Well, I did it. I survived edits with little to no injuries to my soul or liver, and with a shred of ego intact. Psych! I have no soul, I pickled my liver with Fireball whiskey, and my ego is decimated, though it wasn’t very perky to begin with, so I’ll probably live. My perfectly demanding editor (Rafe Brox, aka Bossyboots McMeaniepants) has given me the green light,  the publisher has accepted the manuscript with care, my crack team at Booktrope Editions has abandoned their cupcakes & wine and is stirring into action, and–omigawd, *ninja kicks & confetti*– Last Impressions has an online release date: Friday June 13. WOOHOO! There will also be several print signings at various book stores etc., the dates of which I shall post as soon as I know them. Then you can come see me! Unless you’re a clown. No clowns allowed. (I might make an exception if you’re a clown with cake. Or a gift of sex toys. Wait, that’s not something I want to encourage, that’s horrifying! How would I get the cake? How would I get the greasepaint off the dildos? That might be the best sentence I’ve ever typed. *phone* “Hey, Mom, um, how do you get greasepaint off a dildo? WELL YOU SAID I COULD ASK YOU ANYTHING.”)

But I digress. Wildly.

Marnie Baranuik has been a blast to write, and there is a fourth book in the Marnie Baranuik Files brewing, but first, this little Writerghoulie is taking a short side trip into the world of murder mysteries. After four long years of being ridiculous with miss Marnie and her crew (can you believe it’s FOUR years already since I first loosed Marnie on the world?), it’s time for something a bit darker. This will be no cosy mystery, though by the sounds of one character, there will be cosy elements. It will not be a police procedural, though there will be plenty of cop stuff (cuz what kinda whackadoodle doesn’t love handcuffs? Mrowr, wink-wink.), and it won’t be heavy on the forensic sciences, though I doubt I could write a book without a dash of science.  I’m up for new characters, a new genre, new challenges, and a chance to stretch my literary legs. I’ll be all Miss Serious and stuff for a while. I can totally do that.

<No, really, I can be super-serious. Well, I CAN TRY. Sheesh.>

Not to fear, for Marnie fans: she’s never far from my heart, and my muse is already suggesting ideas for the fourth in the series, and several ideas for Marnie shorts. While Last Impressions took a serious turn (as did my life, so it was no surprise that seeped into my work), the next Marnie book will be far lighter, a return to the Great White Shark of Paranormal Investigations in her full and dubious glory.

On a personal note, for those in the know, my daughter seems to be making strides to improve her situation, and while the doctors say that some adolescents can actually completely recover from her condition, I’m not expecting miracles. What I am hopeful of is a return to happiness, and some semblance of normalcy. She’s worked very hard to crawl out of a dark space, and while she’s got a strong support system, most of the work and the triumphs are her own. That’s a lot to put on a little girl. She’s going to be an extraordinarily strong woman someday. The fallout of these issues, family-wise, is trying to settle back into the comfortable routines of life. Writing/working is one of those routines that often gets sidelined by emergencies (as it should, of course); the muse, in particular, shuts right up when the shit flies, because he knows damn well that he comes pretty low in the pecking order. Now, as the waters smooth, the muse is tentatively clearing his throat and wondering if it’s okay to come out and play again.

I say we let him.

New books, new challenges, a new season is upon the house of Writerghoulie. Cupcakes and wine! Ninja kicks and confetti (neither of which I have, obviously). Greasepaint and dildos (neither of which I–oh, who are we kidding?). Onward and upward, thanks for your support and love, and happy Spring, ya kooks!

(Touched, the first book in the Marnie Baranuik Files, is available for Kindle here and for your Nook here.)

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.”