Cindy, good catch on the shirt thing; I want a full reread when erika's done some tweaks and given it a hard closure.

Susan, go get 'em.

I wish I knew for certain who was coming to the M is for Mystery signing tomorrow, so I could ask them in advance if they could read for me. My throat isn't better today, it's actually worse.

Can I get a bit of first world tea and sympathy? Hugs aren't necessary, I don't really do hugs, but some stern finger-shaking. or telling me I'm full of shit, or some consolatory shoulder-patting would not come amiss. Really, just venting a bit.

The third book in the series, "Matty Groves", is on Ruth Cavin's desk. She's unlikely to get to it for awhile; I submitted the damned thing about eight months early (I always do), and since she's the executive in charge of the Minotaur imprint, she gets to read every single thing they publish, and it's a long list. Also, she's 86 years old. So reading "MG" isn't a high priority until about, oh, March or April, because she has to read through the spring and summer releases first, and Matty is a fall release.

Thing is, because of contract option clauses, nothing new can be submitted until she approves "MG"; the clock starts then, and that, my dears, is the nature of option clauses. Which means, basically, that there's no rush (or point in hurrying) on "Cruel Sister", because she hasn't read "Matty" yet. And who knows, she may hate Matty. I doubt it - she knows me, I know her, she adores my voice and she also knows that when the whip's cracking for edits I'm supernaturally fast - but I don't know. It could happen. Which would frell the timing.

And Jenn - my agent - feels that I should get a proposal together for the next three books in the series, "Cruel Sister" plus two more, that I should write the first three chapters of "Cruel Sister" (which I've already begun) and synopses for two more, so that she can pitch them to Ruth as part of another three-book deal. Which, of course, would make me sing like a lark, if it happened.

But I feel sick, and everything hurts, and I'm feeling crunched between the two time issues. On the one hand, she hasn't read Matty, so anything after that is in limbo. On the other hand - being brutal here - she's 86. I want to get it in the door now.

So I feel bad about feeling that way, but also impatient because I feel sick and can't get anything done and anyway, even if I do, she has to read Matty first, and....

yada yada yada fishcakes, first world writer problems, but BLEAH.

Deb, get better first, then do what your agent suggests. Maybe if she approaches Ruth with the three book deal, Ruth will move Matty up and read it so she can sign the other three. Right now everything seems overwhelming because it is. But, better first, then the other stuff will come.

Deena, yep - that's the clear commonsense thing to do. I just do feel overwhelmed right now. If I wasn't sick, damn it....

Deb, many, many shoulder and hair pats. Option clauses suck. And when you write fast, which you do, publishing isn't always cooperative. I totally get what you're going through -- I had an author like you once, whom I loved to distraction. She was wonderfully talented, and preternaturally fast, but I couldn't get the editorial powers that be to let me keep buying book after book when we had stuff in the pipeline that wasn't due to be published for months. So I really do know whereof you speak.

Even being sick at the moment, you have some time. You do write fast, and Cruel Sister is already begun. Even taking some time off, I'm willing to bet you can get a three-book proposal done well before she needs it, and probably do some work on the "what feeds on vampires" book, too (the name of which escapes me at the moment).

If I could wave a magic wand and have her read Matty now, I'd already be waving it, fast and furious.

And I'd be waving one for Susan, too, who I think has left town already and probably won't see this for a while. But when you do, Susan, worry not -- there are other agents, as everyone has said, and many other editors.

deb, here's what you do...

Get something soothing to drink. Take your anti-inflams once you can. Get a piece of paper and a pen and bring it with you. Go to your comfiest spot. Put on comfort TV or read a comfort book. If you're chilly, cover up. If you're struck by an idea, jot it down. If not, don't.

If you were a gardener, you wouldn't be working today. If you were a roofer, or a bricklayer, you wouldn't be working today. If you were a doctor, you wouldn't be working today. You're an artist, so your work doesn't leave you, and you don't leave your work, the way it happens with other callings.

Also? If you overextend yourself, you could get sicker, which would throw you way further behind than taking a day off will. You already have the auto-immune system from hell. Please give yourself a little break.

