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The holidays, as usual, have been a dizzying whirl of social activities, food, and gifts. We got a chance to visit with family and friends, and our jeans are fitting more snugly than they did just a couple months ago. With the crazy season behind us, it's time to turn our attention to the coming year.

Patty ventured back out to the office trailer, which has been abandoned for several weeks. It needs a good scrubbing; the tiny office was never intended to be lived in for months. We got about half of it cleaned up, and Patty decided that she needed to start writing. So, surrounded by the detritus of our refugee status, among the scattered books and possibly-important mail, she has been crafting a new novel.

Her inspiration for the current scene came from Thanksgiving holiday. No, not from the chaos and drama of the traditional family feast, but from what follows the actual holiday. . . Black Friday.

Is it just me, or does that name sound like something from a bad fantasy novel? "Beware the ides of March, and venture thee not from thy hearth upon Black Friday." (My apologies to Shakespeare) Hokey. . . but indubitably sound advice.

So this year one of our dear friends, Ann, decided she wanted to "Do Black Friday". Patty, either innocent or masochistic, agreed to accompany her. Being of sound mind, I declined. The two of them left for town, cackling like madwomen, just before midnight. They returned with the fruits of their shopping long after the sun had risen. For the next week everyone was regaled with stories of what happened in the intervening hours: The terrified employee tasked with opening the doors at Target to admit throngs of shoppers. The crazy ladies sprinting for the dress racks at some boutique I'd never heard of. The tidal surges of humanity hoping to get a cheap X-box at Walmart. My resolve to avoid Black Friday grew stronger with each retelling. In fact, I would prefer to be off planet during the next one, just for safety.

As the girls showed off their loot, I struggled to define my feelings. I was embarrassed, a little disgusted, and morbidly fascinated. I felt the same way after paying to see a bullfight in South America. They'd hold up an item (like some dish towels in an ugly holiday plaid), and tell the story. "These were originally $2.79, but there were three of them in a bin for fifty percent off, and I got all three. There was another woman eying one of them, but I grabbed it before she could shove her way past the old lady in a wheelchair!"

It's the worst of American consumerism mixed with a bit of the Roman gladiator spirit. Our total expenses were just over a hundred dollars in purchases, a full tank of gas, a few snacks and a breakfast out on the town. Not to mention a full day of lost productivity due to lost sleep. We saved something like seventy dollars by buying a bunch of junk we didn't need.

The most baffling part, to me, is that this is considered (despite all evidence) a great victory. It reminds me of guys discussing hunting season. They buy a hundred dollar permit, a six-hundred dollar gun, and spend a few hundred in gas and food to use up half their yearly vacation in a an attempt to shoot a deer with maybe seventy-five pounds of usable meat. And those that succeed call it a victory, and tell the story of the hunt for years, and are envied by all who hear the tale. Hail the conquering hero!

And so it came to pass that each trinket and useless holiday-themed knick-knack was hoisted up, and the tales were told. And we we who had stayed behind felt ashamed, and held our manhood cheap, and dared not discuss the merits of the purchase. And thus (I am told) was Black Friday, and so shall it ever be, when victory goes to the fleet, and the bargain to those who endure.

A reader recently commented that there was something curious on the books page here at Hurog. You see, Masques and Wolvesbane deal with a dark, brooding enigmatic hero who happens to change into a wolf. Oh, and a plucky heroine who also changes shape, and there's lots of little flirtatious looks and glances, and true love makes an appearance. Genre? Fantasy.

On the same page, we find Mercy and Adam. The shape-changing sweethearts with a nose for trouble, living in the major metropolis of Finley (population 2000). Genre? Urban Fantasy. Anna and Charles, the lycanthrope lovers, actually share the same world. Their books, however, are considered Paranormal Romance. What's going on here?

Welcome to curious and highly mutable world of genre fiction. There are doubtless hundreds or thousands of postings about genre, and it's a perennial topic for convention panels. Authors complain endlessly that their latest masterpiece was miscategorized. I've heard some authors claiming that their work transcends genre. Thinking about it, I'm not convinced that's a desirable outcome.

