Entrants & Winners & Butterwings
My first Goodreads Giveaway ended just after midnight yesterday [imagine me mopping my brow in a caricature of vaudevillian melodrama]. By that time a total of 447 Goodreaders clicked the ENTER button in hopes of winning one of 13 signed copies of The Luck of Madonna 13. Wow! My HEARTFELT THANKS to every one of those fine Goodreaders! And to the many others who hit the TO READ button (possibly after having seen the ads a few times); these are data points we emerging authors find encouraging. After all, most of us don't write entire novels just to please ourselves.
Today, the 13 winners representing 12 different states (two were Illinoians) got their copies signed and stuffed into nice padded envelopes in the company of nice, informative personal notes from the author. Tomorrow morning they will make their way to the nearest post office, which isn't quite around the corner but is near enough.
Made me wish I had some Airpost butterwings like they have in Hallah. Alas, even well-trained butterwings are never well-trained enough to not be a hazard if they decide to decorate your head with a blob of noxious excreta, so be warned. Truth is, butterwings have personalities a lot like cats except that they can fly, and hold grudges better and longer than cats. And they can be w-a-a-a-y more invasive than cats, especially Picters Guild butterwings, who tend to be arrogant on account of their fancy uniforms and the power and prestige of wielding eyebuttons. But how did I get started talking about Hallah [rhetorical question]?
Truth is, it only takes an excuse the width of a paper cut to get me talking about Hallah. I love that goddamn planetoid. Even if its sky is falling, Chicken Little style, and leaving nasty skybomb craters the size of Yankee Stadium. Except for the nasty sky problem, it's the kind of planetoid most reasonably smart people would like to live in: not overpopulated, not a lot of strife, etc. Of course, the Fogwits love their toobs and their rising stars, so in that sense it's not entirely unlike "civilized" nations of the early 21st century. But I've had great fun writing about it and I'm going to be really pissed if it ends up self-destructing. Will it? How should I know? I'm one of those writers who is entirely incapable of plotting epics out in advance (I HATED outlining in school, naturally).
But I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest you get yourself a copy of book one in the Hallah Saga – Glix Leroux is the Rising Star – either the Kindle or the paperback version. It's only in what some people call "soft release" at the moment, but daring, un-hoopla-tainted readers (known in the Recipe Rangers lexicon as "Type 3 types") can find them here: http://amzn.to/WSj5Y7. I dare you. Hell, I'd double or triple dare you if that's what it takes. You'll be glad you took the dare. Trust me on that.
Today, the 13 winners representing 12 different states (two were Illinoians) got their copies signed and stuffed into nice padded envelopes in the company of nice, informative personal notes from the author. Tomorrow morning they will make their way to the nearest post office, which isn't quite around the corner but is near enough.
Made me wish I had some Airpost butterwings like they have in Hallah. Alas, even well-trained butterwings are never well-trained enough to not be a hazard if they decide to decorate your head with a blob of noxious excreta, so be warned. Truth is, butterwings have personalities a lot like cats except that they can fly, and hold grudges better and longer than cats. And they can be w-a-a-a-y more invasive than cats, especially Picters Guild butterwings, who tend to be arrogant on account of their fancy uniforms and the power and prestige of wielding eyebuttons. But how did I get started talking about Hallah [rhetorical question]?
Truth is, it only takes an excuse the width of a paper cut to get me talking about Hallah. I love that goddamn planetoid. Even if its sky is falling, Chicken Little style, and leaving nasty skybomb craters the size of Yankee Stadium. Except for the nasty sky problem, it's the kind of planetoid most reasonably smart people would like to live in: not overpopulated, not a lot of strife, etc. Of course, the Fogwits love their toobs and their rising stars, so in that sense it's not entirely unlike "civilized" nations of the early 21st century. But I've had great fun writing about it and I'm going to be really pissed if it ends up self-destructing. Will it? How should I know? I'm one of those writers who is entirely incapable of plotting epics out in advance (I HATED outlining in school, naturally).
But I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest you get yourself a copy of book one in the Hallah Saga – Glix Leroux is the Rising Star – either the Kindle or the paperback version. It's only in what some people call "soft release" at the moment, but daring, un-hoopla-tainted readers (known in the Recipe Rangers lexicon as "Type 3 types") can find them here: http://amzn.to/WSj5Y7. I dare you. Hell, I'd double or triple dare you if that's what it takes. You'll be glad you took the dare. Trust me on that.
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