Why I Usually Don't Read Reviews.

Okay, reviews are important. They give readers an idea of what to expect from a book.

But I don't usually read them.

Why?

1. Because it's too late. The book is on the shelves. It's finished the editing process. For good or bad, I can't go back and change it.

2. Because if the reviews are great I get a swelled head. Praise is a wonderful thing. Getting cocky isn't. And yes, I try not to. But sometimes it's wonderful to have the old ego get a good stroking.

ON THE OTHER HAND

3. Because if the reviews are horrible I get seriously down in the dumps, wonder if I'm really any good at this, etc. One bad review has more power than 50 good ones. Seriously.


So, write your review. Post your review. I thank you for the time and effort. I appreciate you letting other readers know what you think so that they will (hopefully) read the books. But know that I probably won't read the review.

Cie

Stuff

Good morning. I would love to have something wonderful and enthralling to tell you all. But, alas, nada. Oh, wait. My niece had her baby. A beautiful girl. Both are happy and healthy from what I hear.

Oh, and I colored my hair. Reddish brown. Highlights to follow. I also (GASP) trimmed the ends and bangs myself. This means that they may be crooked and I will get scolded harshly by the hairdresser when, eventually, I go out of town to get it officially cut. But I literally COULD NOT STAND IT ANOTHER MINUTE!!! And even crooked (I'm guessing here, since I can't see the back and cut it by bending over and combing it down first. I did check using two mirrors after though and it didn't look too bad.) would be better than it was, which was hideous.

Alas, I am also losing quite a lot of hair. This, of course, is due to the thyroid and pituitary crap. Since I'm really not feeling bad I must only be off a bit. I have an appointment with the doctor soon. But honestly, if the worst that happens is my hair gets thinner, I will live with it. Actually, I'll have to live with it anyway, probably. But while I would not particularly like to go bald, I still have quite a lot of hair left.

Oh, and I've been exercising. Which means that I will be sore for a day or two. But they swear it is good for me and I DO feel better once I'm a week or two into it. Also, losing weight seems to help with the thyroid meds. (Don't ask me why. Just seems to. Maybe less mass=more effective.) Of course the thyroid/pituitary crap does making losing weight considerably harder. But HEY, I like a challenge, right?

Okay, day job calls. Gotta go.

Later.

Cie

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Okay guys, I've got a gazillion and one things to do today, so I need to get moving. But I owe you a serial. In fact, I believe I may owe you the CONCLUSION to the serial. SO . . . .

**********************************

Ryan smiled at the sound of Carrie's gasp. It was the nastiest smile I'd ever seen. It promised trouble of the worst kind. He drew the gun and used it to gesture that the girls should go ahead of him into Jen's room. As they passed I saw that Jen had a knife palmed and held against her thigh. That terrified me. Because a knife would be no match for a gun and, smart as she was, she might just try something stupid if he made her desperate enough.


"A computer. Well, well, aren't we coming up in the world."

"I bought it at the junk shop. It's too old for you to pawn."

He looked me over carefully. While he did I sent an urgent e-mail to everyone on the girls mailing lists: "HELP! RYAN BROKE IN. HE HAS A GUN!!! CALL THE COPS!!" All caps, LOTS of exclamation points. Everybody in the girl's circle knew Ryan was bad news. Hopefully one of them would be online and would do something.

"You're probably right." He finally admitted. He ordered the girls to sit on the bed and began throwing things around, rummaging through Jen's meager belongings, deliberately making as much mess as he could. It was obvious he was enjoying the tight-lipped fury she couldn't hide. While he was ransacking the place, I did a little hacking, managing to get control of the traffic camera attached to the stoplight a block over. I rotated it until it was aimed directly through the bedroom window.

Try as I might, I couldn't think of much else I could do. Not with him standing so far away.

