• “The smartest historical sci-fi adventure-romance story ever written by a science Ph.D. with a background in scripting 'Scrooge McDuck' comics.”—Salon.com
  • A time-hopping, continent-spanning salmagundi of genres.”
    —ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY
  • “These books have to be word-of-mouth books because they're too weird to describe to anybody.”
    —Jackie Cantor, Diana's first editor

PROGRESS! OUTLANDER: The Musical now on Amazon!


Update: The information on this blog is now out of date.

As of June 27, 2016, sales of the "Outlander: The Musical" were discontinued on Amazon and other outlets in the U.S. You still may buy a copy using paypal from the musical’s home page at:

http://www.outlanderthemusical.com/


Original Blog from September 26, 2010:

I’m pleased to report that—thanks to the good offices of Ann Behar, at my literary agent’s office—we now have an Official AMAZON.COM account for the OUTLANDER: The Musical CD!

We hope this will be more convenient for those of you who a) don’t have or don’t want to use PayPal, and b) are on this side of the Atlantic—since you won’t have to wait a week or two for your CDs to be shipped from Scotland!

Apparently a few people have indeed found it more convenient—or are doing their Christmas shopping early—since Allan (Scott-Douglas—the voice of Jamie Fraser <g>) told me a few minutes ago that the OUTLANDER: The Musical CD has risen from number 70 to number 10 (!!) in the "Musicals" bestseller category today.

Which, you know, is pretty darn cool. <g> THANK YOU!! to all of you who’ve bought the CD—we hope you enjoy it!


This page was last updated on Sunday, August 7, 2016, by Diana’s Webmistress.

Thank you! And if you don’t want to read excerpts, stop NOW…!

Dear All–

Many thanks to the dedicated (that sounds so much better than, say, “obsessed,” let alone “clinically deranged”) souls who did so much in championing me to the first place in the National Book Festival’s Favorite Author poll!

I would not, of course, want to be accused of bribery, even _ex post facto_, so I won’t say this is a reward for such a gallant effort [g] But as I’ve been reading these excerpts from Book Eight at the various events this week, I thought it was only fair to share them with those who couldn’t make it to one or another of the book-tour appearances.

[Meaning–if you want to avoid excerpts from Book Eight…

STOP
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READING
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NOW
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.

Still with me? [g] Well, alrighty, then!

Book Eight excerpt
Copyright 2010 Diana Gabaldon

JEM IN THE TUNNEL

He must be getting near the end of the tunnel. Jem could tell by the way the air pushed back against his face. All he could see was the little red light on the train’s dashboard–did you call it a dashboard on a train? he wondered. He didn’t want to stop, because that meant he’d have to get out of the train, into the dark. But the train was running out of track, so there wasn’t much else he could do.

He pulled back a little bit on the lever that made the train go, and it slowed down. More. Just a little more, and the lever clicked into a kind of slot and the train stopped with a little jerk that made him stumble and grab the edge of the cab.

An electric train didn’t make any engine noise, but the wheels rattled on the track and the train made squeaks and clunks as it moved. When it stopped, the noise stopped too. It was really quiet.

“Hey!” he said out loud, because he didn’t want to listen to his heart beating. The sound echoed, and he looked up, startled. Mum had said the tunnel was really high, more than thirty feet, but he’d forgot that. The idea that there was a lot of empty space hanging over him that he couldn’t see bothered him a lot. He swallowed, and stepped out of the tiny engine, holding on to the frame with one hand.

“Hey!” he shouted at the invisible ceiling. “Are there any bats up there?”

Silence. He’d kind of been hoping there were bats. He wasn’t afraid of them–there were bats in the old broch, and he liked to sit and watch them come out to hunt in the summer evenings. But he was alone. Except for the dark.

His hands were sweating. He let go of the metal cab and scrubbed both hands on his jeans. Now he could hear himself breathing, too.

“Crap,” he whispered under his breath. That made him feel better, so he said it again. Maybe he ought to be praying, instead, but he didn’t feel like that, not yet.

