Roberson's Interminable Ramble

Last year sucked. I won't go into any details, but suffice it to say that it was inarguably the worse year of the last thirty-five. Worse, the effects of last year threatened to spill over into this year, as well, even with Allison's new job. Back in January, she and I devised a plan that would save our bacon, but in order for it to work I'd need to sell three books pretty damned quick. It seemed a long shot, but we'd already cut our budgets back as far as they'd go, and there weren't any other options.

A month and a half ago, we got the good news that Viking was taking my YA alternate history, Iron Jaw and Hummingbird. A third of the way there, which was cause for minor celebration. On Friday I got word that Pyr was taking the next in my Bonaventure-Carmody sequence, End of the Century, which features the return of Sandford Blank, the hunt for the Holy Grail, and the Millennium Dome. Tantalizingly close now, but one more big hurdle to go. We smiled a bit, and I had an extra glass of wine, but held off on any big celebrating, afraid to jinx our good luck.

Well, yesterday's news meant that I'm digging in the closet for my long-unused dancing shoes. Just as I'm set to sign the contracts for End of the Century, I get word from my agent that he's received a formal offer on one of my work-for-hire franchise novel proposals. (I'd heard from the editor herself a couple of hours earlier, so it wasn't a shock, but it always seems more official when the word comes from my agent.) I'll wait until the contracts are done and the editor gives the go ahead to say what the project is, but the "research" involves me reading huge stacks of old comics, so how can that be bad?

Three books sold in the last six weeks, and we stay in the black this year. We've still got crushing amounts of debt, but hey, who doesn't? I've got the best job in the world.

Okay, now I'm off to celebrate.