"Nothing. Not a fuckin' thing. You are so pathetic." He shook his head. Grabbing the lamp from the makeshift desk with his left hand he swung it in a vicious arc, stepping towards me as he did. Jen and Carrie shrieked as the metal base smashed into my monitor with the sound of breaking glass and the crack of shattering plastic.

PAIN, hideous pain shot through me. He was off-balance from the blow. He was in reach. This was my only possible chance. I wrapped my cords around his ankles without him noticing. When he lunged to grab my base unit the cords tripped him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Everything seemed to happen at once. The gun went off, the shot shattering the window. Ryan's head hit the corner of one of the cinderblocks forming the bookshelves, breaking open his skull. Pulled off-balance I felt myself crashing downward onto his inert form.

Then nothing.


**************************************

I woke on a workbench. A fancy new monitor had been attached to me. I was in a new case. I felt . . . great. Really great.

Taking a look around I saw Carrie and Jen counting money out to the skinny man with glasses standing in front of the workbench.

"I still think you guys are nuts. I mean, yeah, the guts of it were still okay, but it's old. I could get you a much newer model for less than you're spending "

"No." Carrie said firmly.

"Absolutely not!" Jen gave him a horrified look. "We'll pay. But we want Ed. He's special to us."

Glad they thought so. The two of them were pretty special to me, too.

Hi!

Hi Guys! It's FRIDAY!

WOOT!

Life is incredibly busy. I only have a couple minutes until I have to start in at the day job. I'm looking forward to posting the finale of "Ed" for the breakfast serial tomorrow, and I have a pretty cool idea for the next one brewing in the back of my mind.

Gotta go.

Cie

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Okay, we've been short-handed at the day job, and busy besides, so I've been a bit pooped. I also have produced some short stuff, and a blog that will be going up on Tor.com (Oh, and you REALLY should stop by there. I have a short story "Olga" up there, and Cathy's got one up as well. And, as I said, I've got a blog coming there in the next couple of days.) In fact, I've had so many different things going, I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it. BUT, busy is good. I'm not complaining. I have a job. (In this economy that's saying something!) I have my writing. (Which sometimes frustrates me, because I want so much to be better at it, but I really love it.) I have loving family, friends, and pets. So, life is good.

Oh, and before I forget, I am excited to announce that I am now represented by Lucienne Diver of The Knight Agency. :) Merrilee Heifetz, my previous agent, is a wonderful person and a tremendously skilled agent, but we had a different vision for my individual future (aside from the joint projects with Cathy). So with no animus, or onus on either party, a change has been made.


NOW ON TO THE SERIAL:

********************************

You expect that if bad things are going to happen, they'll happen at night. The burglar, or rapist will sneak in through the bedroom window in the wee hours between bedtime and sunrise. It isn't always so. Sometimes the bad things happen in broad daylight.

I don't know how Ryan found out the girls were doing well. Maybe he heard it from one of the patrons from the bar, or around the neighborhood. Maybe he noticed the curtains and decided to investigate. I suppose it doesn't matter. But disaster struck on Saturday afternoon. The girls came back from the store, arms laden with groceries. Carrie hooked a foot around the edge of the door to kick it closed and followed Jen into the kitchen. She would've locked it after she set down the bags in her arms. She always did.

She never got the chance.

They were chattering and laughing in the kitchen as, very quietly, Ryan opened the door and stepped into the living room. He pulled it quietly closed behind him, flipping the lock.

"Well, well, well. Would you look at this. You two sure seem to be doing well."

"Get out." Carrie's voice was cold. In less than a second, her cheerful expression had hardened like stone. Slowly, carefully, Jen moved her body so that she faced Ryan. Hand behind her back, she very quietly reached into the silverware drawer and pulled out a steak knife.

"Now is that any way to talk to the love of your life?" He scolded. He sounded almost obscenely cheerful.

"Get out." She repeated. She was furious, but I could hear a tiny thread of fear in her voice. Apparently Ryan could too. He smiled.

"Oh, I don't think so. Not without what I came for."

