When I woke this morning, my intentions were to finish reading Anton Strout's awesome new urban fantasy, DEAD TO ME, write up something swank to send him, and then print my manuscript so I could do my read through. Only intentions and days often don't go as planned.
There I was, minding my business, again reading DEAD TO ME. A fire crackling behind the glass (okay, there's no sound 'cuz it's gas, just roll with it). The dogs knew something was up before me. You see, it's been raining and snowing off and on all week, a wintry mix, if you will. But today, the clouds parted and the sun's rays columned into the loft, warming and yet also signaling the coming of something so magnificent as to shake me to my very core.
That's right, people! I think you're following me.
I heard the low rumbling and burst from my reading chair, tossing the ARC of DEAD TO ME across the room in my haste. I thought of you, gentle reader, as I bounded the coffee table and raced for the stairs to grab my camera from the landing. Knowing all along you'd want to experience this momentous occasion. Be right there with me when out of the mist it rolled like a big fat white angel (with red and blue lettering).
The FUCKING Fed Ex Truck!
Not simply the crackhead misdeliverers of cell phones. No. They also deliver white envelopes from New York Publishing Houses. See? Oh God do you see?
I tore open the end, but could hardly bring myself to peek inside. What if it were some cruel joke played by my editor and his assistant--they've taken so much joy from my torture over the past two weeks. But I bit back the resentment and leaned in.
All fixed up an purdy. Like a new father I checked it immediately for deformities. Richelle Mead's blurb on the cover? Yep, right there like a sweet little toe. Jackie's on the back, like a fully formed spine, no spinabifida here. No sir. The text boxes look awesome with their gothy/Moorish tile accent. I'm in love.
And that blurb, that I spent a frantic $40 dollars on shipping to make sure was on the advance praise page? Aw yes, she's there, too. You can figure out who it is, if you like, hint, she's also in Footnote 75. Here's a blurry artifact, a clue (can you make it out?).
Anyway, moving on.
Needless to say, I was so excited I had to rush back down stairs to grab the phone, nearly slipping on Anton Strout's DEAD TO ME, which skittered away into the dust bunnies and lost dog toys under the couch. My wife was similarly excited, as were friends/family who will be oohing and aahing these lovelies over a greasy-handed hamburger dinner, tonight.
In closing, I say thank you to the Gods of publishing, zombies and overnight delivery.
Oh yeah, I just checked the date, mailed yesterday.
Please Note: No actual copies of Anton Strout's DEAD TO ME were harmed in the making of this photo essay. Also I knew that these weren't the same batch as were sent last week. John was nice and overnighted these so that I wouldn't chew off my own fingers in anticipation of Saturday.