There was a door, Mum said. At the end of the tunnel. It led into the service chamber, where the big turbines could be lifted up from the dam if they needed fixing. Would the door be locked?

Suddenly he realized that he’d stepped away from the train and he didn’t know whether he was facing the end of the tunnel or back the way he’d come. In a panic, he blundered to and fro, hands out, looking for the train. He tripped over part of the track and fell sprawling. He lay there for a second saying “Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap!” because he’d skinned both knees and the palm of his hand, but he was OK, really, and now he knew where the track was, so he could follow it and not get lost.

He got up, wiped his nose, and shuffled slowly along, kicking the track every few steps to be sure he stayed with it. He thought he was in front of where the train had stopped, so it didn’t really matter which way he was going–either he’d find the train or he’d find the end of the tunnel. And then the door. If it was locked, maybe–

Something like an electric shock ran right through him. He gasped and fell over backward. The only thing in his mind was the idea that somebody had hit him with a light-sabre like Luke Skywalker’s, and for a minute, he though maybe whoever it was had cut off his head.

He couldn’t feel his body, and could see in his mind his body lying bleeding in the dark and his head sitting right there on the train tracks in the dark, not being able to see his body and not even knowing it wasn’t attached anymore. He made a breathless kind of a noise that was trying to be a scream, but it made his stomach move and he felt that, he felt it, and suddenly he felt a lot more like praying.

“Gratia…Deo!” he managed to gasp. It was what Grand-da said when he talked about a fight or killing something and this wasn’t quite that sort of thing, but it seemed like a good thing to say anyway.

Now he could feel all of himself again, but he sat up and grabbed his neck, just to be sure his head was still on. His skin was jumping in the weirdest way. Like a horse’s does when a horse-fly bites it, but all over. He swallowed and tasted sugared silver and he gasped again, because now he knew what had hit him. Sort of.

This wasn’t quite like it had been, when they’d all walked into the rocks on Ocracoke. One minute, he’d been in his father’s arms and the next minute it was like he was scattered everywhere in little wiggly pieces like the spilled quicksilver in Grannie’s surgery. Then he was back together again, and Da was still holding him tight enough to squeeze his breath out and he could hear Da sobbing and that scared him and he had a funny taste in his mouth and little pieces of him were still wiggling around trying to get away but they were trapped inside his skin…

Yeah. That was what was making his skin jump now, and he breathed easier, knowing what it was. That was OK, then, he was OK, it would stop.

It was stopping already, the twitchy feeling going away. He still felt a little shaky, but he stood up. Careful, because he didn’t know where it was.

Wait…he did know. He knew exactly.

“That’s weird,” he said, out loud without really noticing, because he wasn’t scared by the dark anymore, it wasn’t important.

He couldn’t really see it, not with his eyes, not exactly. He squinted, trying to think how he was seeing it, but there wasn’t a word for what he was doing. Kind of like hearing or smelling or touching, but not really any of those.

But he knew where it was. It was right there, a kind of…shiver…in the air, and when he stared at it, he had a feeling in the back of his mind like really pretty sparkly things, like sun on the sea and the way a candle-flame looked when it shone through a ruby, but he knew he wasn’t really seeing anything like that.

It went all the way across the tunnel, and up to the high roof, too, he could tell. But it wasn’t thick at all, it was thin as air.

He guessed that was why it hadn’t swallowed him like the thing in the rocks on Ocracoke had. At least…he thought it hadn’t, and for an instant, worried that maybe he’d gone sometime else. But he didn’t think so. The tunnel felt just the same, and so did he, now his skin had stopped jumping. When they’d done it, on Ocracoke, he’d known right away it was different.

He stood there for a minute, just looking and thinking, and then shook his head and turned around, feeling with his foot for the track. He wasn’t going back through that, no matter what. He’d just have to hope the door wasn’t locked.

[end section]

Book Eight Excerpt
Copyright 2010 Diana Gabaldon

JAMIE/LORD JOHN

He’d been quite resigned to dying. Had expected it from the moment that he’d blurted out, “I have had carnal knowledge of your wife.” The only question in his mind had been whether Fraser would shoot him, stab him, or eviscerate him with his bare hands.

