Ninety-nine bottles of blood on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of blood...
As of today, it is ninety-nine days to the release of Discount Armageddon. This is the first book in the InCryptid series; it's my first new series since 2010 (and wow, does that feel like a weird thing to say). It's the introduction to my huge, crazy, wonderful family of cryptozoologists and happy eccentrics, who think that taxidermy and talking mice are perfectly normal things to have around the house.
I am excited. I am terrified.
See, when A Local Habitation came out, some people compared it to the latest Dresden files book and said that Toby lacked the emotional resonance of Harry Dresden. This was sort of understandable, given that I had two books to build my character, and Butcher had like eleven, but it also awoke in me a deep existential dread. Which is now back, full-force, since following One Salt Sea with the start of a new series is a really good way to invoke that same critique. I don't borrow trouble. I rent it, and yes, I am an insecure blonde sometimes.
I am also mad happy, because I love this series so much, and I love this family so much, and I'm writing nine books to make you care enough to let me write book ten, Spelunking Through Hell: A Visitor's Guide to the Underworld and have you really really care and WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT. You know I was an alien pod plant when you picked me up.
While I'm loving on things, I love my cover (and so do some other people, which is mad awesome, much like the cover itself). I love my subject matter experts. I love my Machete Squad. I love my publisher. I love my editor. I love The Agent. And I love everyone who has been involved, no matter how tangentially, in making this series a reality. It's had a long, weird genesis, and I am excited beyond words.
It's gonna be a book.
I am excited. I am terrified.
See, when A Local Habitation came out, some people compared it to the latest Dresden files book and said that Toby lacked the emotional resonance of Harry Dresden. This was sort of understandable, given that I had two books to build my character, and Butcher had like eleven, but it also awoke in me a deep existential dread. Which is now back, full-force, since following One Salt Sea with the start of a new series is a really good way to invoke that same critique. I don't borrow trouble. I rent it, and yes, I am an insecure blonde sometimes.
I am also mad happy, because I love this series so much, and I love this family so much, and I'm writing nine books to make you care enough to let me write book ten, Spelunking Through Hell: A Visitor's Guide to the Underworld and have you really really care and WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT. You know I was an alien pod plant when you picked me up.
While I'm loving on things, I love my cover (and so do some other people, which is mad awesome, much like the cover itself). I love my subject matter experts. I love my Machete Squad. I love my publisher. I love my editor. I love The Agent. And I love everyone who has been involved, no matter how tangentially, in making this series a reality. It's had a long, weird genesis, and I am excited beyond words.
It's gonna be a book.