I don't know what I can add to David's post, but I would be amiss not to note the sudden passing of a loyal friend.
The timing makes it feel particularly . . . strange. Preston was an influential force on Byuck and his death arrives between seeing it appear for sale and holding a copy of his own in his hands. It feels so unfair that I don't get to share this moment with him.
Which is a bit petty of me, I know, but still. I owed him that much.
The most significant example of what Preston did for the novel is its final chapter. The original final chapter I'll make available at some point, but the much better version you get when you buy the book only exists because Preston forced me to write it. I was extremely hesitant, but now that five years have passed, I can go back and compare the two versions and he was unquestionably right. Moving the conclusion forward twelve hours? The best byucky advice anyones ever given me.
So while I'm unsettled that a friend only seven years my senior has died---
So while I'm saddened to know that his cheerful madness is gone from my life---
So while I'll miss him and mourn with his family---
Today, selfishly, I'm sad I can't send him a copy of my novel and thank him again and say see what thou hath wrought, Preston?