To have the injured husband regard him calmly, and say merely, “Oh? Why?” was not merely unexpected, but…infamous. Absolutely infamous.

“Why?” John Grey repeated, incredulous. “Did you say ‘Why’?”

“I did. And I should appreciate an answer.”

Now that Grey had both eyes open, he could see that Fraser’s outward calm was not quite so impervious as he’d first supposed. There was a pulse beating in Fraser’s temple, and he’d shifted his weight a little, like a man might do in the vicinity of a tavern brawl, not quite ready to commit violence, but readying himself to meet it. Perversely, Grey found this sight steadying.

“What do you bloody mean, ‘why’?” he said, suddenly irritated. “And why aren’t you fucking dead?”

“I often wonder that myself,” Fraser replied politely. “I take it ye thought I was?”

“Yes, and so did your wife! Do you have the faintest idea what the knowledge of your death did to her?”

The dark blue eyes narrowed just a trifle.

“Are ye implying that the news of my death deranged her to such an extent that she lost her reason and took ye to her bed by force? Because,” he went on, neatly cutting off Grey’s heated reply, “unless I’ve been seriously misled regarding your own nature, it would take substantial force to compel ye to any such action. Or am I wrong?”

The eyes stayed narrow. Grey stared back at them. Then he closed his eyes briefly and rubbed both hands hard over his face, like a man waking from nightmare. He dropped his hands and opened his eyes again.

“You are not misled,” he said, through clenched teeth. “And you are wrong.”

Fraser’s ruddy eyebrows shot up–in genuine astonishment, he thought.

“Ye went to her because—from desire?” His voice rose, too. “And she let ye? I dinna believe it.”

The color was creeping up Fraser’s tanned neck, vivid as a climbing rose. Grey had seen that happen before, and decided recklessly that the best–the only–defense was to lose his own temper first. It was a relief.

“We thought you were dead, you bloody arsehole!” he said, furious. “Both of us! Dead! And we–we–took too much to drink one night–very much too much…we spoke of you…and… Damn you, neither one of us was making love to the other–we were fucking you!”

Fraser’s face went abruptly blank and his jaw dropped. Grey enjoyed one split-second of satisfaction at the sight, before a massive fist came up hard beneath his ribs and he hurtled backward, staggered a few steps further, and fell. He lay in the leaves, completely winded, mouth opening and closing like an automaton’s.

All right, then, he thought dimly. Bare hands it is.

The hands wrapped themselves in his shirt and jerked him to his feet. He managed to stand, and a wisp of air seeped into his lungs. Fraser’s face was an inch from his. Fraser was in fact so close that he couldn’t see the man’s expression–only a close-up view of two bloodshot blue eyes, both of them berserk. That was enough. He felt quite calm now. It wouldn’t take long.

“You tell me exactly what happened, ye filthy wee pervert,” Fraser whispered, his breath hot on Grey’s face and smelling of ale. He shook Grey slightly. “Every word. Every motion. Everything.”

Grey got just enough breath to answer.

“No,” he said definitely. “Go ahead and kill me.”

[end section]

Never Been Viral Before…

…but the fabulous Nikki has done it! Don’t think it’ll last [g], but her terrific book-trailer at http://www.youtube.com/user/voyagesoftheartemis?feature=mhum#p/a/u/0/D-BRb2ipU5I has had 2750 clicks in the last day and a half—causing YouTube to ask whether we want to take ads for our “viral video.” [g]

We don’t, but we surely do appreciate all the clicks! (And we hope you’ll enjoy the book as much as the trailer…!)

Methadone Thumbnails

Quickie here (things are hotting up as we get closer to The Exile release): Barnes and Noble asked me a little while ago to give them three book recommendations for a guest feature. In case you need something to read over the next three days [g]…

http://bnreview.barnesandnoble.com/t5/Guest-Books/Diana-Gabaldon/ba-p/3159

New Interview – New Book-Trailer!

Boy, it’s been an eventful day, so far!