"What do you want?" Jen asked. She held the knife in a white-knuckled grip behind her back, blade ready for an upward thrust. Clever girl. It's too easy to block a downward strike.

"You always did get right to the point." The fake cheer faded from his face. "What do you think I want?"

"Money." Jen answered. "That's what you always want isn't it?"

"Got that right. And you two seem to have more than enough to spare."

"I've got twenty bucks." Carrie said. She was still angry, but there was a sense of tired hope in her voice. An almost audible thought that, if she gave him her cash, maybe he'd just go. "I spent the rest at the store."

"Jen?"

"Ten."

He shook his head in mock sorrow. "Ladies, ladies, I just know you can do better than that. LOOK at this place." He smiled dangerously. "Jen, why don't we just check in that bedroom you used to keep locked up so tight. I just bet there's something worth pawning in there."

He turned toward the bedroom door, and the light jacket he wore unzipped moved slightly, showing the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

Carrie gasped, her eyes widening in fear.

Thoughtful

I have been remarkably lucky. While my grandparents died when I was fairly young (one before I was born), and I've had a couple of friends and acqaintances (and much loved pets) die, my life has mostly gone on pretty smoothly from that point of view.

I have friends who are a couple who had two children. They are a loving couple, great, doting parents, who are adventurous, really involved . . . great. And a little over a year ago they lost one of their daughters. It was sudden, unexpected, and horrifying. And there is absolutely nothing I can do to ease their pain.

I really wish there was.

Time

I am currently working on the first book in a new world I've created, the Guardians of Time series. So I've been thinking about time.

First, we take it absolutely for granted. It's like the air we breathe, the ground we walk on, gravity. Unless something goes wrong ("Oh CRAP, I'm LATE") we pay it no attention, or even wish it away. ("I can't wait for the weekend." "WHEN will this meeting END?") Very seldom do we actualy live in the moment, appreciating it for what it is: a truly fleeting thing. The next moment is never promised for us. We could end. But time will keep flowing on.

People can live in the future. "Someday baby, we'll have enough money to take that vacation you've always dreamed of." Or they can live in the past, "When I was a kid . . .."

But mostly we just exist in it without ever paying attention to it at all. Then suddenly we look up and a huge chunk of it has passed and we kind of blink and go "WHOA how did THAT happen?"

And while I am sorry about it, you CAN'T appreciate every moment. I mean, get real, who's going to appreciate getting reamed by their boss, or broken up with, or (oooo baby) having the flu? To paraphrase from The Incredibles, if every moment is special, none of them are.

So here's to time. For the next hour or so of it I am going to try to stay off of the internet (which eats big whomping chunks) and try to write something.

Best wishes.

Cie

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Good morning, I've got a ton to do. But I've promised myself I'll be better about stuff like posting the serial. So, here I go.

****************************

Ryan left that night. Things were tense the first few days, wondering when he'd come back. But when days stretched into weeks, the tension eased and things slowly began to improve.

Carrie got a job waiting tables at the local bar. It wasn't a lot of money. But it was steady, and it was enough. The sheets that had been hung over the windows with tacks were replaced with curtains---cheap, but cheerful and pretty. Ramen noodles gave way to Hamburger Helper and vegetables.

After some discussion the girls decided to chip in and get basic cable with internet. Now it was my turn to shine. I made sure both girls got plenty of coupons in their e-mail boxes, but screened the spam and scams. When Jen began writing seriously I surreptitiously collected writing contests for her inbox, screening out the ones that weren't reputable, and flat out failing to post the ads and solicitations by folks listed on sites like Writing Predators, and Predators and Editors. Her word processing program had a red button marked "ED" at the top that I'd installed. She thought it was a standard editing feature for the software installed on the machine. It wasn't. But I wasn't going to tell her different. She'd hit ED and I'd make editorial comments and suggestions. Both girls began calling me "Ed." It pleased me to no end. I'd never had a name before.

