Thank you so much to the 31 people who purchased A Precarious Magic, and to the one person who bought a paperback!
As it happens, Dear Paperback Reader, you’re probably going to see the paperback edition before I do. Author copies get delivered remarkably slowly unless you’re willing to pay for expedited shipping, which I was not. But I also didn’t want to wait through the proof copy routine, because again, that takes a while. The proof copy is when Amazon prints a single copy of the title with a gray bar across the front & sends it to the author for review, before letting the paperback go live. Technically, you have to approve the proof copy before you can release the paperback.
I skipped that step, though, because I’m planning to send paperbacks to a couple of people (the ones mentioned in the dedication) and I was hoping I could get them out by Christmas. I decided to wait to send them, however just in case something was wrong with my files. I did not anticipate that someone else would buy a paperback first. I do hope the back cover turned out as nicely as I think it did.
So yes, you, Dear Paperback Reader, will be the first person to find out how the print edition looks and whether it’s all okay. I hope that knowledge is fun for you. 🙂 I also hope it does all turn out okay, but if it has any problems, do let me know and I’ll replace your copy if necessary.
In other news, I’m still working on Cici 2. I’m well aware that this is a stupid financial decision and I’m trying not to let that knowledge affect my outlook on life. But I had a long and lovely conversation with my friend Suzanne yesterday and she assures me that pet sitters can earn $40/day in Arcata, so there we go — future career assured. I will be an excellent pet sitter.
Meanwhile, a snippet:
The flunkey led Cici through the glittering foyer, past a luxurious reception room with thick carpeting and delicate chairs, and into an elegant office. The walls were paneled with blue Arguvian hardwood, with a floor made of the same wood inlaid with lighter blue patterns. Shelves against two walls held a selection of intriguing artifacts as well as traditional paper-bound books. In the center of the room, a large desk beautifully carved of more Arguvian hardwood held a comm terminal.
Cici did not roll her eyes.
Through still gritted teeth, she said to the flunkey, “Not here. Take me someplace less…” She cast an eye around the room. “…flammable.”
The flunkey swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
He led her back to the elevator. In silence, the two of them descended another two levels. This time, the elevator doors opened into a nondescript corridor, with doors leading off on both sides. Most of the doors were open and the corridor bustled with energy, beings moving, voices calling.
Cici caught snatches of conversation as they passed along the corridor.
“After the last time, there’s no way…”
“Are you watching the news? They’re saying…”
“Maybe we’ll finally get that upgrade to the…”
“She’ll want to review the progress on the weather station. Do you have those reports…”
“Twenty credits says she fires the Planetary Administrator.”
“Fifty credits says she sets fire to the Planetary Administrator.”
The last comment was said with a laugh, but Cici felt herself flushing.
How had the news of her loss of control spread so quickly? Had Asuke started talking about her brush with near death by dragon fire the very second they’d separated?
Cici glanced in the open door to see the speaker, feet up on his desk, leaning back in his chair. With a tiny spurt of magic — the merest smidgen of it — Cici pushed his chair away from his desk, almost out from under him. He yelped and scrambled to recover as she continued down the hallway.
She felt a little guilty. That had been petty of her. Better than flaming him would have been, of course, but still… She shouldn’t take her temper out on hirelings. Even hirelings who were making fun of her.
Although, she thought, feeling more cheerful, Randall would have done much worse. And her mother would have eviscerated the man with a single tilt of an eyebrow. Honestly, that guy ought to be grateful she’d been so restrained. Why, she’d practically been nice.
Almost nice, anyway.
Well, maybe not quite nice. But close enough.