So I think I’ve told the story of how I accidentally named Rack and Rhye after a cocktail about a million times now (including in my Author’s Spotlight), but it bears repeating that it is a really, really fucking good drink, subtle but punchy in all the right ways. The world is made of happy accidents, dig? Arrack is an underappreciated spirit, and rye goes with just about anything.
Mix one up and read the story, if you haven’t already! Or mix one up and re-read it, or mix one up and screw the story.
So, uh, hey, anybody who may be still reading this! Long time, no see! Can I, uh, refill your kibble, refresh your water, give you some lotion for those manacle burns? Cool, cool. Sorry about the wait!
The cyberpulp shooty bang-bang swear-thing I kvetched about finishing for two years came out! At Lightspeed! And to my great shock and surprise and gape-jawed confusion, the people not instantly repelled by the wall of bad language apparently fucking loved it. Loved each blazing fuck and silly simile. When I started writing this story I was honestly just doing it to make myself happy, cramming in every trope and narrative tic in my brain’s Favourites list. Turns out a lot of people like the same stuff. I think it’s the most popular story I’ve ever written by a long damn shot.
And reviews! Glowing reviews coming out of the goddamned walls. Know what I was expecting even less than readers loving it? Reviewers loving it. Reviewers I fucking respect. Amal El-Mohtar at Tor! K. Tempest Bradford at io9! A.C. Wise at SF Signal! Apex! Jesus christ, even fucking Tangent recommended it, even if the reviewer seemed to be at least 40% horrified by the language.
The only reviewer less-than-thrilled was Lois Tilton, and as usual if you can actually parse what the hell she’s trying to get at you are the One True Regent of the Britons.
I have no idea how to respond to praise gracefully, so all I can say is this: thank you all for enjoying it and thank those of you who have stopped to tell me so even more, sincerely. You’re the only reason I’m doing this thing (well, that and I cannot stop myself from spewing words like a busted sprinkler outside an office building at 3 AM), and I love hearing that you got something out of it. I’d change a few things, if I could–the silly John Wick Russian baddie accents aren’t needed, and maybe a few of the fucks could go–but other than that, there is the strangest feeling of satisfaction with how this has turned out.
Now. On to a sequel? Who fuckin’ knows.