they must need bears

It's royalty statement season for two of my publishers, which means that I get to see how well or poorly books were doing around Christmastime last year. (Yeah, the wheels of publishing grind slow. The grand tradition of the 4-5 months delayed royalty statement was established long ago, and computers certainly haven't speeded anything up. Nor are they likely to, when publishers can still make a few pennies on the float.)

My Roc statements come so early in the biannual period I tend to forget I've gotten them by the time the others arrive--I think I had the statements for Whiskey & Water and Blood & Iron in February. (No, they haven't sold through the advance yet, but I think the MMPB for B&I will put it over the top, if it sells okay.)

So yesterday, I got my Tor statement, and it looks (If I am reading this thing right*, because every publisher also has a different format for the darned things) it looks like A Companion to Wolves (by Sarah Monette, and some chick who is obviously clinging to Sarah's coat-tails for all she's worth) sold through the advance, and then some, in its first three months of life. No money is forthcoming yet, because of this thing called "reserve against returns," which is the publisher holding on to the money until they are sure that the books won't come back. (It takes fewer copies of a hardcover to sell through a reserve, because the per-piece royalty is higher.)

To give you an idea of how long it sometimes takes, Bantam Spectra was still holding a reserve against returns on Scardown and Worldwired, published in 2005 (though they have released the reserve on Hammered), the last time I checked--remember what I said about making a few pennies on the float? Anyway, I don't have my Spectra statements yet, so they may have released that as of this period. Since Worldwired just went back for another 2000 copies (that's either the third printing or the fourth; I've lost track. I think it's the third.) I'm reasonably certain they will have to give me some more money eventually.

Moral: don't count on living on your royalties.

Other Moral: Suprise!buttsecks sells. Or maybe feminist critique of fluffy companion animal fantasy sells. Or maybe both.

*I'm still trying to figure out how many copies this says are in print, though, so don't count on my math too much.

---

Speaking of mass market paperbacks and A Companion to Wolves, Amazon is telling me that the MMPB of A Companion to Wolves will be available in July, not October as previously expected.

So it looks to be a happening May/June/July/August in Ebearland, what with the trade paperback of New Amsterdam available! now! and the last two episodes of Shadow Unit: Season 1 in the hopper, and the MMPB of Blood & Iron coming early next month, and the trades of Ink & Steel and Hell & Earth in July and August, respectively. After that, there will be a brief pause before All the Windwracked Stars at the end of October, in hardcover, from Tor.

Also, I've had a couple of conversations with my editor and agent about Chill, and now that I seem to be able to write again, we're going to try to get it finished in time to keep the current publication date of January 2009. Which means I have to have a draft by the middle of August, and we need to be done with the revisions by September 15. This will work out, as it means I will have the dratted thing done before Viable Paradise. (Which is where I am spending my birthday this year. Go team me!)

So really, okay. I can see why people say I'm prolific. But honestly, if you spend seven or eight hours a day writing fiction, this is what happens.

And speaking of which, this would be me avoiding working on "The Red in the Sky is Our Blood." So I should pony up and go do that, neh?

Gragh. Was in bed by 11 last night, due to Uncontrollable Sleepy. Got up at 6:45 this morning, after successfully arguing with the cat for 45 more minutes of rack--and could have used more, honestly. Where is this sleepy coming from?

Anyway, I got a bunch of what I think is pretty good work done on "Ballistic" this morning. Though I'm starting work up a real good case of deadline frets over it, most of what's left to do isn't mine, and what is mine has to wait until we have a nearly-complete complete draft, so giving myself heart palpitations over it not being finished is not doing me any favors. (It's not that anybody else is falling down on the job, I hasten to add. It's that I come over all German about deadlines, and want things done a month before they're due. So, yeah, I'm also fretting painfully about Chill, because I would in an ideal world have liked to have a draft by now. And then there are these two other projects, the Sebastien and Abby novella and the New Secrit Projekt novelette, which are also weighing on my mind.)

And the Hell & Earth and All the Windwracked Stars page proofs haven't arrived yet, so there's a certain air of waiting for the shoe to drop.

However, comma, what with one thing and another, I think I have the decks cleared through I-Con, except for a couple of obligatory evening engagements, so maybe we can get some writing done.

Except for the part where I really, really don't feel like working any more today, and the cat and this sunbeam are conniving to convince me that what I would really rather do is nap.