The fiction universe is vast. Things that really happened (or at least probably happened) are classified as "non fiction". But all of the strange, wondrous and surprising things that never happened are classified as fiction. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that, mathematically, for every thing that did happen there must be many more that didn't (and a good many of those will be a good deal more interesting than whatever happened instead). So, ipso facto, the fiction universe is far larger than the non-fiction one.

Readers, however, have preferences. They don't want to wander aimlessly in an uncharted, chaotic maelstrom of fiction; they want to read stories that scratch their particular itch. So the vastness is divided, like with like, forming islands and continents of similar material, and among the divisions maps are drawn. There's the small continent called fantasy, which has geographically distinct regions like high, epic, humorous, heroic and time-travel. There's horror, which used to be a small, isolated island, but recent eruptions have created dark urban fantasy, and a host of still-forming monster-infested islands around it.

But wait a minute, who divides this stuff up? Who decides what goes where,and more importantly, who should we blame? That's where things get muddy, and the answer is that virtually everybody has something to do with it. The bookstores break fiction into various sections to help their readers find what they want. The publishers try to nudge books into appropriate market segments (sometimes overtly, and somtimes very subtly through cover art and colors). Readers ultimately drive the whole process by their selective purchases.

If a bunch of readers suddenly decide that they want to read fiction about a world where Victorian mores and technology are combined with space travel, the industry will attempt to satisfy that need. More books with those elements may be purchased, covers altered to more openly advertise this fact. Finally, stories combining those elements will be shelved together to make sure that the intrepid reader buys all of them. As reader's tastes change, or popular authors branch off in slightly new directions, the categories and their contents also shift.

So, years ago some talented authors like Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, and Jim Butcher popularized books with paranormal elements in modern urban settings. Readership grew, and bookstores started shelving "Urban Fantasy" separately. Of course, authors like Charles de Lint, Tim Powers and Emma Bull had been writing urban fantasy years before it became popular enough to get it's own section in the bookstore.

In those relatively early days, most urban fantasy was loosely modeled after the potboiler detective novel. There was always a hot love interest, but the stories were mostly mysteries, usually with a generous heaping of dead bodies and some elements borrowed straight from horror. However, several authors soon launched similar stories where the love interest was the major focus. Alas, readers who prefer plot-driven mysteries don't always enjoy character driven romances. No problem. Bam! The love stories got labeled "paranormal romance" and readers could find their particular passion again.

However, things change over time. Urban fantasy has branched and broadened. It's not just werewolves and vampires any more, and the plot certainly doesn't have to be a mystery. Paranormal romance, on the other hand, has ventured much closer to erotica than it's early iterations.

So, when a reader asked why we classified the Alpha and Omega novels as paranormal romance, I took the question to Patty. She said, "But those aren't paranormal romance, they're urban fantasy." I pointed out the series descriptions that she helped write, and she said, "Oh, those are really old. Now they'd be considered urban fantasy." I told her I'd make the necessary changes <grin>.

Genre's aren't rigid definitions. They're fluffy and imprecise and mutable. It's got nothing to do with quality or rarity, and everything to do with helping the readers find stories they enjoy. And, as an author, if you really have managed to write a book that defies grenre classification, your book is on the genre equivalent of Gilligan's Island. That book will either attract enough readers to start a whole new genre, or exist in virtual isolation, largely overlooked by readers.

Over the past several years, authors have been repeatedly admonished to promote themselves. This started as good advice. Over a few years it gradually became dogma, and eventually some sort of pseudo-religious obligation. This summer we were at a very nice convention (and I won't tell you which one, hah!) and attending the obligatory, but always interesting, panel on author promotion. There were the usual chestnuts of "blog daily, twitter several times a day, don't forget to re-tweet and engage the reader, and make sure you promote your work on at least twenty (but not more than thirty) percent of your posts. Heads were nodding, notes were diligently taken.

I sat in the audience feeling much like an unrepentant sinner in church. My thoughts running something like this: "That's probably good advice, and we're not doing it."

"Should we repent? We have a Twitter account . . ."

"It doesn't matter, I just can't do that. It's not who I am."

"Stop your sniveling and suck it up, cupcake. This is business. What do you think you get not-paid for? If those books don't sell, Patty won't be the only one eating grubs and twigs!"

"Better grubs and twigs than learning to, ugh, re-tweet the posts of popular posters."

