you'll be kept in the know about the great carnie tragedies and life events, as usual.

It's almost as fun as killing Elves...

Oh. Speaking of killing Elves, have I mentioned that The Asphodel Cycle 3:Temptation of Asphodel will be released in November? *grin* Not too much longer to wait, and I'll keep you amused with carnies at least for a couple of weeks.

See? That's not so bad, is it?

Writing Versus Editing

I love writing.

I loathe editing.

Let me clarify. I hate editing MY stuff. I write my first drafts very quickly--I can get to 100k in 20 days without a problem if I'm on a roll. When I'm writing my first draft, I don't worry about word choice or bad habits--I just plow on through. For example, I use LOTS of dialogue tags and adverbs--they set the characters' mood throughout a conversation--when I write a first draft. So, the main purpose of the second draft is to write most of them out. I replace them with actions or with internal dialogue. Probably, in the long run, I strike about 90 % of them during the course of the second draft. Then on the third draft, I discover that I cut some needlessly or that I left the wrong ones in.

From that point on, it's a juggling act.

I was editing an manuscript for another writer the past couple of weeks and I found myself commenting, "You need to find some other action for theses characters other than "he looked and smiled." or "she glanced away and sighed" or "he nodded his head and frowned."" Then when I went back to my manuscript every single instance where I had done that glared at me from the page. So I went back through and cut most of those.

Even notice in your writing that you have a pet phrase or word? Mine is 'suddenly.' After a thorough analysis of the 'suddenlys' in my manuscript, I determined that I'd used the word 1800 times in a 120k manuscript and of those 1698 of them were placed where the action wasn't really sudden. Out came the red pen, out went the suddenlys.

No matter what anyone says, editing is the most important part of writing. Sure, the imagination needed to create fiction is vital as are the personalities you give your characters. But in the long run, the editing is what will take your work where it needs to go. Without it, your novel has virtually no chance of success with either agents or publishers. So no matter how much you hate it, you an't avoid it. I sent back a round of first edits to an author a few months ago where the entire right-hand margin of the manuscript were covered top to bottom with little red balloons. Great story; no editing.

So the moral of this story is: you know how all the submission guidelines tell you to make sure that your manuscript is clean? Believe them. Eliminate all those pet phrases and grammatical errors and misspelled words and send them as perfect a product as you can. No one will recognize your genius if you send them sloppy work.

Learn to love the red pen--it is your friend. Trust me.

Politics! and then...

...REAL politics.

I'm excited about politics out there in the world beyond my office. There's a bit of zest these days,with either our first person of color or our first woman breaching the good ol' boy network in the Executive branch of our federal government. This is a great thing--infinitely preferable than the status quo--no matter HOW it shakes out! After all, at last the so-called minorities of the US are going to have a voice in the highest office of the land. We will have an advocate, a representative and all that entails. Just please, puh-LEEZE--

--let's not fuck all that up with trying to see which party is being more racist or more sexist, shall we?

This is politics, people, not a tea party. Neither party is discriminatory. Get over it.

So why not enjoy the run? Chuck the hysterical vitriol to the wayside and let BOTH voices be heard. What the hell? It could be fun in the long run.

Which brings me to REAL politics.

Real politics happen every day--interpersonally, if you will. We are, all of us, doing political work for ourselves every single day of our lives. Ever suck up to a boss? Politics. Ever finagle your way into a position that you weren't quite ready for? Politics.

Exactly.

Now then, I've let it be known fairly regularly that I am not a political person. (Main reason why that Pol Sci knowledge sits on the shelf a lot of the time too.) I'm too outspoken; I call things as I see them. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten, that doesn't go over too well. It's much better for me to sit at my desk in my home day after day than to venture out to inflict my ideology upon others.

Occasionally, my online rambles interfere with that most noble intention. As a matter of fact, I realized today that I have never...not once...discussed politics on this blog. And, save for the plea above I never will. But I will discuss interpersonal politics for a moment if I may and then we can move on to something more important in the next blog post.

