I’m alive. Sorry I didn’t post yesterday, but part of that “new plant” for the convention thing, forced on by change of hotel is that I missed seeing a lot of my friends. So after breakfast (we get concierge because Dan used to travel for work) I packed all my stuff and went in search of friends.
It was my intention to come back to the hotel room, finish packing and put in the promo post and stuff. (Let me know if you have something urgent, because at this point I think it will wait till Saturday.)
Next thing I know Dan is waiting with all my stuff to go to the airport.
Now, the theme (bad theme) of THIS con was footwear. My sandal strap broke in Charlotte airport while running for a tight connection. To keep it from tripping me, I tied it. The problem is it rubbed the back of my foot into a blisters and — by the time we got to Chattanooga — raw.
So we stopped at wallmart on the way in to get me footwear. Being me, I bought a pair of nice sandals. Fortunately I had an attack of “let’s have something else in case, and bought five dollar shoes.
Even the sandals were too hard on the foot (I should have bought slippers, or flip flops or SOMETHING) which is why you saw me limping around everywhere in the no-support, still rubbing my feet raw $5 shoes.
So, if you’re worried about how much I aged in a year, that wasn’t it. It was more walking around on feet that were skinned and by the end of the con bleeding.
Which also affected my seeing people.
But also the whole hotel/convention center thing seemed to make it harder to find people. Not a complaint, exactly. I’ve been through this before. After a while the flow of the con adapts to the hotel/accommodations, and we’re okay. And anyway, we won’t be there again next year (at least we’re not supposed to. Fingers crossed.)
It’s just that in a way between the feet and the new plant it was a very weird con, and I kept getting tired (possibly the low level pain from feet, but, yes, I’m going to go to the doctor) and having to go to the room for a little while.
I did see everyone, in the end, except Laura Montgomery (!) I think, but didn’t have much time with anyone.
Gifts (!) this year include the autobiography of an ancestor, a stuffed mammoth that’s supposed to be Robert, and a nerf gun with which I shot the penguin. (Evil Penguin. One of the barflies.)
Differences noted: a lot more people discussing their indie business. A lot fewer people chasing trad.
Things I missed: two teas and a dinner and a friend’s wedding reception. (Because I’d run out of energy by then.)
Everyone seemed to talk to my younger son, instead of me.
Les Johnson and I are in the early planning stages of a novel whose working title is The Princess and the Spaceman. (You can call us sexist later. These are particular people, hence the title.)
Now I’m back, working on an anthology (editing) a collection (going over edits) and finishing up Guardian. Well, notionally at least. Actually I got up about two hours ago, having defeated Greebo’s attempt to herd me into the office at 5 am, and Greebo’s licking my feet at 7 am.
I might write another post today. Or not.
But I’m alive, and now I’m going to shower and catch up on work.
(Pets blog readers on their little fuzzy heads, and exits pursued by a deadline.)