Everyone needs a biggest fan.

Everyone needs a biggest fan; hopefully, your biggest fan will not be Annie Wilkes, as hobbling is absolutely no fun for anyone but the person doing the hobbling, but still, everyone needs one. This goes for you whether you're an author, an artist, an accountant, or the guy who counts sea urchins for the Australian government. Your biggest fan will pretty much decide that everything you ever do is wonderful, even when they lack the critical capacity to really understand what the hell you're talking about. Your biggest fan will applaud your failures, because they're yours. And your biggest fan will cheerfully agree when you announce that you have the ugliest toes in North America.

Your biggest fan is also going to be the first one waiting to puncture your ego if it starts getting too big, the one who says 'I don't understand this' without saying 'so it sucks,' and the one who tells you to wipe your nose, zip your pants, and go deal with your own messes, because your biggest fan understands that sometimes, you just need smacked upside the head and told to get over yourself. Everyone needs a biggest fan. But I don't.

The position has been filled.

Last night, I spent about two hours shopping with my mother. We shopped for shoes (which I hate doing) and came away with two pairs that manage to be super-cute without a) being super-high, b) revealing my tan line (I walk so much, in such similar shoes, that I have two-tone feet), or c) showcasing my terrifying 'I am a marathon walker who used to take dance classes, has broken each toe at least twice, and has never had a pedicure' toes. We shopped for supplies for my trip. We shopped for picture frames, because she needed to frame one of my comic strips and wanted to be ready to start framing my book covers. We shopped for Tootsie Pops (and were nearly defeated by the candy aisle). We shopped, in general, like an enormously tightly-wound neurotic blonde girl and her deeply placid mother. (Raising me pretty much killed her capacity for panic. 'Look, Mommy, this snake makes a noise!' had ceased to be a distressing statement by the time I was nine. This was largely a matter of self-defense.)

My biggest fan: my mother. And I'm pretty much okay with that.

The periodic welcome post!

Hello, and welcome to my journal! I'm pretty sure you know who I am, my name being in the URL and all, but just in case, I'm Seanan McGuire, and you're probably not on Candid Camera. This post exists to answer a few of the questions that I get asked on a semi-hemi-demi-regular basis. It may look familiar; that's because it gets reposted every time the answers change, and to let new people know how we roll around here. (I will make no more Clueless references in this post, I promise.) Also, sometimes I change the questions. Because I can.

Anyway, here you go:

( This way lies a lot of information you may or may not need about the person whose LJ you may or may not be reading right at this moment. Also, I may or may not be the King of Rain, which may or may not explain why it's drizzling right now. Essentially, this is Schrodinger's cut-tag. )