First the fabulous Nikki Rowe, who manages my YouTube Channel with such flair and grace, puts up a wonderful new book-trailer video for THE EXILE (featuring several new art samples!).

AND she also deftly snares a brand-new video interview I did for NovelsAliveTV (whom I met at DragonCon earlier this month)!

HERE is a link that will take you to both.

Don’t say we don’t try to keep y’all entertained….[g] Hope you enjoy them!

THE EXILE – LAUNCH PARTY!!




ONE WEEK AND COUNTING!! (September 21st!)

OK, time to get out the book-touring clothes and check for sweat stains…! (Well, yes, I do. Performing raises my body temp about five degrees, no matter what the ambient temperature is. I figure it’s all the energy pouring in from the audience. Y’all are great—and hot. [g])

Now that I’ve taken to Twittering (I’m “Writer_DG”), I notice that a few people seem to think that THE EXILE is just OUTLANDER done in pictures. If you’ve been following my blog for a bit, you’ll already know that’s not the case—EXILE is a brand-new story, though if you’ve read OUTLANDER (and I’m sort of figuring most of you have [cough]) you’ll recognize some of the main incidents.

You will, though, also have an all-new storyline, _and_ perhaps learn a few things people tell me they’ve wondered about from the original novel: Who was the mysterious girl in France? Where did Jamie get his mother’s pearls? What did Mrs. Fitz make of Claire’s bra? [g]

NOW—the LAUNCH PARTY!!

The Poisoned Pen bookstore has always done launch parties for my books, God bless them—but this time it’s gonna be Special.

We sort of outgrew the confines of the bookstore with A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES, and so they hosted the last launch (for AN ECHO IN THE BONE) at the Biltmore Hotel—it was great! For this time, though—we have not only me and a pile of books [g], but also Hoang Nguyen, the wonderful artist who did the artwork, and we’ll be doing a knockabout cross-talk act…er…a collaborative program, I mean, in which we want to show you some of the cool art while we talk about it (explaining, for example, how we eventually came up with Jamie’s Butt), and that meant finding a venue where we could have good projection equipment and good seats for you to sit in while looking at it. (Though I must say that the imagination boggles a bit at the notion of an enormous projection of Jamie’s rear end…)

So. The Pen’s arranged to do this at the Scottsdale Center for the Arts, which has a lovely, brand-newly remodeled auditorium. And since we’re making such an Occasion of it, food and drink will be provided by Arcadia Farms. Aaaaand…

We’ll have music, courtesy of OUTLANDER: The Musical. I _will_ (God willing and the international shipping company cooperating) have CDs of OTM on hand to sell—but the Center for the Arts has a good sound system that will let us play the CD for you prior to the event, so you’ll have a chance to listen to it.

(As a Special Added Attraction, I _will_ read one or two excerpts from Book Eight. Just in case you were wondering how Jem’s doing in that tunnel, or What Jamie Said to Lord John next. [g] See below.)

Anyway, I expect a great time to be had by all, and hope to see y’all there, glowing like embers. [g] (I _will_ wear deodorant, in honor of the occasion.)

P.S. Since the launch party is in a special venue—which had to be rented for the occasion—there _are_ tickets for it. Each ticket includes the price of a signed book (it can be signed by me alone, by Hoang alone, or by both of us!)—and if you want to bring a friend, you can get a “companion” ticket for an additional $5. Book tickets here.

JEM

He must be getting near the end of the tunnel. Jem could tell by the way the air pushed back against his face. All he could see was the little red light on the train’s dashboard–did you call it a dashboard on a train? he wondered. He didn’t want to stop, because that meant he’d have to get out of the train, into the dark. But the train was running out of track, so there wasn’t much else he could do.

He pulled back a little bit on the lever that made the train go, and it slowed down. More. Just a little more, and the lever clicked into a kind of slot and the train stopped with a little jerk that made him stumble and grab the edge of the cab.

An electric train didn’t make any engine noise, but the wheels rattled on the track and the train made squeaks and clunks as it moved. When it stopped, the noise stopped too. It was really quiet.

