Today is my birthday. Yes, it is. And I am sixty years old.
On some other occasion I’ll ruminate on the irony of arriving here, which is much, much further along the timeline than I thought I’d get. But for this morning, I’ll thank all! of the folks, from Maine to Surebleak, judging from FB, LJ, and private email, for the birthday wishes. I’m overwhelmed. Really.
Since it is my birthday, and I get, at least in a very small way, to set today’s rules of engagement, I’d like to give y’all a gift.
You know that proposal for five Liaden books that we had pitched to Madame the Agent at the beginning of the summer? Which she subsequently pitched to Madame the Editor?
The proposal has been accepted; the books have been sold.
P.S. Regarding the above — no, we don’t know pub dates; no, we don’t know the titles — might be Bridgett, Fred, Lou, Beth, Ellen. . . We’ll let you know these things as we know them.
In the meantime. . .watch the skies.