"Pathetic whiner!"

"Despotic Tyrant!"

Yes, I might have schizophrenic tendencies, but I agree with both of me. In the front, the speakers were talking about the importance of free giveaways, and the opportunities presented by offering outtakes, bonus scenes, and exclusive on-line stories for your readers. And then it happened, a single hand was raised and a hesitant neophyte addressed the panel. His concern was that, with a day job, a wife and two children he wasn't sure he could do all of this and still find time to write.

My ears pricked, and I raised my head from the posture of contrition. This man had dared voice what I have privately held true, that authors should spend most of their workday crafting stories. After all, wrestling with viewpoint, characters, pacing, dialog, plot and setting is challenging enough without single-handedly wrestling the internet into submission as your personal marketing machine. I breathed a hopeful breath . . .and heard the panelists chanting "Shun the unbeliever. Shun the unbeliever. Shun! Shun!" or something vaguely along those lines.

Still, I have wondered how dedicated authors find time to actually do all the things the author promotion religion demands suggestions recommend. Today, Patty and I found the answers. Meljean Brook is a tremendously talented author. Over the past several days, her blog has contained an absolutely charming series entitled, Diary of an Author, which explains exactly how this marketing should be accomplished! Meljean is my Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I see clearly now.

We hung the first version of a website for Patty back in 1996. We had attended a couple of conventions, and the self-promotion movement was just gaining steam. We couldn't afford to launch a media campaign or a signing tour, but we could bodge a few web pages together. Our first attempt was called The Writer's Cottage and had a really cheesy "rustic cottage" motif. Even so, figuring out how to display content on the internet was far easier than deciding what to display.

We decided that we wanted this to be a “professional” site. A giant advertisement in glowing pixels designed to hijack the attention of any web-weary traveler who stumbled in and convince them to buy a book or two. This approach was both obvious and unoriginal. Fortunately, we saw a few cringe-worthy examples of commercial author sites with scrolling text and flashing "Buy It Now" buttons, and went back to the drawing board.

Ultimately, we decided to keep the books page updated with everything we can think of that a reader might want to know about Patty's writing. That part of the site may go several months without changes. We decided that the home paged needed more regular changes, so people would know that the site wasn't abandoned. We called these little changes "updating the home page", but times change, and at some point people started calling it a blog. Which, brings us back to the problem of what to write about here.

Ask twenty authors what they blog about, and you'll get thirty opinions. Some authors have fascinating hobbies, and others have interesting careers. Some are extroverts who will happily blog about the intimate details of their life. There's probably no right answer. I'm amazed by the folks who can come up with a scintillating blog nearly every day. Within a week, I'd be sharing my recipe for Cheerios (hint: add milk). Ultimately, we've decided that we can use this site to share some details of our lives, and some of the concerns and details of making a living as an author. We try to keep it chatty, and friendly, and fairly short. Sort of, "This is our front porch, and we're so happy you stopped by."

Cue Nostalgia . . .

Patty and I grew up back in the 60's and 70's in rural America. That ineffable kind of golden-hued dream that Norman Rockwell paintings tried to capture. Front porches were an important part of the culture. You see, a front porch was a middle ground, neither in the house nor on the street. A place to chat about the weather, and discuss the church bazzar. A place a housewife could talk to the mailman without inviting gossip. A place to meet that didn't let visitors see the dirty dishes in your sink. The front porch was not the place to discuss business matters, or engage in political or philosophical discussion. Weighty topics were reserved for after-dinner discussion in the den.

Some authors are daring. They blog about politics, social injustice, and crusade for their favorite charities. We've occasionally had requests to promote one agenda or another here, many of them worthy causes that honestly deserve more attention. Many times I've started to pen a serious entry, and worked up a good head of steam, only to finally decide against it. That's not what front porches are for.

Now, if I could only figure out how to serve lemonade and cookies. . .

So I'm sitting in my office. The big clunky tower of my computer humming almost inaudibly beside my desk. A desk which is normally pretty clean but today is littered with debris. Two model space ships, a leather-bound notebook, a large candle that claims to smell of "Autumn Wreath". There's an ethernet cable or two, and a hammer to one side. A pair of reading glasses sits next to a plate that held cookies a short while ago, but is now empty. Odd, I don't remember eating them. I'll have to go get some more, and this time I'll make sure I remember eating them.