Ah well. There's what we want, and then there's what they pay us to do.

And right now, what they pay me to do is to write eight pages a day of this b%#k. So graciously or ingraciously, it's got to be done.

And then I can play guitar and go climbing, afterwards.

And there's the final, no really final, final-final version of Shadow Unit episode 1x02, "Knock on Coffins," sent off to coffeeem and stillsostrange so it can be posted tomorrow, and the first hundred pages of the CEM of All the Windwracked Stars grovelled through.I am thankful that it's an extremely light copyedit, which makes my job so much easier. Of course, it may mean that all my really rank stupidities will slip through into print, but if so, it's my own damned fault. Wait, let me practice my "I meant to do that!" face.

So now I get to take a couple of hours off to let my brain drain and think about how to start the next scene, and (when I get hungry) to start dinner, which will be meatball sammiches and grapes and I'm not sure what else yet.

And then after that, another six pages, if I can get them. Because that is the Regime. Six pages in the morning, six at night. Oh yeah. Unmitigated glamour.

The Snowpocalypse is over, and my feet are cold. I think I need to go make those meatballs now.

via jimvanpelt, tapeworms for weight loss. Ahh, vintage ads.

Somebody must have told my other editors I was trying to write a fucking novel in March, because not only do I also have the page proofs for Hell & Earth coming, I also have the CEM for All the Windwracked Stars.

I might cry.

Right.

Guys, 0.0 watch this space.

...expect a lot of whining.

I'm up, and the email is shoveled out, and the birds are singing, and the cat decided to sleep in the exact middle of my pillow all last night, so my neck is less than happy. Plans for today include a long hot shower, putting on some pants, making some tea, and settling in the the *&%(& page proofs until about 1:30, at which point I am meeting ashacat at the gym. We will then join netcurmudgeon for tea and whatever, and eventually archery and supper. And then I will come home and attempt to finish the page proofs tonight. If I can do that, then tomorrow, I can either take a vacation day (the only thing scheduled is a visit to my massage therapist) or I can start writing Chill, if the antsiness has gotten unbearable by then.

I'm totally geeked that I am in fact starting to feel the book-antsiness. It means my boredom with not creating is starting to overwhelm my mental exhaustion. And I know what the next two scenes I need to write are, which is good: it means that if I am lucky, I will be able to keep one scene ahead of myself in the planning process. So, watch this place for resumed writing metrics shortly, and thrashing and whining. And all the good things that come with book-production.

One reason I keep metrics is that it keeps me honest about how much work I am doing and how much time I need to do it in. And not in the sense of "I need to be reminded that I need to keep working," but "I need to be reminded that when I work I accomplish things, and that these tasks are not insurmountable." Because I tend to underestimate the amount of work I'm doing, and get very mad at myself if I'm not producing consistent large blocks of completed pages. But then I look at my tracking list, and realize that what seems to me the spotty and intermittent work I did on Dust actually resulted in a book in very short order. And I think, come on, Bear, this is not as hard as you make it out to be.

Speaking of which, it's 17 degrees out, and it's 7 am, and it's time I got myself cleaned up and got to work. Beware the page proofs! Beware!

I am mighty. Okay, the laundry did not get done. But the kitchen is nearly clean, and the hallway is cleaned, more or less, and the old desk is in the basement. And the area behind the old desk, which was a terrifying morass of dust, cat hair, cabling, and cookie crumbs, has been cleaned out.

Which means that I had to take apart Phred (just as well, because the inside of his case looked like a dust bunny farm) and then put him back together again. My favorite game of all: "Which AC adaptor do you suppose goes to which component, now?"

Anyway, he's back together and working (though I am writing to you now on Ethel, because Phred is sort of set up around the area where his new house will be as of tomorrow, and thus not very convenient to work upon.)

Okay, and neither printer is set up yet, nor are the desk lamps, because I need the desk in place to do that. But still.

Ahh, cabling. I love the part where you get everything hooked up and tied down, check to make sure that the mouse and keyboard cables are in the right place, push the case back out of the way and... discover that the mouse and keyboard cables have somehow migrated under all the other cables. Amazing.

Also, I am growing components. I have discovered that I am up a cross-connect cable, an audio micro cable, and an AC adaptor. tanaise says this means I should leave it and see if a set of speakers appears next.... pity, because what I could really use is a flatbed scanner.