Interpersonal relationships are difficult to build on the web. As many cruisers have discovered to their chagrin, it's only too easy to 'fall in love' with someone's words online only to find that other person has the most heinous halitosis or the most hideous body odor they've ever encountered. The same goes for message boards or public forums. You may think that you're completely free to exress your opinion and find you're not, or vice versa for that matter. You can couch your words in such a way that people see right past your message, or they can just choose to overlook it. And in either case, it's hard to call--because you DON'T know why someone would be offended or because you went out of your way to avoid being offensive or whatever justifications you make to yourself.

But here's the ultimate test: go back the day after and read what YOU wrote. Ignore the vitrolic responses of other people--don't even read them. Just read YOUR words. Then ask yourself if they say precisely what you mean for them to say.

If, at the end of the day, you can stand behind your words then you expressed exactly what you meant to. If you find that your words, thoughts, sentiments, or feelings were not adequately conveyed you might owe some other folks out there in cyberland a few apologies. Now, I've been know to eat humble pie with salt and apologize for my words many times in the past. For one thing, as a writer I consider it my responsibility to take charge of my words and own the consequences that arise from them. *shrug* Only fair--my bad, right? So if I go out on a tangent and hurt people's feelings, I will always apologize if I am in the wrong--and even, sometimes when I wasn't the original cause but was partially responsible for a conflagration.

But I'm not always wrong. If I'm concerned enough to stick up for something, I'll damn well stick up for it. One thing I will NOT do is back down on it. I may give up the dissenters as a lost cause and move on, but I will not back down from my original conviction.

So, no. I won't back down this time either. I may consider the situation there a lost cause. But, sorry--not backing down. Nice try though.

The last time I checked, everyone's opinion counted for something--whether it's the hotbed of partisan politics in the States or how, on a non-partisan forum people should have equal and fair treatment regardless of what their voice is. But then again, I could be wrong. I've been known to be wrong before.

Stubborn, too.

Back to Blogging Again

So I have been chastised into blogging again.

It's not that I don't like blogging--I do. It's just that in my seven day array of 18 hour days, I have to give up something to ease my schedule. I like thinking about my blog entries before I write them and...well...unfortunately, I haven't been able to think as of late. I've been doing a lot of editing, and my head is full of other people's characters WHILE finishing the final draft of Asphodel 3.

Oh. Haven't I told you? The Asphodel Cycle 3: Temptation of Asphodel will be released THIS FALL. This October 27th, to be precise. *grin*

Surprise!

Should be fun, I'm thinking.

The great thing about editing is how much my writing has improved. I'm a lot harder on my manuscripts that I was before, which means that I'm eliminationg all of my bad writer habits --like adverbs and commas--that I used to death before. This is a good thing. Hopefully, this will make MY edits a lot easier. I hope so. I even know how to format the darn thing correctly now. My editor should love it.

*I did it ALL for you Sandy!*

Here's another thought--have you ever noticed when a series gets more exciting as you go through it? Isn't it maddening when you get to the end of a book and you just want MORE. That's the way lots of fantasy series were for me--David Eddings' Belgariad, Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern, Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Dart, JK Rowling's Harry Potter--all of them page turners to the very end that left you wanting...

...MORE.

That is my new goal. Hopefully I'll figure out how to do this before that final rejection makes me jump off the cliff across the street. We are starting to run short of agents.

But one day, I will find one. I promise.

Cleaning Memories

So the big move is underway.

Since I'm not allowed to pick anything up these days, my job is to pack the valuables and unpack them later. First day of valuables--books. Yeah, like that involved not picking anything up. I lifted a book on Restoration authors and literally cursed the name of the author. That book was HEAVY--not to mention the Norton Anthologies. Then I took it back, of course.

Yesterday's valuables? Family things. It's always sad for me to pack them away, even if it's just for a trip to the next county like this move is. I was somewhat astounded this morning to realize that sometimes it's even sadder to unpack them.

My mother's nationalization flag. It's a small flag, from 1958--all fifty stars and thirteen stripes still bright although the gold paint on the little golden finial is faded. As I unpacked it and put it in its normal place over my desk, I wondered what my mother would say if she saw how cheaply that citizenship is held today. Chiding myself for my obsession with politics, I pulled the next item out of the box.