Behind me, about half of the room has a nice hardwood floor. It should have taken a scant half-day to get the floor installed, but I'm on day three. We've been moving things in from the conex containers to the house, but there's no place to put anything. I still need to build shelving for the closets, and bookshelves in the living room, and a vanity for the small bathroom. There's a few brackets that need to be installed under the breakfast bar, and the toe-kicks for the kitchen cabinets. Doors need staining, and there's several bits to trim yet to do. The list seems endless. Strangley, I just can't seem to get motivated.

Behind me, a pile of tools stares accusingly at my back. They're ready to go. There's work to be done, so why am I sitting here? Looking over in the corner, there's a filing cabinet full of electronic components. Microcontrollers, relays, lights. I should finish the floor, but it would be more fun to tinker. Maybe I'll build a driveway alarm. I could wire up an infrared transmitter to an inductive coil buried beside the road, and the receiver could simply trip the doorbell. I'd need a small solar panel to power it, and that means a trip to town, just in time for lunch . .

I can't help but wonder if this is what writer's block feels like for an author. I know what needs to be done, and I have the skill and tools to do it, but I just can't seem to find the spark. I can't go read a book, that would be lazy, but I can't seem to focus on the tasks before me either. Maybe it has something to do with the cold, grey skies outside. Maybe I need to go get those cookies . . . and then I'll do the floor. After I check my email. Again.

Last weekend Patty and I traveled halfway across the country to attend VisionCon in Springfield Missouri. Somehow, I had mentally assumed Missouri to be one of the "Southern" states, but the overall vibe was more mid-western.

There's something ubiquitous about fandom. Even though we didn't know anyone at this convention, in a strange way we know all of them. The handsome gentleman in the meticulously-crafted Captain America costume; the woman whose Victorian corset pushes an alarming amount of cleavage to the top of her steampunk outfit; the lanky gamer wearing jeans and Converse sneakers with a giant dagger threaded on his belt, coming back from hospitality with a burrito and three cans of Mountain Dew. I don't know their names, but they're the archetypes of fandom, and I've met them a hundred times. These are our people. They get our lame jokes and obscure references to Ed Wood films or Lovecraftian lore. More than a few of them could co-star on The Big Bang Theory. Gamers, nerds, misunderstood geniuses and bibliophiles of all stripes, joining together to celebrate the things we love. We're a thousand miles from our house, but we're home again, and caught up in the whirl of friends we haven't met yet.

VisionCon was a medium-sized con, with a lot of energy and boundless enthusiasm. The panels we attended were packed with interested folks. The filk room was surprisingly fun, and I learned a few songs that I don't think have washed ashore on the West coast yet. The dance and party on Saturday ran until the wee hours of the night. Sunday, we had to leave early to catch our flight. I had hoped to say goodbye to some of our new friends, but the Saturday night festivities took a heavy toll, and there were few early risers on Sunday. So, here's a much-belated "Thank You" to the staff and attendees of VisionCon. We had a grand time, and we know how much work it takes to put on a convention. You guys rock!

Awesome Author Alert

Of course Patty was far from the only author attending VisionCon. We spent some time chatting with a very interesting gentleman who had sold his first book through a small press publisher.

OK, full disclosure time. We meet a lot of authors, from big-name mega-stars to eager beginners. One thing we've learned is that not only can you not judge a book by its cover, you also can't judge a book by its author. Personally, I haven't had very good luck finding books I enjoy by self-published authors, and many of the small-press titles are extremely avant garde, or wildly esoteric, and seldom appeal to me. Before I get tarred and feathered by the angry hoards, I'd like to emphasize that this is only my experience, and obviously there are plenty of folks who disagree.

So, the author we were chatting with was Ben Reeder. I found him articulate, intense, and surprisingly charming. Of course, there's plenty of dreck written by smart and charming people. I attended his reading, and was pleasantly surprised by the engaging character, and high-octane action. So, after the reading, I bought a copy of his book with a smile (after all, it's always good karma to support authors), to read on the flight home. I admit that I had a "backup book" by a favorite author tucked away just in case.