Sometime this week I plan to do some real spring cleaning, and like scrub the walls and clean out closets and things. But for now, I think I have accomplished enough for one Sunday. Now I am going to play guitar and do some math and watch I Spy.

And tomorrow, I will have like, all real furniture.

I'm not sure I know how to handle that.

---

Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain
So the Lord will know I died standing pat

Well, I suck.

jaylake claims I'm blogging live without a net, so I guess in the spirit of warblogging the Literary Life, I should probably out myself when I faceplant, too.

I'm not going to get this novella written, and yesterday, I had to tell the editor that.

I got nothing. I've got 3,000 words of snickering up my sleeve about butt-chinned heroes, and you know what? Dale Arden running off with Ming the Merciless at the end because Flash kind of has his head up his cloaca is just not enough payoff for 15,000 words of  pulpy fiction. It might be worth a tight little 4K, and I might still try to write that version, but I was thinking of ways to pad it out (I can get 3K out of a chase through a nebula!) and that's just lame.

And I caught myself, Friday night, thinking, "Well, it pays well."

And that's no reason to write a story. The fact that I promised to write the story is a good reason to write the story, but what I'm writing is lousy, then I'm not doing anyone any favors.

That way lies hackdom.

And I am sad about this, because I was excited about this anthology and excited to be working with this editor. And the Guilt Gorilla is having a field day with my on Failure To Meet Commitments issues.

But I got nothing.

I think I could have done it, if it hadn't been for the three CEMs and sets of galleys that landed on my desk last month, the April 15th due date on Dust when I was expecting, you know, August, and how badly it kicked my butt to try to work full time and write Undertow simultaneously, and then pile right into the last two thirds of New Amsterdam. I think I've hit a wall.

So I'm going to revise Dust, hand it in on time, and then I'll be under this rock for a while. Although not for too long, as I still have to revise Ink & Pen and rewrite All the Windwracked Stars by the end of October, and there are two writing workshops and a bunch of conventions between now and then.

Wow, I suck.

So, you know how we joke about the glamour! and so forth? And, yanno, if anybody out there reading this for publishing tips is still harboring some idea that any career in the entertainment industries is anything other than living by one's wits until the roof falls in--

I offer Mr. Elvis Costello's perspective on the matter.


 Now that your picture's in the paper being rhythmically admired
and you can have anyone that you have ever desired,
all you gotta tell me now is why, why, why, why.

Welcome to the workin' week.
Oh I know it don't thrill you, I hope it don't kill you.
Welcome to the workin' week.
You gotta do it till you're through it so you better get to it.

All of your family had to kill to survive,
and they're still waitin' for their big day to arrive.
But if they knew how I felt they'd bury me alive.

Welcome to the workin' week.
Oh I know it don't thrill you, I hope it don't kill you.
Welcome to the workin' week.
You gotta do it till you're through it so you better get to it.

I hear you sayin', "Hey, the city's alright,
when you only read about it in books.
Spend all your money gettin' so convinced
that you never even bother to look.
Sometimes I wonder if we're livin' in the same land,
Why d'you wanna be my friend when I feel like a juggler
running out of hands?

Welcome to the workin' week, oh, welcome to the working week.


Okay, there are more groupies in his corner of the business than in mine, but at least I don't have to deal with record company executives.

I'll stick to slinging words.

Also, thank God, very few people masturbate to author photos. No matter what David Bowie admits about his teenage fixation with Eartha Kitt's autobiography.

Right. Tonight, I need to slush, and I need to write my next column for Subterranean. I would MUCH RATHER go play lit crit games analyzing the names of TV characters over at truepenny's livejournal. But such is life.

Eunice (the little red truck) is home, and my pocketbook is somewhat scarred, but the pain was much ameliorated by the pleasure of driving a vehicle that is quiet and responsive. Although I'm going to have to relearn clutching, as the amount of play in the old slippy clutch was, yanno, about sixteen times what there is in the new tight shiny clutch. On the other hand, I can stop on hills now without rolling back into the guy behind me.

The guy behind me is pleased by this change.

And I only stalled it three times on the way home.

Also, it means that tomorrow I can go to the gym. Yay, gym!

