Just a short while ago the UPS man dropped off a box containing ARCs of my next novel, Fun & Games, out this June from Mulholland Books. I cut open the box with a knife (the kitchen scissors were in the dishwasher). Carefully, I opened the flaps and just stared at them, nestled around plastic air bubble pouches, like 10 babies in synthetic afterbirth. I couldn't even bring myself to touch them, at first. The Bride was the first to reach in and pick one up. After I knew it was safe, I did, too. I checked the front, and the spine, and then the back. (Yeah, this sounds paranoid, but this happened to me once, and the I've never quite gotten over it...) Everything seemed to be in order. It was a real book, with all of its fingers and toes.
Or at least, it's just about ready to become a real book. ARC readers will find typos and such that we've caught, and I've fine-tuned a little bit here and there. But it's really amazing to hold the damned thing in my hands in bound form.
Like I said, this never, ever gets old.
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