“Hey!” he said out loud, because he didn’t want to listen to his heart beating. The sound echoed, and he looked up, startled. Mum had said the tunnel was really high, more than thirty feet, but he’d forgot that. The idea that there was a lot of empty space hanging over him that he couldn’t see bothered him a lot. He swallowed, and stepped out of the tiny engine, holding on to the frame with one hand.

“Hey!” he shouted at the invisible ceiling. “Are there any bats up there?”
….

JAMIE/LORD JOHN

He’d been quite resigned to dying. Had expected it from the moment that he’d blurted out, “I have had carnal knowledge of your wife.” The only question in his mind had been whether Fraser would shoot him, stab him, or eviscerate him with his bare hands.

To have the injured husband regard him calmly, and say merely, “Oh? Why?” was not merely unexpected, but…infamous. Absolutely infamous.

“Why?” John Grey repeated, incredulous. “Did you say ‘Why
‘?”

“I did. And I should appreciate an answer.”

Urram do Mair

It’s Gaidhlig ; it means

“Honor to the Dead”

Incoming…!

That would be me.

In answer to questions about my immediate whereabouts this weekend at the Bookmarks Book Festival in Winston-Salem, NC:

1:00 – 1:45 PM – talk/reading on Main Stage

1:45 – 3:30 (with bathroom break somewhere in there, I hope) – book-signing
(No, there will NOT be copies of THE EXILE available; it won’t be released until the launch part on Sept. 21)

3:30 – 4:15 – Panel discussion with two NC authors (whose names I unfortunately forget) about “Sense of Place” – on Main Stage

4:15 – more book-signing, if anyone still needs it.

MANY thanks to all the kind people who’ve welcomed me to NC and invited me to come places, eat with them, etc. I’m afraid that I’m only there for the one day, though, and am meeting with smaller groups all morning, and dining with the Festival organizers Saturday evening. Much Obliged, though, and I’ll hope for more leisure to meet with y’all next time!

Oh–while we’re at it, I see the Poisoned Pen has put up a Really Nice blogpost about the launch part for THE EXILE at

http://penandtheexile.blogspot.com/

Unexpurgated Artwork


Right, unexpurgated art. Well, here’s the deal: There is a section at the end of THE EXILE (the new graphic novel), titled “The Making of THE EXILE,” which is a behind-the-scenes look at the collaboration between me and Hoang Nguyen, who did the artwork for the book. It includes a mention of one panel, showing part of Jamie and Claire’s wedding night, where the publishing people (reluctantly [g]) decided that the art was a little _too_ graphic, and opted to have Hoang draw a blanket over part of the view. However, Betsy Mitchell, the editor, told me that I could put the original panel up on my website and blog, once the book was out–and I mentioned that while writing my part of the “Making Of” section.

Well, next thing I know, someone tells me that Random House Canada (who are also publishing the book) have uploaded the “Making Of” section to scribd–the link is
here–and all kinds of people are going nuts looking for the dirty art. [g]

I hadn’t expected the “Making Of” section to be available prior to publication, so the art wasn’t up yet. (And it’s not _that_ explicit, anyway) But I was away from home when all this hit over the weekend, so just now having time to get it up. There you are–enjoy!

Yeah, it WAS busy!


Monday, Monday…

Or at least I _think_ it’s still Monday. Leapt into a plane this morning and flew home from Atlanta, after a delightful—but busy!—weekend at DragonCon and the Decatur Book Festival. (Well, it was Monday when I started this; now it’s Tuesday…my, how time does fly…)

Both these events are wonderful, but it would be hard to imagine two gatherings (both involving thousands of people) more dissimilar. The Decatur Book Festival is charming: it’s held in Decatur (reasonably enough), a suburb some eight miles outside Atlanta, a small town with an old-fashioned Southern (with a capital “S”) feel to it, and occupies the center of the town, with white tents arranged around the Old Courthouse, and reading venues here and there—I spoke in the Presbyterian Church, which is their largest venue (someone told me it holds 900 people, and there were just about that many in it, I think).