The backup book came home unread, and I spent a couple of hours fighting the post-convention exhaustion to finish Ben's novel. It was good, and better than good. Not perfect (and the cover art earned me a couple of strange looks), but enough to convince me that some small press books stack up nicely against anything the big houses can crank out. I'll definitely be buying the sequel. More importantly, after reading his debut novel, I can't wait to see what Ben brings to the table in a couple of years when he's had a chance to stretch his wings a bit.

For those looking for a compelling YA read, be sure to check out The Sorcerer's Apprentice by Ben Reeder.

So a week or so ago my faithful desktop started generating disk errors on startup. I wasn't too worried, as I was running mirrored disks. I've recovered from similar failures many times, usually without much trouble. This was the exception, and I didn't get things running smoothly until about 2:00 AM, after taking fairly drastic measures.

I'm always surprised by how much computer work is needed around here. We're basically running a small business, but you'd think a laptop and a word processor should be sufficient. It's not. With Patty's assistant, Ann, there's three of us rattling around here. Patty and Ann both use laptops, but have docking stations with a full set of peripherals. I have the giant desktop. There's three monster printers, two scanners, and a variety of other devices all hooked up to a wireless network. I just had to add a wireless bridge to Patty's office, and today I was updating the NAS for storage and on-site backups. Patty's laptop is three years old, and the fan is making noise, so it's probably time to upgrade in the next week or so. Cue the great software migration of 2012. Writers, make sure you have a nerd or two in your contact list -- and bake 'em some cookies once in a while!

The nail-biting is over, and Fair Game is officially out in bookstores. The early reviews are largely positive, which means Patty can quit chewing her fingernails. Of course, with a new book release comes book signings, and Patty's embarked on a whirlwind tour of the US, signing books as she goes.

Last night, I was with her at Seattle's University Bookstore, where she had a joint signing with the lovely Kim Harrison. We've met Kim and her husband several times, and they are always so poised and elegant. She and Patty get along really well, and it's always a lot of fun. For those who couldn't make it, here's a video of the event:

Author Protip:

If you're an author planning on signing a lot of books, take some time to choose a good, comfortable pen. When I was in grade school, a common punishment for minor classroom infractions was being told to write your name a couple of hundred times. I can still remember how my hand ached! A large signing may involve several hundred signings for readers, and the bookstore may want additional stock signed as well. No wonder many authors suffer from repetitive stress disorders.

In years past, I've given Patty several large, heavy, prestige-inducing pens. They look "writerly" and were intended to inspire confidence. Nothing says "professional" like using a pen that costs more than your mortgage, right? Sadly, they invariably made her hand cramp after a few signatures, and it's hard to look professional with your signing hand clenched into an immobile claw. Patty's current favorite is a G2 from Pilot ¹. They only cost a couple of dollars, and they come in lots of colors! Find something that fits your hand, and signings will be far more comfortable.

1) Not a paid advertisement. Honest.

Since Fair Game came out we've received the usual surge in emails. There's a lot of email voicing support and encouragement, which is something no author can ever get enough of. Of course there are some pointing out flaws or negative reactions. All the other authors can breathe easy, the perfect book has still not been penned. Maybe next time <grin>. Surprisingly, there are a large number of requests for help writing, editing, publishing, and marketing books.

With Patty on tour, her assistant and I have been busy fielding these requests to the best of our ability. I've called Patty and asked her advice, and it turns out we're all clueless. The publishing industry is simply changing too quickly. The awesome series of articles by Kris Rusch that I find so informative is coming to the same conclusion. Even if we knew what the best way to get into publishing and establish a following was, the answer would probably change before I could post it. It's like having someone ask about the best beaches on Krakatoa while the massive volcanic eruptions were explosively reforming the island. We don't know, and we're busy praying that our little corner somehow survives the upheaval.

Whatever the future may bring in terms of markets and promotional opportunities, however, I feel pretty confident that the basic craft of storytelling will remain. The best secret to success is simply to produce a professionally-crafted story. Writing is like any other craft -- raw talent may grant early success, but practice and dedication are the hallmarks of a professional. And this week, by sheer coincidence, we've stumbled across a couple of articles with excellent advice for helping authors write better stories.

The first is an article I was initially skeptical of, sent to our writer's group by one of more technically-focused members. It's entitled How Not To Be A Clever Writer and is well worth your time.

