Department of It’s Your Own Damn Fault

The dog, he barks in that tone that means, intruder alert, known variety.

I go to the door to see the nice UPS man approaching with a hugely fat envelope, manuscript style. I’m not expecting page proofs, not even for a paperback reprint. I’m not expecting anything, for that matter, because nothing’s in the queue right now with book two ready to launch in a month and book three wrassling with me even as I type.

I take the unbelievably heavy package and thank him and go inside, and as I start ripping it open I think, some editor must be sending me a manuscript to read in the hopes of getting a quote.

I stick my hand inside and haul out the monster. Ye gods, I think, what idiot writes books this long?

I turn it over to see the cover letter.

Enclosed you will find the original copyedited manuscript of Shadow Gate, being returned to you as required by your contract.