On Thursday night, I had the pleasure of signing the book inserts that will be going in the pre-ordered copies of the Choices anthology. I showed remarkable discipline, for once. When I’ve appeared in signed editions in the past, my signature usually varies wildly. The first few sheets will contain a pristine, elegant, entirely legible signature, which degenerates as signing continues, until the final few sheets appear to have been autographed by a five year old. This time, a happy medium was struck throughout.
I was particularly impressed with Andrew Humphrey’s signature, which sits above mine in the book. Andrew is clearly a cleverer man than I, or perhaps simply more used to signing his name often over short periods of time, as he has his down to a couple of quick and easy pen strokes, while I still insist on trying to write the individual letters of my name.
I can’t help it. It doesn’t look right any other way.
Anyhow, while I know that some of you have pre-ordered the book already (you really are in for a treat – I read Andrew’s story The Last Kiss on Thursday night, and images from it are still flashing into my head at odd moments during the day), there’s still time to do so for those who haven’t. While the book was seen for the first time in public on Friday night, when the publisher took it along to the British Fantasy Society’s open night in London, the official release date remains the end of December. Orders taken before then will be signed by all contributors. As ever, here’s where to get it in the US and UK.
In other news, like most of you, I have been busy trying to prepare for the financial and organisational nightmare that is Christmas. Thanks to a bit of financial good news at the start of the month, I’m actually not doing too badly on that front (for once!). It’s trying to fit everything in and stay sane and happy that’s the bigger problem. There are relatives to see, nights out to be had (three, at least), gifts to buy and wrap, the normal aspects of life to maintain, writing to find time for in the background… all of which must be achieved gracefully, with a smile, and with the minimum of bellyaching, for fear of being labelled the grinchiest grinch that ever there was.
So, officially, I love Christmas. See me smile. Ignore the frustrated sense that I really have better things to be getting on with than some bastardised, semi-pagan worship of capitalism, profit, and novelty gift items. Instead, watch me frolic, and play.
Ho fucking ho.