A crystal Vernus de Milo given to me by my grandmother--my French grandmother. The first time my mother took us (my brother and me) to France, we met our grandmother for the first time. Jeanne Herink was a woman who'd led a colorful life. Her husband, my grandfather Jean Herink, was a cafe' owner in Paris during WWII. When the Nazis marched into Paris, he opened his cafe' and its access to the cellars to the frantic flight of those leaving the city. He operated successfully in the French Underground until the Nazis evacuated just ahead of the Allied invasion. Apparently, he was suspected because the Nazis dragged him from his cafe' and executed him in the street before they left. His widow, my grandmother Jeanne, began an affair with a British officer--a lord,or so I was told. My mother hated that and resented her for it until the day she married my father. The day after, the two quarrelled over some teacups my mom wanted to bring to America and didn't speak for twenty years. Almost like us, in a way--that extended bitterness. The Venus de Milo, a little statuette that stands about 8" tall, was the first gift I ever received from her in her little apartment just across the river from the Eiffel Tower.

My grandfather's traveling clock. A small but heavy clock set into a heavy red leather case. I was told he'd brought it with him from Czechoslovakia as his family hurried west after the Bolshevik revolution in his native Russia. My mother was born there, in some town with an unpronouncable name that I only know from the turn of the century paperweight enscribed with its name. Both of them together, as they've always been, on the shelf with my Shakespeares.

A 19th century hand-sized Sonnets of the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barret Browning. She's my favorite poet from the Romantic era and this little book was the first thing I ever kept from my store inventory. It's faded and aged brown, although the little painted nosegay on the front still glows with light pastels, and I'm afraid to open it. It's in perfect condition, a time capsule from the 1890s and the ultimate temptation: it holds what I want, but I'm afraid to go get it.

The more I went through these things, the more I hung handles on them: Mom's things, Grandmere's things, Grandpere's things--rarely our things or my things. I've moved these things all over the country since my mother's death, revering them--almost sanctifying them because they were hers, or my family's--links back to people I can never see or touch again. These things I treasure, perhaps because they represent relationships or feelings or memories that I don't want to give up. A whole side of my family, and my daughters' heritage, lost save for the trinkets I preserve in my china cabinets and curios.

I think I'll write my family's story down for my kids. Then, one by one, I'll write the story of each little thing and pack it away with its history.

For them to find.

A Post of SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEs in Threes!

Okay--I get to have a brag post!

The first reviews of The Gift of Redemption are coming in. The first came from Coffee Time Romance, which sort of surprised me because they hadn't reviewed any of my work--including The Reckoning of Asphodel. Anyhoo, Regina has this to say about Redemption:

This has to be the best fantasy romance I have ever read. I could not put this book down until I had read the final page. While it is clearly the second book in a series, the author does such a good job of weaving background information into the storyline that the reader never feels cheated. Ms. Summers skillfully draws her readers into the book. The characters are so realistic that they appear to step from the pages. A devilishly wonderful book that I highly recommend to one and all!

You can read the entire review here.

I was really pleased with Regina's take on the book--she really seemed to get where the characters and the story were coming from and she'd never read the first book. So I had a little SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE! moment and went back to moving.

Which I hate.

Then this morning, I found a review in my inbox from Brianna at Bitten by Books:

I’m giving The Gift of Redemption 4 ½ tombstones. I loved revisiting the characters,and watching them grow – especially Tamsen – was a delight. Celina Summers really packs in the drama and love that was so evident in her first novel into this action-packed delight. There is a scene at the end that left me in tears. I would read the first book in the series, The Reckoning of Asphodel, before I picked this one up. The Reckoning of Asphodel is integral to understanding the beautiful world Summers has created.

How can you argue with a reviewer that admits my story made her cry???

Exactly. You can't.