She worked hard and her writing, and her life, began to steadily improve. So it was no surprise to me when after about six months she placed in a short story contest and won a little money. The girls celebrated with steak and a bottle of wine, toasting each other, me, the future. It was a spectacular night, the best of my life.

I should've known it was too good to last.

Thank you Charlotte

THANK YOU CHARLOTTE!

Got my fact checking back. I hadn't done too horribly considering I was using internet sources, which tend to be limited and not always reliable. (Yes, there are good ones. But there are also bad ones, and it's hard to tell which are which sometimes.) I got to include some specific details I hadn't known, which helped me to beef up the word count. It's still a little short, but I sent it off to the editor. We'll see what she says.

I have to get moving. I'm the only staff member in the office this week, and it's a ZOO.

Later kids.

Short Story

Worked on a short story this weekend. I need to get back to the new book, but the story has been nibbling at the back of my mind, and I do have a publisher interested in it for an anthology. I just need to beef it up a bit to get the word count up. I also need to make sure that I have someone check some facts for me. I did some online research, but you have to be careful, because sometimes the online stuff isn't as accurate as it could be. Since I'm dealing with people's religious practices and culture as well as magic, I need to make sure I don't do something heinous.

As soon as my friend gets back on my fact checking, I'll finish editing it and send it off.

It's a romance. In fact, it's one of the most romancy things I've ever written.

We'll just have to see whether or not I've pulled it off properly.

Cie

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Good Morning. I've got to get working on the paying projects in a couple of minutes, so I'll just get right down to it, after I say that life is pretty good right now, so don't worry.

***************************

BAM, BAM, BAM.

The pounding not only shook the doorframe, it shook the wall. I could feel my cord shudder in its plug.

"Open the f***ing door!" A male voice, slurred with drink and drugs. I was guessing it belonged to Ryan. Such a charmer, waking the entire building at 2:30 in morning.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen." Jen muttered.

"You're gonna give me the f***ing rent money, and you're doin' it now."

I watched as she sat up in bed, glanced at the clock and winced. Someone on the floor below was pounding on the ceiling with a broomstick in a non-verbal complaint about the racket Ryan was making. The sound was unmistakeable.

"I gave it to the landlord yesterday." The word asshole was implied, but not stated.

"You what?" He was stunned, and outraged.

"I ran into him in the hall." She took a deep breath. "He demanded the money and he told me that if we didn't catch up on last month in the next week he was throwing us out."

There was a pregnant pause. I could hear Carrie in the background. "Last month? Ryan, last month was when I . . . you had me . . . I mean, that's the only reason I . . ." She sounded like she was starting to cry and I had a feeling I didn't want to know what Ryan had had her do to earn their part of the rent.

Ryan's voice was gruff. "He's a lying bastard. I gave him that money."

Even I could tell he was lying, and it's not like I came with polygraph software.

"Look," Jen said with more calm and patience than I would've been able to muster, "I paid him for this month. I don't have any more money. I have to go to work in the morning and I need some sleep. Good night." She flopped down onto her mattress, pulling the blankets up over her head. It took a while for her to fall asleep though. No surprise. Hard to relax when you can clearly hear the sound of your roommate's heartbroken sobs through the closed door.

Wednesday Morning

Good Morning!

Okay, yes, it's been a few days. Maybe even a week or so. (I'm not sure. I didn't look.) You probably wonder what I've been up to. (Then again, maybe not. But we'll pretend you do so I have something to write about besides ENJOY THE 4th!!)

I am a workaholic.

I don't think about that too often. And I usually don't think of myself that way. But my son has accused me of it more than once, and, looking at the evidence, he's probably right. I have the day job. I have the writing. And when I'm not at one, I'm generally doing the other. I have had 1 vacation in my adult life that wasn't work or family related. Since I am a (ahem) mature adult, that's pretty freaking pathetic.

