I am a first-time author living in Seattle, Washington, where it rains and rains like the dickens, except when it doesn't. Fretting occurs on a daily basis, and small acts of idiocy are perpetrated with stunning proficiency much more often.

If, every so often, you hear the trace of a little whisper-scream on the evening breeze as it swirls past you, that's probably just me still not having gotten over the fact that I managed to write a novel. Sorry about that; it's a condition. I'm trying to get it looked at.