So, I went outside and had a celebratory Coke and cigarette. While I was sitting on the deck, Emily the hummingbird buzzed by my head. She does this now whenever my husband Shannon or I are outside, buzzing our heads to let us know she's there and then looking at us for a few minutes like she's thankful--very cute. She hovered for a minute, her dark eyes glittering and contented again, and then went back to the feeder. I think she's coming along better now that her eggs have hatched. She's filling out a bit and starting to store it up for the impending trip to warmer climes. I suspect that it won't be long before she brings her babies by to inspect the deck, the flowers, the silly old Lab asleep in the sun, and teaches them how to drink from the feeder. I really hope that when this occurs, I'll be sitting out there also with my laptop handy.

If it does, then I'll tell you all about it.

Thanks for sharing my SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEs in threes. Emily says hi!

Casualty In The Great Hummingbird War of Hocking County

So we walked into the garage today and got a horrible shock.

Emily, my little hummingbird friend, was trapped in the garage. The poor little thing kept flying into the ceiling, bashing against the wall and the garage door, desperately trying to find a way out. She wouldn't settle on anything to rest; by the time we found her, she must have been bumping into things for hours. She was exhausted, and terrified.

We knew we had to get her out.

Now picture this: four adults, armed with brooms and ladders and plastic containers trying to herd a scared hummingbird into something so that we could take her outside and set her free. Not only was it probably funny to anyone that might have caught a glimpse of it, it was upsetting. Other hummingbirds lined the fence outside, calling to Emily as she darted from side to side, her little wings beating so slowly that it was like watching any other species of bird. She's particularly gaunt at the moment, having (apparently) hatched her eggs in the privacy of her woven spiderweb and lichen nest.

She's also spunky.

Twenty minutes passed, and finally my husband, perched precariously with one foot on the ladder and another on the top of the SUV, trapped her in an old plastic tub. When she settled down finally within it, Shannon slipped a plastic lid over the tub and we took Emily outside.

She was so tired that when we removed the lid, she just sat there looking at us. It's the closest I've ever been to a living hummingbird, and this one just stared at us from dulled eyes. The only life about her flashed from her emerald feathers--the ones on her back that I'd never seen when she darted at the feeder.

She stayed with us for five minutes, communing in her silent way with the two huge creatures that has brought her out into the open. She could smell the dusty scent of the grass, the fading aroma of the late lilies, the wind swirling gently around her feathers. She permitted me to touch her--one gentle stroke across her little back, then cocked her head and glanced over her shoulder with a quiet chirp.

Then she pushed off from the plastic container and rose into the sky. She didn't hover; she fled to the safety of the nearby woods, probably to check on her growing young ones.

An hour later, she visted our feeder again. She hovered near us, looking at us both, then perched on the little yellow flowers of the hummingbird feeder and drank her fill.

We saved a hummingbird today. What a great karmic experience! But, in the end, I realized that in some way Emily had given us a precious gift. For a few quiet moments, we earned this tiny creature's trust. And then she rose back onto the skies, and we knew that our efforts had been rewarded. She would live, and thrive, in the environment she was meant to enjoy.

And on one hot August day, we would live and thrive in the knowledge that we had done some good for the earth she lived on. It was a great feeling.

So...we drank vodka to celebrate.

Full Moon & Japanese Game Shows

So it's a full moon tonight.

I love writing when the moon is full. For some reason, it makes me feel like it. I can take my laptop outside and sit on the deck, watching the moon turn the woods into silver threads against the horizon and always--always--a new story nudges its way into my brain.

Probably not tonight though.

I think I have lost ten IQ points inthe last hour. Why, oh why, did I let my husband convince me to watch "I Survived A Japanese Game Show???" Holy crap--it just makes me cringe to see these people making fools of themselves like that. Tonight they played a game called "Big Chicken Butt Scramble."

How do you look at yourselves in the morning after LOSING a game called that?

"Big Chicken Butt Scramble." Somewhere over in Japan, World War II vets are sitting together pissed off.

"We lost to people like that?"

Yeah, hate to admit it to you, but--you did. Your bad.

I just don't get this new urge for self-humiliation, for public spectacle, and for lubing yourself down with oil, rolling in feathers, and then trying to sit on big balloons to burst the egg filling out of them! And on top of it, these people are taking this 'game' seriously!

The $250,000 prize money probably has something to do with it.