So I took 3 days off. Totally off. Laid around and READ. As you probably guessed, most writers are avid readers. But what no one tells you is that, once you start writing professionally the grueling deadlines make it VERY difficult to find time to read. Particularly so if you have a day job (which most of us do for the first several years).

I read 5½ books in 3 days. I blasted through the 2nd to most recent Vladamir Tod (Excellent YA Heather, by the way. Congrats!) And I went through 4 of the Sookie Stackhouse books. I was starting to re-read a particularly good section and wound up getting so caught up in it that I read to the end again. A sign of an excellent book. BIG kudos to Charlaine Harris (who doesn't need mine, she's got plenty more important ones stacked up. But she deserves every one.)

Alas, I am now back at the day job and must get to work.

Take care.

Good news on the horizon. I'll keep you posted.

Cie/C.T. Adams

It's Sunday and Father's Day

It's Father's Day, and my father is one of the best. I love him dearly, and am sad that I'm on the far side of the country today and can't give him a hug. But the good that I have and what good I am and do can be traced directly back to my father and mother. They are incredibly good people.

Serial (Finally)

The apartment building was a dump. The carpet was older than I was, worn through in spots, with stains I didn't want to contemplate. She even had to avoid a couple of soft spots in the floor. I hoped that wasn't the sound of rodents I was hearing in the walls, but it wouldn't have surprised me. I could hear sounds from almost every apartment, the walls were simply that thin.

She carried me up three flights of stairs before she reached her goal, a paper-thin door with peeling pale-green paint the worn metal numbers reading 302. She kicked gently at the bottom of the door and shouted "Carrie, let me in. My arms are full."

There was some grumbling from inside and the door was jerked open by a rumpled looking female, her eyes half-lidded from sleep.

"Jen? You got a computer?!" Her eyes came fully open, her voice ringing out loud and clear.

"SHHHHHH! You don't need to shout it out to the neighborhood. Do you want us to get robbed?" My new owner shoved past her irritably, making her way to the kitchen. She set my box on the table and rummaged a set of keys out of her pocked. She selected the newest, still bright and shiny, and slid it into an equally new deadbolt installed in the first door in the hall outside the kitchen. "Is Ryan still out of town?" She opened the door, revealing a clean, but spartan bedroom. Propping the door open with the nearest book (there were a lot of them) she came back to retrieve me.

"He's back. He went to the liquor store. I should probably warn you, he's pissed about the deadbolt. Said, 'What? She thinks we're going to steal her goddamned books? Like that's gonna happen.'"

She leaned against the doorframe, watching as Jen began unloading my component parts and setting them up on the desk she'd created using an old wooden door and some cinderblocks. She'd cleverly filled the knob hole with a plastic drinking glass to use as a pencil cup. More bricks and boards had created the shelves that lined one whole wall---shelves filled with worn books and magazines from the classics to tabloids. It was all neat. All organized, and completely alien to the rest of the apartment.

"It's not the books." Jen answered tersely. Her expression was closed off, her eyes dark and angry.

Carrie sighed. "I can't believe you're still pissed about that. Nothing happened. He was high as a kite." There was a long pause. "He even apologized." She made that sound like a miracle. Apparently Ryan never apologized for anything. And he hated books. Maybe I was being judgmental, but I was beginning to really dislike the guy, and I hadn't even met him.

"Don't tell him about the computer." Jen said seriously. "I got it at the junk shop. It's old. He wouldn't be able to get any money for it. But he'd give me shit about it. You know he would."

Carrie pulled away from the doorframe and shambled toward the sofa without answering.

"I mean it Carrie. Promise me you won't tell. It'll just cause trouble."

Carrie sank onto the couch, curling up under a bunch of none-too-clean looking blankets. I heard her mumble something unintelligible, but I was betting it wasn't a promise.

Cool Factor/Chill Factor

I feel as though I may need to explain myself a bit. I don't care if other people think I'm cool. I care that I'm boring myself. For me the cool factor is being able to be whimsical and have fun without having there be dire social consequences. The smaller the area, and the more conservative, the less opportunity there usually is for fun, and the less tolerance there is for whimsy.