There’s a street filled with food-vendor’s booths, selling everything from ice-cold lemonade (regular and cherry (pronounced “cheery”)) to fried dough (with powdered sugar) and fried fish and dirty rice. The tents running up and down the streets hold everything book-related (and a few things having Not That Much to do with books, like jewelry and music CD’s): the publications of various companies, small and large, writer’s organizations, book-binders, literacy organizations, children’s books, travel books, philosophical and spiritual books, and a group called Muslims for Peace, handing out information and answering questions about Islam.

The streets themselves are full of families; there’s something for everyone—including the “Ladybug Girl Parade” and a storyteller’s tent, to say nothing of the readings and talks for more adult guests. But the mood is cheerful, laid back, and peaceful; there’s something going on everywhere you look, but the overall sense is one of happy, calm expectancy.

DragonCon is…er…NOT calm. [cough] This is (I think) the biggest sf/fantasy convention in the world. It occupies the entirety of _five_ huge convention hotels in downtown Atlanta, and hosts something like 50,000 people.

You know how one describes any outre’ social gathering as being “like the cantina scene in “Star Wars””? Well, the public aspect of DragonCon _is_ the cantina scene from “Star Wars”.

There are bars (multiple; impromptu portable bars are set up around most of the escalators) on all the floors, thronged with…well, you name it. If you can imagine it, you’ll see it there—and a Whole Lot of Stuff Nobody Ever Even THOUGHT of Before, too. (Thinking here specifically of the man—naked save for a fur Speedo—painted red from scalp to shoe-sole, with four nails through each nipple. (I told my husband about this and he said, “Either he has big nipples, or they were small nails.” Small nails. Real ones, though.)

About half the participants are in costume, and I do mean “Costume.” As in, these people take their costuming Very Seriously, and dress up as anything from their favorite anime character to an undead cabaret dancer (one of the finalists from last year’s masquerade—which I had the privilege of judging, meaning I got to see everything from a distance of about six feet), Chthulhu, or a Black Ops team from Another World (which one, I don’t know; I was afraid to ask. They aren’t _supposed_ to carry real weapons, but…). There’s an official parade in costume on Saturday morning, but believe me, you can see just about everything simply by standing in one place in the lobby of the Hyatt Regency (the main hub of the con) and letting it all thunder past you. (“The nerd herd is particularly thick tonight,” one panelist remarked, explaining his late arrival, disheveled and panting.)

While the Decatur Book Festival lasts two days and is impeccably organized, DragonCon lasts four (more or less) and…well, in all justice, _I_ wouldn’t want to be responsible for scheduling several hundred presenters and allotting them room in a multi-hotel labyrinth that would baffle the Minotaur.

Several of the hotels are linked physically, both above and below-ground, and all of the “writer’s-track” panels and events were held in the bowels of the earth, two or three stories _under_ the hotel complex. This made finding the locations for various panels a little challenging, but the hotels did tend to scatter staff members with a lavish hand, so it wasn’t that hard to find someone to ask. Still, the schedulers were inclined to put eight people or so on a panel, just to insure that three or four of them showed up on time—with the result that sometimes you really _had_ eight or nine people on a panel, which is a little unwieldy.

I was the official guest of the Decatur Book Festival, but the DBF is more than generous in sharing guests with DragonCon, and goes so far as to provide free transportation back and forth between Decatur and downtown Atlanta (and the airport) during the weekend. I took full advantage of this, as I had to make _three_ round trips on Friday, in between DragonCon events.

My chief reason—other than the fact that I enjoy it [g] –for attending this year was to promote the upcoming publication of THE EXILE (yes, yes, yes, I know you want the unexpurgated artwork from the wedding night scene; it’ll be along in the next blog entry), and I was delighted to have everyone show such enthusiasm for the book! (My editor, Betsy Mitchell, came to DragonCon to do a panel on the graphic novel with me, and brought me a copy of the Actual Book! Always a thrill [g], when something you’ve worked on for months or years is suddenly embodied and you hold it in your hands—and this is a particular pleasure, since it’s physically beautiful, as well as A Real Book.

