Raining Down Joy.

So last night, due to activities for which I cannot be held responsible, because they could have happened to ANYONE, the house flooded.

ANYONE could have started running a bath and then had a wee nap. And then woken to dazedly note that by the sound, it seemed we were having some rain, how nice. And then wandered out to get a glass of water and discovered that the floor was sodden and the rain was in actual fact water pouring downstairs through the heating vents and pounding onto the kitchen table.

ANYONE could have then spent the next three hours with towels and buckets and desperate cursing of oneself. ANYONE AT ALL.

At the time I was somewhat flustered, and when I awoke this morning after not enough sleep and padded out of my room and got wet feet because the carpet was still soaking, my mood did not notably improve. “Why, oh why, are the fates against me?” I bemoaned.

Then the mail came.

The mail contained this:

My spirits lifted. So did the rest of me, in fact. Quite against my usual inclinations, I managed to maintain enough self-control to realise that this was an occasion I might want to document, and I promptly levitated upstairs to grab my cellphone.

And so, dear readers, I am happy to reveal to you this: My First Real Copies Of My Real Honest To Goodness Book Arrive: A Pictorial Journey. Not gonna lie: there was incoherent squeaking such that bats only could hear.

There we go! Note that Oprah Winfrey smiles benignly down on them from my classy newspaper backdrop; a good sign, I believe.

My goodness who is that on the inside jacket IT IS ME.

This version of the back cover I had not seen before and I love it! Trees and stuff! People saying very nice things! I had to stop for a moment to hug my book to my chest and coo at it.

Then I tenderly undressed it:

Oh, baby, don’t be shy! You have nothing of which to be ashamed. You’re GORGEOUS.

I dressed it again and took it into town to meet some writerly friends. We went to a bookshop, as we are prone to do, and I callously covered a book WRITTEN BY one of those friends with Guardian of the Dead so as to see how it will appear on a real shelf, come April.

“Look shocked!” I told Deb, and readied my camera. Unfortunately, Deb is terrible at looking shocked, so tonight the role of being horrified by my cruel narcissism will be played by Tessa Kum.

This was sufficiently moving and I relented, letting Shadow Queen out again:

In conclusion, my carpet still squishes under my feet, I have just discovered that the water seeped into my wardrobe and has been marinating my shoes in its special odor, and I am very, very happy.

You and me, book, you and me. Let’s see what we can do.