I am in a very small and VERY conservative community. So I feel constrained. Maybe they're not constraining me (or not deliberately) but I feel it nonetheless. Thus, I have lost my coolness. Because of how I feel, not because of other people's perceptions.

Does that make sense?


Cie

Good Morning to All

Good morning!

I only have a couple minutes before I have to start the day job, but I thought I'd drop a line before I did.

First, I have forwarded the beginnings of the proposal I was working on this weekend to be reviewed. I am hoping it passes muster. One of my worries was that the teenagers would sound like they were thirty. I am not a youngster. My son is an adult. It's not like I hear "teen" around me much. Still, I think it went better in third person than in first. I apparently can sound like a teen better than I can THINK like one. (For which I think we should all now pause and be grateful. LOL I was, admittedly, a bit of a handful as a teen. And I DEFINITELY had a mind of my own.)

ANYWAY, I hope to get input before I go much farther down the road into the book because, well, I want to get input. If it is dreadful, I'd rather they ripped off the bandage in one agonizing pull than have it linger, wasting my energy and time for months.

I am in the midst of a short story that isn't exactly late (because it didn't exactly have a deadline) but REALLY should've been done weeks ago, except I stopped to do the proposal, and go through tax documents (still not done, but at least 1/3 through now, making headway), and do all that life and businessy stuff.

I have also come to the conclusion that I am not cool. This is somewhat alarming. I was the cool aunt. I was a reasonably cool mom. (I was a SERIOUSLY uncool teen, but a lot of the most interesting people I know were). But I've somewhere along the way lost "much of my muchness." I can be funny. Clever even. But passing into middle age I lost my "cool factor." I think perhaps part of it is that I have been unhappy and in a small town, where indulging my basic nature would probably get me at least reprimanded at work and whispered and gossipped about around town.

I miss cool. I miss wearing hats when I want, and my leather biker jacket. I MISS PLAYING POOL, and hanging out in diners, playing video games and going places where the Muzak is Muzak rather than a country station that plays stuff that puts my teeth on edge. (I am positive there is good country music. It just doesn't seem to get much play where I am.)

Ah, time to work. Toodles.

Cie

Good Morning

Hi guys!

Inkspot the Infamous is determined, DETERMINED that I will not type another word until he has been appropriately appreciated, loved, petted on and generally indulged. Working around a large black furball with claws is NOT easy.

[LONG PAUSE--INSERT PURRING AND NUDGING]

Okay, MAYBE I can type a little more. [NOPE]

Now, I have been working hard on re-working a proposal that was originally going to be a graphic novel, but now probably isn't. It's very exciting, but it has a completely and totally different voice, tone, and well . . . everything from the Saturday AM Breakfast Serial that is running now. Since I HAVE to get that done I am going to do it this morning, and reward myself with serial after dinner. So, please tune back in either tonight or tomorrow a.m. for our latest adventure with Ed.

My apologies for any inconvenience, but my brain isn't as young as it used to be, nor is it as flexible.

Bestest.

Cie

Looking Determinedly on the Bright Side

I am looking determinedly on the bright side.

For example. The going away party started late, so by the time we got to the non-Mexican-food restaurant it was too full for a party of seven. We could not eat on the patio because someone had parked a cattle truck somewhere nearby and we all were agreed that the smell was somewhat less than appetizing. Besides, there's just something wrong about me ordering a steak and eating it under the eyes of a future steak. Yeah, they don't know. But STILL.

ANYWAY, we ended up going to one of the Mexican food restaurants. (NOT the one that gave me ohmigawdImayjustdie food poisoning, but Mexican food nonetheless. I sat at the far end of the table, in the farthest corner of the room away from the kitchen and ordered plain old American food. I did my very best not to look at or get downwind of my co-workers Mexican food. Thus I did not end up tossing my cookies during the meal and effectively ruining the going-away party. WOO HOO.