The second was not really an article, but an email sent by another brilliant member of our writer's group, Michael Enzweiler. You may recognize the name, since he's also the artist to does the maps found in many of Patty's books. He's a thinker, is Michael, and lately he's been thinking about writing. With his permission:

Rules for Writing

There are a lot of rules I’ve gleaned from a variety of sources, including personal experience. Here’s the ones I can think of right now, in no particular order:

Rule #1: Be certain what you want is to write, not just to be a writer. There’s some perceived glamor about being a published author that makes it very appealing to certain people. Without the desire to actually write, it means nothing. I still wrestle with this one.

Rule #2: Write. Write. Write. Write. Even the crappiest writer has a much better chance of being published eventually than an awesome writer who never produces anything.

Rule #3: Learn to take criticism objectively, and especially learn to recognize when it’s correct. Doing so is essential to improving as a writer, not to mention dealing with an editor.

Rule #4: Avoid the trap of writing for approval. Fan fiction writers are a good example of this. It’s easy to get hooked on positive strokes and to write exclusively to receive more of them. An author should be able to write in solitude, with no atta boy’s beyond their own inner critic.

Rule #5: If the only reason something exists in a story is that it is necessary for the plot to work, you’ve failed at plotting. Plotting flows from elements that exist for their own reasons, not just props wedged in to hold the plot up.

Rule #6: Readers quickly resent protagonists who don’t proactively try to improve their situation. An amateurish mistake is to heap pain and humiliation on a character in an attempt to generate sympathy. People resent doormats because they accept their role as doormat.

Rule #7: Writing is best when it is unidirectional, meaning going forward. If you’re going back and re-reading/editing every sentence, paragraph, or page, you’re halting the flow and hindering the writing. When you’re in the coveted Zone, writing quickly with no thought to punctuation or spelling, that’s when you’re most likely producing your best work. Editing is something you do after getting the ideas down, not while you’re writing. Think of it as two hats you own, a writer hat and an editor hat. When the writer hat is on, just write. Don’t pick up the editor hat until the writer is done for the day or you’ll start writing like an editor.

Rule #8: (This is a Budrys chestnut.) A story is a mental construct, not a collection of words and punctuation marks. Being able to put words down on paper well is good, but if the mental construct, the story itself, isn’t well constructed, the words on paper will fall flat. Get the immaterial story right, then record it in language.

Rule #9: Similar to Rule #6, protagonists should solve their biggest problems themselves, using their own skills and knowledge. Do not rescue them with outside forces/characters. Deus ex machina is the term for an improbable solution to a plot problem that materializes when needed with no groundwork for its presence. It is a sure sign of weak plotting.

Rule #10: Readers usually like fiction to work the way they wish the real world worked. This is especially true with regards to karma. Readers are most satisfied when good guys are ultimately rewarded, and bad guys get their comeuppance. Sounds simple, but there are many shades of gray. For example, even a good character can commit a sin in the eyes of the reader. That character must pay for their transgression in a manner commensurate with the transgression. This ties in with the concept of redemption. It is entirely possible for a character who has transgressed enough to demand their death to redeem themselves, but death is usually still necessary to balance the scales.

Rule #11: Any and all rules can be successfully violated if you’re good enough. Don’t assume you’re good enough.

We just learned that Fair Game is #4 on the New York Times best sellers list this week. It's also #11 on the USA Today list.That's pretty amazing, and we're definitely doing the happy dance. Thank you to everyone for making our lives so joyous.

Patty spent the first half of the month running around like a crazy woman promoting Fair Game. She did signings in cities all over the country and did a dozen or so interviews with bloggers. She's finally home, and taking a couple of days to rest and recover from all the fun.

She asked me to thank all the readers who came to the signings. There were apparently quite a few people who drove long distances to meet her, which is flattering. More importantly, there were smiles and camaraderie and good questions, which makes signings so much more fun than the ones where a lonely author sits at a forlorn table in the back of a bookstore while anxious staff look at the pile of books they bought to support the event. And speaking of store owners and staff, everyone Patty worked with as extremely kind and polite. Thank You!

