The calendar may say March 25, but it certainly doesn’t feel like spring yet here in Niagara; the ground is still frozen solid and was coated with early-morning frost, and I had to scrape my windshield and brush off a light dusting of snow. Winter 2013/2014 has been brutal, and even someone like me who loves blustery, blizzard-y weather is REALLY over it, now. I’m ready for bright sun, warm breezes, open windows, starting seeds, filling garden pots, getting this shaggy dog her summer haircut (my puppy, I mean…”shaggy dog” is not a euphemism for my lady bits. Not today, anyway.).

There are a few things I will miss about winter, though, as we move toward warm weather. A roaring fire in the wood stove. A mad dash from the house to the car while the wind whips snow in your face. Shoveling the driveway (yes, I like that, I don’t know why.). Coming inside to a blanket and tea and the perfect excuse to spend all night curled up reading. Cancelling plans to go out because of bad roads, and instead playing Clue with the kids. Chili bubbling in the slow cooker. Watching fat snowflakes fill the air. There is magic there, a cold and secret power that the mundane must respect even if they can’t appreciate its origins. As these things are going away until next November or so, I suppose I should enjoy the final blasts of cold, and bid farewell to my old friend Winter as she prepares to leave. And so, tonight, a final fire in the wood stove, a last batch of winter chili, and a whole day curled up under a blanket reading (and editing) with a pot of tea.

Catch you folks when the thaw comes.

(Author’s note: The third book of the Marnie Baranuik Files, Last Impressions, is nearly ready for release. My graphic artist, Greg Simanson, is finished with the cover, the edits are running smoothly via Mr. Rafe Brox (I say “mister” cuz he’s scary), my enthusiastic manager Wendy Logsdon has got her plans in order (love you, Wendy!), and overall, things are looking good for release in May. That date will be firmed up as soon as possible, and when it is, I will probably pass out from excitement. I’ve got that New Book Fever, and I’m weeks away from becoming a true pain in the ass. Until then, thanks for your continued support and words of encouragement. My readers are just awesome. xo Aj.) 

At five o’clock in the morning, a bookstore is a wonderful, magical place. It’s a much different experience before the doors open, before the full lights come on, before the customers are browsing, before the background music is playing. The books speak to you at that hour. The titles catch your eye, the covers beckon, and if you seek them out, the authors seem to negotiate with you from their super-pro photos. “I know what I’m talking about,” some say. Those are the serious folks. “I’ve got sexy sins and secrets,” another might suggest by the twinkle in their eye. “I wrote this, but don’t look at me, only the words matter!” says one, whose picture shows the back of her head and a big black coat hiding her shape. “Not only are my words hot, but I’m totally do-able,” says this one guy, whom I am not naming (Hint: It was not Brad Thor, except that it was) and whom I did not mentally undress all morning (I did so) because I’m all about personal growth (#PersonalGrowthFail) and I’m doing much better (lotsa work to do).

Very few of us see the bookstore this early and in this otherworldly hush. Some mornings, I crank the tunes in my headphones and motor my way through the carts, shelving new books, counting the ones we have, pulling off returns, whatever task I’m given. Other days, I leave the headphones dangling and enjoy the quiet offerings of an entire building full of stories new and old. There is history, here. There is love and hate, murder and rescue, bravery and savagery, law and war and food and all the issues of a planet teeming with life. Here be dragons, yes, and devils and knights, and anything else one could want or imagine. Art. Poetry. Pirates. Sorcery. Fishing. Gardening. Boxing. Time travel. Raising a family. Protecting bees. Fixing your car.  Returning evil rings to a grave of molten rock. Falling in love with something not quite human.  Eating like a caveman. Catching a killer.

<Good morning, ladies of SciFi/Fantasy>

The money I’m making from my writing is fairly good now, and I could probably let my  job at the bookstore go. But why would anyone want to do that? I’ve been at this store for fifteen years. I am so delighted when I discover a new writer, or find that a writer I already love has a new release, or I’m able to build a display of books full of favorite reads and staff picks. And I’ve learned a lot about the business of book selling that certainly gives me a different perspective when I do sell my own books. Some mornings, it’s very difficult to haul my tired ass out of bed at four, and shove my legs into whatever pants I grab in the dark, and shuffle out the door to work. But every single time I leave work, I float. Between mornings at the bookstore and days at my desk writing, I am exactly where I want to be. I can’t imagine a better job for a writer.

(Note: A.J. Aalto is currently enduring the painful but exhilarating editorial process before the release of the third book in the Marnie Baranuik Files, Last Impressions. If she eats all your cookies, please take into account that she is at this time non compos mentis and cannot be held responsible for her cookie thievery.)

Derek: Quick, mom, I need some silk!

Me: Uh…I don’t really own silk anymore, Honeybuns, sorry.

Derek: Anymore? What happened?

Me: Clothing styles change? People’s bodies change? Fabrics like silk wear out? Nothing lasts forever.

Derek: That’s not true. I know something that will last forever.

Me: Is the answer: a son’s love for his adoring mother?

Derek: GROSS. *laughs* No. Me. I’m going to last forever. After I get put into a computer, like my brain? And my thoughts and stuff? I’ll be all up in the web wherever I want. And if I wanna know something, I’ll just Google it in my MIND and *boof!* I’ll know everything about all the stuff.

Me: Are you talking about the Singularity?

Derek: No. When I invent it, I’m going to call it Compubrain. Or Mindweb.

Me: And when is this happening?

Derek: *shrug, lightly…* Oh, I dunno. Maybe this summer, if I’m not too busy with Minecraft.

Me: Might need to learn some physics first? Or neurobiology? Or more about computers?

Derek: You don’t get it. I’ll learn that stuff AFTER I’M IN THERE. It’ll be much easier that way.

That’s my child, everyone. The inventor of “Mindweb”…which he will learn how to create… after he’s created it. Neat trick. Also, you should note, it’s going to sound like “boof” when you learn all the stuff and things with your “compubrain.”

Today, I’m just gonna do a quickie link for you, since Forbes magazine has offered a great article about hybrid publishing and the future of eBooks. I’m mentioned in it. I know, I don’t understand it either, but I’m gonna talk about it. Heh.

I do often get messages from writers who ask, “I have a book to publish. Where did you start? Where are you now?” This article should help answer that last bit.  I’d answer myself, but it’s hard to type while I’m scarfing celebration cupcakes and pouring wine. What? *stuffs mouth* My name was in fuckin’ Forbes ...that means cupcakes and wine. That’s, like, a rule or something. Mandatory cupcakes. Compulsory wine. Obligatory feasting! That’s a thing, right?