This morning's mail brings, in addition to the New Yorker, and a Yule card that a friend had initially sent to the old address, the executed contract (and upfront check) for, as it says here: "Liaden Novels 18, 19, 20, 21, 22."
On the one hand, it's good to have work, not to mention money.
On the gripping hand -- Holy crap! What were we thinking?
And, to bring this around to politics and all, I sure hope the economy improves so people can buy books again.