I came home by the back way, because there was construction on the bridge I usually take, and that meant I got to swing through Wethersfield and stop at the tea shop and buy tea. Mainly Teas, the tea shop in the center of Old Wethersfield, is not far from Comstock, Ferre, and Co., which is sort of the world's most yuppie garden supply shop, if you can imagine such a thing. Picture, say, a nursery with no plants and a lot of apothecary desks in it. I have no idea what they sell there, other than seeds and tchochkes. But they have got this conservatory.

Well, I say conservatory. What it is, really, is sort of either the airiest greenhouse ever, with a graveled earthen floor dotted with paving stones, various sand tables with a paltry selection of plants on them (they used to have the giantest pitcher plant evar, but it seems to be gone now), and like, big trellis things that I guess you could grow potted clematis on, if you had a greenhouse/conservatory.

I covet this conservatory.

You all need to buy more books, so I can buy a house with a conservatory attached. And I will espalier dwarf lemon and grapefruit and lime trees up a brick wall on the north side, and plant a climbing fig and and a bouganvillea on a railroad tie arbor, and put a painted iron table in there that I can work at in my silk pajamas.

And I will sip tea and eat sliced pears, embrace the glamourous life of the writer, and think kindly upon you all.

What? It could happen!

...oh right, time to go earn my three cents a word. ;-) Tomorrow is Sunday. Maybe tomorrow I will write fanfic, for I am still on vacation for another five days.

truepenny, who is evil, force-grew a "five things that never happened to Aaron Hotchner" idea in my head the other night.

In other other news, Gordon Lightfoot is an evil evil man.

So, with stwish and others, we we hiked all the heck over Manhattan yesterday. I'm exhausted. And also hungry, despite good meals at Veselka and Thai on Two yesterday, and at local landmark Timothy's in Hartford this morning. I make the total distance covered on foot at about sixty blocks, if not more.

I have written 500 words or so on "Chatoyant," and am about to break for pizza from Lena's, I think. I suspect I will work better and be less sleepy after a suitable application of carbohydrates and grease.

It's raining. I guess that means I have to drive.
.

Right. And our goal for today is to get some necessary reading done, so I will be immersed in the letters of John and Abigail Adams and Thomas Jefferson until it's time to go over to netcurmudgeon-and-ashacat's place for dinner and gaming and things. (I almost typed RPG, but it could be rocket-propelled grenades, you never know, and we don't want people getting the wrong impression.)

I did successfully get the laundry done and the dishes washed yesterday, though, so I'm ahead of the game in terms of not having too much cleaning up after myself to do today.

First things first, though. Which means I need to apply warm water and detergent to my external integument, and then find some trousers in the (clean, folded, not yet put away) laundry, make some coffee, and find something with calories in it to stave off incipient collapse.

And then pack my head with enough historical information that a story I've been blocked on for twelve months comes dribbling out my nose.(2)

Er.

That was probably unecessarily graphic, Bear.

I keep my nose clean
I keep my speech plain
I keep my promises
She twists the knife again.

--Richard Thompson

---

You ever notice that lj has like seventy mood choices for tired, stressed, cranky and out of sorts, but very few for things like "making myself helpful to others?"

Which is at least as much a "mood" as "high," because we are obviously using "mood" to mean "state of being."

I think I sense an editorial bias. Not so much a moss-troll (1)  issue as a hundred-words-for-snow issue.

---

(1) before you ask, the moss-troll problem:

http://mrissa.livejournal.com/280613.html

http://truepenny.livejournal.com/431220.html

(2) you knew this was a blog about the unparalleled glamour of life as a free-lance fiction writer when you signed on... *g*

(3) I was, however, unbelievable sarcastic.

_

buy plane tickets

clean apartment
-clean kitchen
-clean coat closet
-clean hall closet
-clean bedroom closet
-put away clean laundry
-sort dirty laundry to wash Monday
-declutter
-take out garbage
-do dishes
-sweep

N.B: A life in the entertainment industries is not significantly different in any particular from other forms of living by one's wits.

All right. I heard from Anne-my-editor today, and the revisions to Undertow were acceptable. Which means, as soon as I hear back from truepenny, I can put the final soft-cloth polish on the manuscript and hand it in. I have a more or less working draft of "Hobnoblin Blues," as "Upon Deaf Ears" has decided it wants to be called.

