Squeee!

Okay–if I could only load one picture, I’m glad it was that one!

Anyway–I FINALLY ! got my author copies!!! Huzzah huzzah huzzah!

Chicken thought she was taking four of them to school. I had to explain that, while yes, I had written the book more for her and her brother than my other books, that meant that I hadn’t written them FOR her, as in THEY’RE NOT ALL HERS. She seemed most put out. I advised her to read the book first, and then tell me if she really liked it that much or if she just wanted to read it because it’s mom’s books. She’s still pretty put out because I matched ‘Roes’ up with Aldam, instead of Aylan. She seemed to think Aylan was hotter. I refrained from mentioning that Aylan and Roes would have killed each other as an item, while Aldam was the perfect match of sweet for her tart. She’s thirteen–it would have started a bloodbath.

And Big T? Well, first he asked me if he had to read the Prologue. I said yes. He said he wanted to start ‘right into the story’. I told him that the Prologue was so ‘right into the story’ that it was 1/2 way through the next book. He said it got in the way of the story. I told him just to read. Then he asked why there was a ferocious cat on the cover. I told him that if it was going to be like this as he read the whole thing, I wouldn’t let him read this one either. He glared at me and put it in his backpack. I glared at him and told him I hope he enjoyed the book. Ah, bonding!

So, whew. That’s it. I officially have published four books, without neither agent nor publisher to be seen.

It’s not a bad feeling. It’s not winning the lottery or losing 100 lbs, but it’s not losing your pants in front of 1000 people, either. Of course, the reviews on the typos have yet to come in–that last part will come, I’m sure.

And now, (picture me, huddling all my female readers into a corner and looking sideways to see if any of the male readers are listening. Please let them not be. This is for WOMENS ONLY! ) I’ve got a squirrelly round about question for you…

Have you ever, erm, had dreams about people you work with? You know, dreams that your perfectly sane conscious mind would stab itself in the cortex with an ice-pick before it allowed to pass through the gray matter, but that your subconscious mind thinks are just dandy, and probably symbolic, but not the thing (you know, the THING) that they seem to symbolize to your conscious mind because, well, your subconscious is not about the sex, it’s all about the life path and the conscious mind sees the sex and screams AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! except quietly, so nobody notices that YOU CAN NOT SCRUB THIS MENTAL IMAGE OUT OF YOUR BRAIN WITH A TOOTHBRUSH AND BORIC ACID? You know, those dreams?

Yeah, me neither. And if I did, I don’t remember them. I swear. Honest. For real. (Anybody out there have any mental hygiene supplies? Just asking… Jungian gum? Freudian mints? Cortex therapy rinse? No? Do you know where I could get some? No, no, no reason. None at all. Honest. It’s all good. Nothing to see here.)

I’m gonna go watch some zombie movies so I don’t sleep again. EVER.

‘NIGHT!