Example two is the launch of BLOOD SONG.

I am very freakin' proud of that book. We worked our asses off on it. As primary I am particularly assless (NOT--it grew back almost instantly, dammit). And in less than 24 hours after release there were pirate sites offering it.

In the morning there was only one that Cathy found. At 12:00 when Cathy checked, still only one (although the attorneys at the publisher were about to pounce on that). At 1:00 there were 15 new ones.

In one hour 15 more had put it up.

Okay, I could scream and rant like a lot of folks, because it's stealing, and it's stealing from me and DAMMIT I WORKED HARD ON THAT BOOK. BUT, I am determined to look on the bright side. So after deciding that it wasn't really feasible to try to hunt down each of the perpetrators and kick them in the N... (SHINS, I was going to say SHINS.) I decided to look at it this way. They liked the book well enough, and thought it was good enough, that they got right out there and moved in on it. In a perverse way it shows interest, and appreciation. Right? RIGHT? At least that's how I intend to take it -- all the while turning them over to the legal types who will kick them in the N. . . SHINS metaphorically.

SO, the book is out. It is being appreciated (hopefully mostly by those folks who pay for it legally and/or check it out of their local library). This is a good thing.

Now let me say for the record, IF a book isn't available in e-format and you are a die-hard e type, I'm willing to look the other way. But this is a brand-new release and the publisher was kind enough to make sure it was put out in every conceivable format they could come up with. SO, that's no excuse. And I don't go for the whole "test drive" theory either. You don't get to test-drive a movie by going to the theater and watching it then coming out and saying "Nah, didn't like it. Gimme my money back." Entertainment is inexpensive enough that you don't get to treat it like buying a freakin' car.

So you will have to pardon me a bit. For while I will insist on being flattered that they like it well enough to steal it. I will also be more than a little ticked that they're freakin' STEALING MY BOOK.

LAUNCH DAY

GOOD MORNING!

Today is the official release date for Blood Song. I am seriously excited. The reviews have ben stellar, the buzz is good. My only worry is that there may not be copies on the shelves. SO, if you don't see it ASK FOR IT. Order it. Tell people about it. Because if people don't see it they may not know it's out there. And with the smaller trade paperback prints run and good preorders it's really possible you/they won't see it.

(Cie is now climbing off of her soap box).

Had a really good launch event at Bitten By Books (bittenbybooks.com) Lots of good questions and discussion.

Not much else to say. I've been working hard.

Today is the last day at work for a friend of mine. She got a terrific new job, but I will certainly miss her. The trick is we're taking her out to lunch today and most of the resaurants in town are Mexican restaurants. After my severe bout of food poisoning recently I can't even think about dealing with Mexican food. If I have to I'll go and just have nachos--chips and cheese only with no additions. But I hope we do something else. Because even the smell makes me nauseous now.

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Okay, I'm back from a flying trip to Denver. (I mean it. I only had 24 hours and a full-single page to-do list.) I am proud to say I accomplished ALMOST everything. WOO HOOO!!!Today is going to be a busy day as well. Paperwork out the wazoo. SO, the serial is going to be more of a snack than a meal. I'll try to do better next week. :)

*****************************

They dickered. The kid wasn't bad at it, but she was up against a pro. Still, I'd been sitting around the shop for a while, and the type of folks who frequented this store weren't exactly my, ahem, type. (Pardon the pun.) So in the end agreement was reached, and in a completely unexpected (and I do mean completely unexpected) burst of generosity Ethel tossed in the printer and the books. Of course I didn't have anything to do with that. No. Absolutely not. I mean, Ethel is just a naturally generous type.

Unh hunh. You betcha. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

In no time I was boxed up and lugged out to an ancient but serviceable blue VW Beetle.

If I'd had lungs, I would've cheered as the shop became a distant speck in the rear-view mirror.