Even if husband has told me I’m not writing for the next three days, and I’m not even going to complain. 2 cons in 2 weeks is REALLY tiring, particularly when the first was a teaching con. Teaching is fun but takes it out of you.
So for the next two days I’m going to hang out, sleep and imitate the vegetable kingdom.
Some random thoughts:
I didn’t get to see Emily Nelson — not that I remember at least (most of the con is a blur) — which makes it one year out of 7 I’ve actually seen her. Worse, when Steve said hi, I was plotting with Jeff Greason (you’d only LIKE to know why) so I couldn’t talk.
Next year at Liberty con!
Other passing thoughts: two cons, two weekends? Too much. I got there pre-exhausted.
More serious thoughts: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE if you’re talking to amuse yourself on an airplane, no matter how much your seat mate likes it, try to keep your voice down. Seriously. And you might think you know a lot about some subject, but if there is some controversy, still keep your voice down.
Being stuck in front of a gal for almost four hours, who wouldn’t STOP and lectured CONTINUOUSLY on history (she knew nothing about) and the theology of MY religion (Which she knew a lot of things about that just weren’t so. As in, yeah, she’s one of us, but one of those who read from the little red book, not the 2k yo one. I could only imagine her holding forth on either Portugal or SF/F as a more annoying thing) is something very akin to torture, particularly if this person is PROJECTING her voice. The idiot seat companion who encouraged her (judging from after-landing conversation) couldn’t be heard as long as he was sitting. (I mean I could hear him rumble, but… who cares if you can’t hear the words.) She OTOH.
It interfered with my attempts at reading. Wouldn’t allow me to sleep. And she wouldn’t ZIP IT.
My annoyance went from a great desire to turn back and tell her “Lady, if you want to hold forth professorially on your ill-formed opinions, get a blog like the rest of us, and then people can ignore you.” to a desire to turn back and stuff my entire jacket in her mouth. And if the flight had gone on another thirty minutes, it would TOTALLY have happened. I’d be in jail now, but I’d never be convicted by a jury of the tired, jet lagged and annoyed. It might have turned into Murder on the Airplane Express.
And then we had to wait to debark, and the guy who’d been sitting next to her started extolling her intelligence while she patted herself on the back for reviving the “forgotten art of conversations on planes.” The sheer lack of self-awareness. Don’t be that gal. Or guy. Or small furry animal.
My cats… my cats have been trying to figure out how to surgically attach themselves to me.
Greebo continue scolding me in my sleep and — I THINK — his, as he mutter-mutter-muttered all night long.
As soon as I have a firm writing schedule, I shall talk to him about it, and give him Martin Shoemaker’s bribe-tuna. So he can concentrate on keeping me on schedule.
And now I’m going to go er… not-write. Looks over shoulder. Someone tell my husband I’m definitely NOT writing.