Thanks, all. It's damned good advice and I'm taking as much of it as I can - basically, one problem is that the head is fuzzed and I want to write and can't, so I'm going to get my Zen on and just chill, and wait for some of it to ease up.

What everyone else said, Deb. You're sick and this is not a decision that has to be made today. It sounds like your agent has a good plan. Did I mention that you're sick? Drink hot tea. Do the minimum you think you need to do towards Thanksgiving. Keep warm. Drink plenty of fluids. (That one's pretty redundant, isn't it? Is there something you can drink that's not fluid?)

Um,ok, Cindy...what kind of outfit am I thinking of? My clothes vocabulary isn't good.

Here's the latest version
“What’s wrong with you tonight?” John asked. “Not to be crude, but I wasn’t down there for my health.”
Suzanne, his beautiful girlfriend, looked at him with those big blue eyes, sighed and said “No, no, it’s fine...it’s nothing.”

”That’s what every partner loves to hear. “That’s great, dear. So beautifully adequate. You’re the grilled cheese of love.”

“No. You’re great. We’re great. Better than great...mostly. I just don’t feel like it now, that’s all. Not since Tuesday.”

Not something you’d expect from Suzanne,whose unexpected and quixotic ardor had gotten the couple removed from Starbucks, Baskin-Robbins, and, most recently, the window with the return slot outside Blockbuster Video.(That last one still struck John as unfair, as they were barely edging toward an R rating at the time of the banishment, but that argument seemed to strengthen the rat-faced manager’s resolve. He thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in for Netflix, although he had to admit it made him feel like an outlaw to get kicked out of places. He finally felt right about not buying that Harley, at long last.

“What’s wrong? Supervisor giving you hell again? Say the word and I’ll beat him up for you.” He took her hand, moved in to hug her, and it wasn’t like she didn’t respond, more like she allowed him to touch her, if he insisted. There were times when a gentle brush of his hand across the small of her back seemed to make her insane. What was this? West Nile Virus? People with deadly mutant meningitis probably didn’t feel too hot either, except for their raging fevers. He touched her hand. Still cool. He thought maybe he would kiss her forehead, in the time-honored fever-detection method of mothers everywhere, but lately she’d been sensitive about their age difference so he figured he’d better not.

“ That is so sweet of you to offer, but, no, it’s not that. I can’t stop thinking about what happened in Florida, honey.”

And she got up and put on one of his shirts, which was long enough to leave her both frustratingly covered and tantalizingly undressed, and stood by the bedroom window. “Was this about that Spring Break where you and your roommate stood on that balcony drunk and flashed people for beads because you had so many rum runners you forgot you hadn’t gone to New Orleans?”

“No, but you can never tell that story enough...” Even in a relatively dark room, he could still see she was flushing. She got modest at the strangest times. He thought somebody who once used chocolate sprinkles as a sexual aid on Free Scoop Day was beyond such considerations.

“You know, if there’s anything you wanted to tell me about that night...aftermath, deleted scenes, whatever, you can, confession being good for the soul and all.” He smiled. Maybe this night could be salvaged after all.

“I don’t understand why the media didn’t cover it more strenuously,” she said thoughtfully.

“ Now, sweetie, we both know your breasts are nationally ranked...perfect size and shape. Lovely nipples, which I didn’t think I cared about until I met you, but I hardly think they rate much national coverage.”

“Be serious for five minutes, John, please.The election. You know I’m busting my butt writing that mystery, right? Well, if I were writing this election, I’d have to know something was up.”

” And yet, you fail to notice what’s up right here.”

“I was talking about something important.”

“No, that wasn’t emasculating at all. Thank you for asking.”

“Anytime... let’s think about this, ok? I think we can all admit by now that something happened in Florida in 2000, right? And it turned out pretty well for the President that the most hotly contested state also had a Bush in the governor’s chair. I couldn’t even write that as a coincidence, babe. Not even in fanfic. The hard-core fans would eat me alive.”

“If I agree, can we get back to what we were doing? God, you’re sexy when you get political.”

”OK, thank you. But Bush (continued...)