*sigh* I guess I'll never be able to survive a Japanese game show. Unfortunately, neither will my Muse--at least not tonight.

The Great Hummingbird War of Hocking County

We've been housesitting for my inlaws, who have been at their youngest daughter's wedding in Wyoming. During the time I've been here, I've witnessed some extraordinary things.

For example, the hummingbird wars.

My inlaws live out in the country--just on the edge of Wayne National Forest and Hocking Hills. At the back of their two acres, the trees grow fast and thick and the hills rise up to give me a poignant reminder of the foothills of the Smokies a couple of states south in Tennessee. There is a weathered back deck, surrounded by lilies and flowering shrubs, a gigantic willow tree and a plethora of smaller plants--in other words, bee heaven. They also have a pretty good sized hummingbird feeder with a colony of fifteen to twenty hummingbirds who feed at it daily.

Hummingbirds are highly strategic creatures. Ignore the impossible speed of their little wings whirring, forget about the flash of ruby at the breasts of the males and the tiny inquisitiveness of the smaller females.

THE FEEDER BELONGS TO ME seems to be the mantra they all chirp to themselves as they perch upon strategic locations and guard their personal feeder from the rest of the colony. Just now, as I was sitting outside with a cigarette while listening to my daughter's woes on the cell, I watched as a great battle unfolded before me.

To the west: perched upon the wire fence sat a tiny female. She's the one that yells at us if we get too close to the feeder. To the south: a larger male eyed me from his flamboyantly defiant seat on a shrub just below the wire fence. He's closest to the feeder and he knows it. Atop the willow tree to the southeast, a second male yells a challenge. He's been fighting the first male for girls and sugar water since the hummingbirds returned. I can't see him, but I recognize his voice. Full east, another female hides behind the waving leaves of an azalea bush. She insinuates herself into the branches, hoping for a go at the feeder while the others scream insults at each other.

Suddenly, over my head there's the loud buzz of a divebombing hummingbird. She's come over the top of the house and slides into the northern-most feeding station for a quick stolen bite. Immediately the two males dart towards the feeder, but they encounter each other in midair and fly off the the field to continue their private feud. The female on the western side of the fence cries out and attacks the newcomer, wings beating at her foe's head. As the two females chase each other through the yard, the female hidden in the azalea flies in a liesurely fashion to the deck, eyes me with just a hint of friendly curiosity, and slakes her thirst calmly at the feeder. Her enemies remain out of sight, unaware that the victor has already taken the field.

Full, she flits up to the patio table where I sit under a large umbrella. I lift my hand slowly and just for a split-second, I feel the whispered touch of her claws on my outstretched finger. The next thing I know, she's gone--back to her nest made of spiderwebs in the ridge of oak trees a half-mile away--while I watch her flight and smile.

Round one: to the little hummingbird female I call Emily.

Round two: probably in about fifteen minutes.

Redemption Doing Well...Or Is It?

Occasionally I find myself, much like Piers Anthony, living in conjunction with my book subjects. The Gift of Redemption is about one individual giving up everything in order to redeem a society. In my world, it's about one individual giving up a lot so that others can have what they crave.

For example...

Lately, my husband and I have been feeling a financial crunch--much like the rest of you. Ours is due to a combination of things--my back, my daughter, OPEC--just to name a few.

My back has now (again) made it impossible for me to work in the 'real world.' So, I've increased my work in writing and editing and have become a stay-at-home writer. So, my husband has to take up the slack. He's working more hours, losing the time to do the things he loves, and has nothing left over for what he wants to do. In other words, his gift to the family is to redeem me for my lack of steady financial input.

It's hard to watch. It's harder to agree to, knowing that I haven't 'hit it big' yet and that all of the responsibility lies upon him. I can do my part (like submitting short stories and hoping for the best) but in the long run, unless I get an agent and my book goes to auction, this burden will be on him for a long time.

And I'm not even thinking about the back surgery that's looming in the near future either.

Sacrifices. Everything these days seems to be about sacrifices, just like in Redemption. That worries me.

Book 3 is called Temptation of Asphodel.

Oh dear.

