That's what █████'s calling me this morning. Late last night I got home from a dismal movie with friends (Northfork—pretentious, silly, and overrated, despite a good setup and some great moments) and brought the mail in. There were vicious thunderstorms in the city yesterday, and the mail was soaked. That included my subscription copy of the October 2003 issue of Realms of Fantasy.

I woke up █████ before carefully peeling back the wet "protective wrapper." And there was my name on the cover. My first cover.

My name wasn't as big as Harlan Ellison's, but (almost embarrassingly) it was above and bigger than Michaels Bishop and Swanwick. We stared at it for a couple of minutes before even opening the magazine.

The illustration inside was gorgeous.

Oh, yeah, the story is "The Day Pietro Coppino Spoke to the Mountain," and █████ bids me tell you it's her favorite of everything I've written. Should be hitting newsstands soon. I'll let you know.