A frenzy of revision has ended with Sons of Ymre #2 heading off to the editor, just in time for proof pages on something else to land. Publishing is always a game of festina lente, and not in the way Augustus originally meant it, either. I always thought Marcus Aurelius would have been a better one to coin that aphorism; certainly I think he’d use it in the modern military sense.
Anyway, Jake’s story has reached its final fighting form, and even copyedits won’t change much more than a tentacle or two. I also did some outlining on the next serial–not very much, because I’m more a pantser than a plotter and this particular story needs room and time to breathe. Still, I wanted a little more scaffolding before I set it aside to marinate and turned to the two last revises I have scheduled–Riversinger and Minnowsharp needs its polish before it goes to the editor, and so do both seasons of Hell’s Acre. They’re all exhausting in different ways, and I’m still not sure the latter will see wide publication.
But that’s a problem for another day.
We’re having a most favonian week, as Nabokov would say. Today it’s going to hit 78F, according to the weatherfolk, which is just a smidge too warm for my taste but ah well. It will mean we can have all the windows open, and I’ve pre-gamed by getting that done before coffee. My office window is currently standing wide, and I can already hear a bee-hum. Pretty sure one or two of the little sods are going to hitch a ride on me today–which is fine, as long as they don’t try to climb into my ear. I dislike that; it never ends well for either of us.
I’m glad to finally have Jake’s story off the docket. Now it’s only line edits, CEs, and proofs for that particular book, and afterward that duology can be laid to rest. My editor had fond hopes for an additional book dealing with one of the Fathers, probably Robert–who was, let’s face it, a good dude, though I like Miklos in the second book better–but I can’t see how I’d do that without fast-forwarding at least a decade in that world. It’s best to just leave it as it lays, as my grandfather would say, and move on to a different brand of paranormal romance. I’ll have to dredge through the compost heap and see what looks juicy green, because when it comes to writing romances I have no intention of stopping. I like having those little bits of light between playing in other genres.
Boxnoggin is thrilled by the sunny weather. Well, thrilled is kind of a strong term. He loves that his tender toesies aren’t getting damp except in the more low-lying parts of the park, and once he adjusts to having the windows open he’ll enjoy whatever news the wind brings to his cute little snoot. But open windows mean otherwise muffled sounds are entering the house loud and clear, and he’s not a big fan of that.
In fact, his dumb, very loud ass alerts to every single stray noise, and will until he accepts this as the new normal. This happens yearly; fortunately, since his memory is gloriously short, it won’t take long for him to settle in. Even if we return to cooler spring weather after this, one window or another will be ajar until some point in the fall–or until there’s a summer scorch involving wildfires, in which case we’ll close everything up, turn on the AC, and hope.
I’m not thinking about that right now, either. I’ve managed to clear a lot of work in the past few weeks, and am looking at more feverish activity until the Spring’s Arcana release. Speaking of that, there’s a Goodreads giveaway for that book, and you can sign up to attend the virtual launch party, too. I’m going to be hyperventilating and nervous until a few days after said release, so that’ll be fun. (Check out the last few April sales, too, if you’re in the mood for reading material.)
Speaking of, I’d best get some brekkie and out the door. A morning run before the heat builds will help purge some of the nervousness and return me to whatever zen can be found. You’d think after seventy-plus books or so, I’d be used to release-day nerves. But I’m not, I’m not.
Anyway, I have a whole lot of work to do and the urge to listen to John Denver–the original Rocky Mountain High video makes me giggle fondly, and I have no trouble admitting as much. (Especially the “chased by a bear” editing.) Thursday’s well underway and the coffee’s down to dregs.
Off I go.