I hoped, the way struggling young writers always hope, kind of like hoping for a pony, but I didn't dare hope too much. The accidental blog leak late last night, brought to my attention by a certain Lord of Grey Caps, let me know at about midnight, so I screamed and scared the life out of justbeast while he was doing yoga and ran around like a little kid on Christmas morning when there's an honest to god elf-made pony with a mounted ray gun on her saddle under the tree, with a racing heartbeat and hyperventillating and laughing.
The Orphan's Tales was nominated for a World Fantasy Award.
I'm so happy and excited I can't even say. That this weird book I started writing for a little girl who is no longer my niece on a rainy afternoon in Rhode Island is noticed by anyone never ceases to amaze me, and this is just...so wonderful. I have no illusions about winning, but it is some stunningly rarified company my fairy tales are in, tugging at the sleeves of Stephen King and Ellen Kushner and Gene Wolfe and Scott Lynch. I am so proud of my girl in the garden. She done good.
Congratulations to everyone who made the ballot in all categories (Yay Salon Fantastique!), and I'll see you all in New York! I think this means I can justify another pretty new dress...
Is it possible to hug everyone ever at once?