News and More News

Yeah, yeah yeah I know. I'll TRY to do better. I just thought I'd let you all know that The Gift of Redemption is at # 39 on the Fictionwise Fantasy Bestseller list!

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Yep. Just a little excited. It may be my imagination, and I'll check here in a bit, but it seems to be moving up the list quicker than Asphodel did. Two weeks from release at Fictionwise to #39 sounds FINE to me, though. I'd be dancing but...and here's the more news...I'm couch-bound until the middle of July.

*sigh*

More writing time though. And that's a good thing.

I find that I'm enjoying my writing time more and more. Although I still faithfully tackle my world-building and editing/rewriting chores every day, those hours when I concentrate on continuing a story have been just rolling along. Remind me soon to update my projects list--there's a hell of a lot going on that I haven't shared with you guys yet. There are a couple of new stories ongoing that I think you might be interested in.

I also submitted a few short stories this week, and have sent other numerous review requests to new venues so we'll see what happens.

Overall, a happy day. :)

OK, So I don't update my blog enough...

...or so I'm told. Apparently, BUSY does not count. hmmph. So, I'll just update you guys for a bit.

The Gift of Redemption is now available on Fictionwise and Mobipocket. It seems to be doing well on Fictionwise, where it's been available for a few days now. It just came out today on Mobipocket.

I'm particularly interested in how it does on Fictionwise, since The Reckoning of Asphodel hit number one on its Fantasy Bestseller list and the top ten on the overall Bestseller list. It would be nice if Redemption could follow in Asphodel's footsteps.

A little birdie told me that Reckoning's first review from a major review site will be out within the month. This is sort of scary for me. I'm still obsessed over some horrifying questions: What if it isn't as good as Asphodel? What if people hate it? What if a few directions that the storyline takes really turns my readers off? Will I live? Could I survive that?

I guess I'll know pretty soon. *shudders* Hope my blood pressure survives it.

Right now I'm doing some beta reading for some friends and surveying the wreck of my study with satisfaction. As you probably remember, when I'm plotting a new world and the story that goes in it, I literally paper my study with worldbuilding charts and plot continuity lines with long rolls of butcher paper. And there it will hang, a daily prod to hurry up and finish what I'm working on so that I can get to the project that is stewing deliciously along my walls. This project has migrated onto the ceiling; when I look to the heavens for divine inspiration, I'll find a chart labelled *Events that need to happen before Armageddon.* This makes me write faster.

It's like a hambone in front of a hungry pit bull.

I reckon I have a few more days' work to put in on the current project (final draft of Terella, then off she goes into query land) and then I can sink my teeth into the juicy world that swims along the edges of my vision in this room.

*Events that need to happen before Armageddon*---Big red letters, long long list. Looks like at least a trilogy from where I'm sitting. Just as an FYI, 'armageddon' is just my brainstorming catchphrase for how the plot culminates--it has nothing to do with angels or Satan or the end of the world or anything like that. I call all the ends of my storylines 'armageddon' just so I know that it's the absolute end of this plot.

*grin*

So don't get too excited.

So It's Out

The Gift of Redemption was released on Friday. I did my all-day release party on Friday and I'm still trying to recover from it (and the thirteen hours at work yesterday.) I actually had a cool little interview in the local paper yesterday (so glad they noticed me finally!) and I had several people oming into the bar saying, "Hey! Yer a cee-lebrit-ee now!" All of my Saturday Morning Regulars were pleased as punch--which I thought was pretty cool.

And now I'm going to try to focus my eyes enough to send out some review copies so I can concentrate on finding the floor of my house again. *rolls eyes* I know it's there SOMEWHERE--but alas! When Mom is stuck for two weeks getting a book release ready (hence the overwhelming eye strain) everyone else takes a vacation too.

I'll find it. I promise.

Stay tuned for further updates on Reckoning and how it progresses. And thanks to all of you for keeping an eye on how it goes.

By the way, the winner of my super-duper fabulous BIGGEST CONTEST EVER--is Sophie Weresley! Congrtulations, Lil Squick! And NO you cannot publish the Asphodel backstory file as a companion piece. Geesch--kids this days!

Hope you enjoy it!