Thursday, December 25, 2008

Happy Holidays!

Yep, that’s giddy me with my beautiful baby! Denied Origin was due out in print mid-November. As a TWRP author, I get one free copy. Only I forgot to inform my publisher that I wanted that free copy until the day of the release, Friday the 14th. I called my mama Monday night to tell her that it hadn’t arrived yet though I’d been waiting by the window with my nose pressed to the glass for the mail-lady to come around every morning. She admitted that Friday she had received not one, not two, but three copies of Denied Origin in print. How in the world did she move mountains and manage an impossible feat like that? Amazon pre-order. *slaps forehead* That easy, huh?

So yours truly waited by the window every morning that week, growing more and more itchy then grumpy then, by Friday when a full week had passed, just plain BAH HUMBUG! I told my dear Jacob, “I’m not waiting by the window today. I’m going to mind my own business, let the morning flit on by like a leaf on the wind, not noticing, then go out after lunch to the mail box and not get let down once more when it doesn’t magically appear.” “Riiiight,” was his know-it-all reply. Now I was on a mission to prove to him and myself that I have some self-restraint. Some. *wink*

I slept in a good while, fixed some brunch, took it to my desk at the back of the house—as far away from the front windows as possible—and sat down to “write.” What really happened is I ended up procrastinating until lunchtime. For some strange reason, I couldn’t hold a sensible thought in my head. I went to fix lunch and somehow my feet got confused and veered toward the front door instead of the kitchen. New house; still get mixed up. *sheepish grin* Across the lawn…to the mail box…open the slot…gasp! OMG! It’s HERE! All the neighbors saw a maniacal, pajama-clad brunette doing the Snoopy dance in her driveway.

The package somehow managed to tear itself into shreds *shrug* by the time I got it to the front door then viola, my baby dropped right into my hands, perfect, touchable, smell-able. I preened it, petted it, hugged it, nuzzled it…then wiped it down so furiously with tissues CSI couldn’t have found even the teeniest remnant of a fingerprint on the shiny surface of that amazing, Covey-Award-winning, Rae Monet cover. I set it carefully on the ottoman, angling it toward the door so Jake would see it as soon as he came in from work. I must’ve picked up the phone a dozen times to call him because I wanted to tell him so bad! But no. Surprise.

When he drove up, I jumped off the barstool I’d been using to angle the overhead lights to spotlight it just so. I couldn’t wait for him to walk himself to the door. I went out in the cold, grabbed him by the arm, yanked him inside and grinned at him wildly. He frowned. “Are you okay?” I gave a shrieking giggle and, unable to restrain myself one more second without joyfully imploding, I spun him toward the ottoman and pointed. Two idiots did the Snoopy dance in the living room. After we wound down, he reached out to grab. And what did I do? Slap. “Don’t touch it!” I squealed, holding it to my chest like a mommy protecting her baby from the BBW. “It’s sensitive,” I added in a whisper. “Riiight.”

Now—at this very moment—my baby stands against the wall of my office, still perfect and untouchable, on top of the snarky printer I forced into semi-permanent hibernation (another story, another time). On occasion—like, um, every five minutes—I glance up, see it, let out a shrieking giggle and start singing, “Merry Christmas to me! Merry Christmas to me! Merry Christmas to meeee! Merry Christmas to mee-eeeeee!”

Hope everyone gets their heart’s sweetest wish this holiday season!!!!!

*Photo credit to Finishline Signs & Graphics*

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