By the way, trying to organize a signing tour would be a daunting task. It's not just the airfare and hotels, it's arranging to have Patty picked up and dropped off, and making sure that a slightly-dazed and tired author makes to the several appointments scheduled each day. (While we only post the public signings, she often has interviews, stock signings or business meeting as well). Thinking about organizing something this complex makes my head ache, but it's something that Rosanne Romanello pulls off with grace and wit. Rosanne (or Ro as she's often called) is a miniature dynamo of organization and efficiency. I was once told that she'd re-alphabetized the alphabet to improve efficiency. Rosanne is a publicist at ACE books, and is almost entirely responsible for Patty actually appearing for her public appearances. Thank you Ro, we couldn't do it without you!

Oh, and here's an opportunity for those of you who wanted a signed book but couldn't get one. No, we don't have a magic sleigh or eight miniature reindeer, and Patty won't be coming down your chimney for a visit any time soon. However, Patty signed a quite a few books for the various bookstores she visited, and several of them are willing to sell you one and mail it to you. So, if you want a signed copy, talk to one of these great stores:

Things are going well, and the frantic pace of activity is showing signs of slowing down. We're still renovating the main bathroom in the house, so there's a path covered in drop cloths and plastic from the back door (where cement is mixed) to the bathroom where tile is being laid. There a million small projects vying for attention, but we're gradually making headway. So, a couple of weeks ago we turned our attention to the web store here on Hurog. . .

The merchandise spent the last year in plastic bins shoved into shipping containers in the front yard. The shop itself served as our living quarters, and everything was completely covered in the talc-fine dust that passes for soil around here. Ann (Patty's assistant) and I cleaned the shop top to bottom, and put everything back on the shelves.

There aren't as many shirts as I remembered. We've given a bunch away at conventions and haven't replaced them. The designs are also looking a little dated. There's a handful of silver bullet pendants, but silver prices have climbed so high that we'd be charging more than double the previous price to make new ones. Basically, we need a new store.

Ann told me her bellydance troop had had excellent results with a local print shop. We contacted them about making the ever-problematical "Mercy's Garage" shirts. Silk screening six colors (including a couple of gradients) is not for the faint of heart or scant of wallet. We're going to try, for the first time, printing on black shirts, which has been a common request since we started this years ago.

We also decided that the "new" store needed some "new" merchandise. There's a forum topic that contains lots of excellent suggestions, and we're taking several of them to heart. We're currently contracting with two different companies for somewhere around 800 shirts, and we'll open the web-store when we have those in hand. So, while we have nothing to show yet there will be good things coming.

So about this time last week I made tomato-basil soup and BLT's for dinner. There's nothing like a nice bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich on Dave's "Good Seed" bread. For me, it was heaven, but for Patty it started something very different . . .

She had severe stomach pain, and nausea which lasted all night and into the next day. That's a severe reaction, even to my cooking. We called the doctor and made an appointment. He referred us to an internist who agreed to see us at his earliest opportunity (Wednesday). After a trip to medical imaging she was diagnosed with a defective gall bladder and surgery was strongly recommended.

Timing is everything, and if you've seen Patty's list of appearances you can see this next month is busy. In fact, we're slated to leave for DemiCon on May 2, so we asked if we could delay for a few weeks. The doctors were convinced that surgery was imperative, and we scheduled it for last Friday.

Longtime followers of the blog may remember that Patty had back surgery several years ago. The surgeons were brilliant, but that surgery left Patty largely bed-bound for two months, and it was probably six months before she was moving well. The doctor's assured us that this surgery would be less invasive, and recovery should be swift. Still, we were both pretty worried when we drove to the hospital on Friday morning.

The surgery went flawlessly, and since they were able to do it all laparoscopically she only has four small, neatly glued punctures to show for it. Better yet, she was alert and thinking pretty clearly within an hour or so after surgery. She's continuing to heal well, and looks surprisingly good for someone two days after surgery. We should be able to attend DemiCon without any problems (this is fantastic news, because we really didn't want to bail on a convention that had invited her as GOH!) We'll be there with bells on, but this will be the first time Patty's tried to do panels on vicodin, which may be interesting. Play nice with us, Iowa! Seriously, though, I suspect she'll be fine.

Hey, quick question for anyone familiar with the convention: should I bring my guitar?

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