I did have other minor things to do, though; I did a number of panels on writing—always a lot of fun—and a very interesting one in Decatur, with several YA authors, for an audience of younger readers (and their parents). Don’t know as they’ll ask me to do that one again, though, as one of the questions was which book I remembered most vividly from my teen years and I replied—honestly—that it was FANNY HILL. [cough]

Also brought a number of the Outlander: The Musical CD’s with me, and sold them at my signing in Decatur, courtesy of The Little Shop of Stories, who hosted my event. Happy to say I sold pretty much all of them—though I’d given some to my son (see below) to carry in his suitcase, and neglected to get them back before the event. (No worries; I’ll take those with me to the Bookmarks Festival in Winston-Salem next weekend.)—and people seemed thrilled to have them.

(I’m planning to have at least some CD’s at all the independent book-store events on the book-tour, later this month, so if you’d rather not go to the bother of setting up a PayPal account (and paying shipping) or waiting ‘til we get the Amazon/iTunes connections going, _and_ you’ll be in one of the places I’ll be….I’ll have a CD for you there! [g] (Special Event Price – $15.00!))

Beyond the pleasure of meeting fans, talking about writing, and sharing fabulous music, I was also supporting the efforts of a couple of Worthy Young Men.

First of these being Samuel Sykes (www.samsykes.com), hot new author of heroic fantasy, and [cough] my son. His first novel, TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, was published in the UK earlier this year, but comes out in the US this month. Having got an agent, a three-book contract, published in six countries, and good reviews, all on his own, he’s now willing to admit that he’s related to me. [g]

Sam was at DragonCon, promoting the US release of TOME, so I took a copy with me to my various panels and talks and was allowed to brag on it and show off the very attractive cover (see above). Pleased to note that Sam’s publisher had brought 50 copies of TOME to the Con—all of which sold by Sunday morning. (I didn’t do _nearly_ that well with _my_ first book…)

The second young man being Allan Scott-Douglas, who sings the role of Jamie Fraser on the Outlander: The Musical CD. Allan told me that owing to the kind interest of all the Outlander fans, he was #2 “most viewed actor” on the UK castingcallpro website for professional actors—“Only behind the new girl on Coronation Street.” I laughed and said that if he wanted to be #1, I’d mention him while in Atlanta, and we’d see what happened.

So…I did, and y’all made him #1 within about 24 hours—MANY thanks!

(Though I think I rather shocked him by reporting that I’d had a good response to his photo (in kilt) at the “Sex in Science-Fiction” panel. “How on earth did you manage to use my picture in a panel on sex?!” being his rather agitated reply. “I’m glad they liked it…but a little weirded out!” (Granted, that sort of panel usually starts on a low note and heads straight downhill, but not to worry; I didn’t do anything even slightly undignified. It’s just that the moderator’s first question was, “So…what do you personally find sexy in sf or fantasy? Let’s start with you, Dr. Gabaldon…” –whereupon, moved by inspiration, I pulled Allan’s photo out of the folder I was carrying and solemnly displayed it to the crowd, all of whom burst into applause. Responding to the iconic “Man-in-Kilt” image, I mean, not Allan’s personal attributes. (Coulda been worse. One of the DragonCon events was (I kid you not) “Men in Kilts…woman with leaf-blower.”))

Only justice, though, that a man in a kilt then made _me_ blush, in Decatur. [g] During the Q&A following my talk, a tall, nice-looking gentleman at the back of the church stood up and told me that he’d been impressed by the accuracy of my depictions of the area of North Carolina near where he lived, and would like to offer his services if I needed any research—adding that he would put his resources at my disposal.

OK. I’d already told all my indelicate kilt stories. [cough] So I laughed, thanked him, and said, “In terms of resources—I won’t ask whether you have a kilt.” Whereupon he stepped out into the aisle, arms spread, displaying…a very becoming kilt. [g]

Anyway, it was a terrific weekend—if Really, Really Busy—and I had a wonderful time meeting so many nice people!