Which means my to-do list between now and next November* looks like this:

The Stratford Man / The Journeyman Devil: whatever revisions are deemed necessary. Sorry, guys, it looks like we're going to have to split the duology on a cliffhanger because of the length constraints on each volume. I apologize in advance.

Dust proposal. And possible a retitle, as it's a bit close to the Pellegrino book, though his has a subtitle.
Dust draft

redraft All the Windwracked Stars
write those last two scenes that need to go in By the Mountain Bound
revise The Sea thy Mistress

write "Chatoyant"
write "Lumière"
write nameless gonzo space opera novella
write "1796"
write "Babylon & On"
write "Black is the Color"
write "King Pole Gallows Pole Bottle Tree"
write "On Safari in R'lyeh & Carcosa with Gun and Camera"
write "Orm the Beautiful"
write "Smile"
write "Periastron"
write "The Death of Terrestrial Radio"
write "Wehrwolf"


Whiskey & Water galley proofs
Undertow galley proofs
A Companion to Wolves copy-edited manuscript
A Companion to Wolves galley proofs
New Amsterdam copy-edited manuscript
New Amsterdam galley proofs

Piece of cake.

I'm giving myself the rest of October to work on short stories, I think. First up on the batting stand, "Orm the Beautiful." Next one after that, "Babylon and On."

---

* If you dream of being a freelance writer, get used to the idea of to-do lists measured in years. Sorry.


_

Is Google laboring under a DoS attack this morning, or is it just borked?

ETA: Turns out somebody at Comcast broked something. It's fixed now. For this, I pay them.

take out garbage
wash dishes
eat food
clean kitchen
clean bathroom
sort laundry
wash laundry
fold laundry
exercise
shower
greet delivery guy half-naked
finish reading and commenting on Thirdhop Scarp
make tea
find cat's glitterball in washing machine with laundry
finish reading and commenting on The Fox
start reading Undertow
go to the bank
back up hard drive
slush
make mix for Sarah

Grocery List of things I forgot to buy yesterday
Dish soap
sticky rice
toilet paper
q-tips
Sweet Cider
bread

Oh, and I found the cure for the earworm that dare not speak its name.

NOTHING can stand before the might of Hayseed Dixie.

ETA Proof. You don't actually have to watch the fan video; link is for the music.

*

via ladegard

Deconstructing "The Rainbow Connection." 

Ia! Ia!

---

via gannet, more complete a. afarensis unearthed.

---

I was just about to climb into the shower this morning when the doorbell buzzer buzzed. Now, I dunno about you, but there are things that I generally do not take into the shower with me, and one of them is my clothes.

The door my doorbell buzzer buzzes for is down two flights of stairs, and I could hear the unmistakable rumble of a UPS truck from the street, so I hit the entry thingy, found my almost-never-used bathrobe, clawed it out from under the bed, slithered into it, grabbed my keys, and--since the delivery guys always wait downstairs--girded my loins (literally) for an embarrassing trot downstairs.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear beyond the corridor fire door than... the cutest delivery guy in the history of delivery guys. Fortyish, British accent, streaky little bangs, eye crinkles, sunglasses, kind of a beaky nose.

The eye crinkles kill me. I would date Satan Himself if he had good eye crinkles.

I stammered some sort of profoundly flustered apology about his perfect timing and he grinned at me and I signed and he went on his way, leaving me foolishly clutching my package, so to speak, with my hair all in disarray and my chubby ankles chilling.

He must be used to it, I'm sure.

But I swear the last time I saw this movie, in ended differently....


*

Updated short fiction publication list.

---

Things to do in 2006 & the first part of 2007:

long things:

Revise By the Mountain Bound (done except those two short scenes I need to have wrote)*
Revise Undertow per pending editorial direction
Revise The Stratford Man and The Journeyman Devil if it proves necessary to do so
Dust proposal
Write Dust
Page proofs for Whiskey & Water
CEM for Undertow
Page proofs for Undertow
Rewrite the rest of All the Windwracked Stars (This, being the equivalent of writing a Whole New Book from an outline, will wait for a while, thank you, and possibly until the proposal sells.)*
Revise The Sea thy Mistress, including adding plot thread ripped from By the Mountain Bound*


*sell this series.

---

short things:

Things I need to write:

An untitled novella scheduled for Galactic Empires, 2008, Gardner Dozois, ed.

(no first line yet, or even title)

A novella and a novelette I owe to Bill Schafer