“Wow,” says Ursula, watching money come into Paypal, “this has been amazing! I’ve sold three big originals in three days! It’s great! I wonder why all these sales are happening right now?”

And then there was a pause.

And very distantly, on the far horizon of Ursula’s brain, something was jumping up and down, waving stubby arms and shrieking. A few seconds later, attenuated by the vast, empty, windswept plains that form a surprisingly large amount of Ursula’s mental topography, the voice came, carried by the wind, a high, thin wail, saying, “Because you’ve got Midwest Furfest in less than a month, dorkknob!”

And Ursula said “Oh.”

And considered.

And while her brow furrowed in thought and she attempted to count on her fingers several times, the tiny voice reached her yet again, saying, “Face it, you’re boned!”

This is nothing new–there’s never a convention on earth that you’re not boned for, it’s a law of nature, just like the law that great things like selling art will nonetheless happen at the least convenient possible time. I’ll go into small-piece frenzy here shortly, and fortunately I’ve still got two or three big pieces that probably won’t sell, but will attract buyers, which is a good thing. However, since I’m the GoH at Midwest Furfest, and have the big slew of panels up front, it’d be bloody idiocy to waste it by not having as much art as humanly possible, so…um….time for frenzy, I guess.