S.K.S. Perry's Blog, page 15
May 10, 2012
I'm pretty sure that's ilegal in this State of Mind.
Lately I find it a constant struggle to practise restraint - to refrain from acting on impulses I know would only lead to trouble. Most have to do with work, and--you know--actually staying there.
Seriously. I find myself sitting at my desk, working on a lesson plan I could care less about, and thinking, "I should just go home." It's even harder when I'm stuck doing the more ridicules things the military engages in, like parades. There I am, standing at attention, my back aches, my feet ache, my shoulders ache, my ache's ache, and it's hot or cold or rainy or whatever. And I think to myself, "Why the hell am I putting myself through this? I'm 51 freaking years old, and I'm enduring pointless discomfort for what? So some officer can impress another officer? Who in their right mind does this sort of thing, or asks it of another human being? I should just walk off this parade, take a seat, take a walk down by the lake."
More and more the every day functioning of my life and job seem absurd. I find it a herculean effort to get out of bed in the morning, to go to work. Why put myself through the bother for such a pointless endeavour?
Of course, I do. I'm military, and the consequences would be drastic--and to my current state of mind just as surreal. Seriously, who deserves to go to jail because they don't show up for work? It's not like I'm in a war zone, or anyone or anything depends on my being there. There's a very real possibility that should I lose my job in September they won't even bother to find a replacement, but just delete the position.
And to be honest, the fact that I need to get paid provides more incentive to me than the fact that I could get in trouble.
It's not just work, either.
I find life itself has become surreal. People telling other people who can marry whom, or what they can or can't do with their bodies. Racial, sexual and religious intolerance and indifference. A justice system that's so out of whack with anything I believe in. A total breakdown in common everyday manners and respect for others. A complete lack of accountability across the board; by politicians, business, individuals.
And it's like we don't even have the illusion of freedom anymore.
So I have to force myself to play by the rules, because it seems more and more to me like no one else does.
At least not the people in charge.
Seriously. I find myself sitting at my desk, working on a lesson plan I could care less about, and thinking, "I should just go home." It's even harder when I'm stuck doing the more ridicules things the military engages in, like parades. There I am, standing at attention, my back aches, my feet ache, my shoulders ache, my ache's ache, and it's hot or cold or rainy or whatever. And I think to myself, "Why the hell am I putting myself through this? I'm 51 freaking years old, and I'm enduring pointless discomfort for what? So some officer can impress another officer? Who in their right mind does this sort of thing, or asks it of another human being? I should just walk off this parade, take a seat, take a walk down by the lake."
More and more the every day functioning of my life and job seem absurd. I find it a herculean effort to get out of bed in the morning, to go to work. Why put myself through the bother for such a pointless endeavour?
Of course, I do. I'm military, and the consequences would be drastic--and to my current state of mind just as surreal. Seriously, who deserves to go to jail because they don't show up for work? It's not like I'm in a war zone, or anyone or anything depends on my being there. There's a very real possibility that should I lose my job in September they won't even bother to find a replacement, but just delete the position.
And to be honest, the fact that I need to get paid provides more incentive to me than the fact that I could get in trouble.
It's not just work, either.
I find life itself has become surreal. People telling other people who can marry whom, or what they can or can't do with their bodies. Racial, sexual and religious intolerance and indifference. A justice system that's so out of whack with anything I believe in. A total breakdown in common everyday manners and respect for others. A complete lack of accountability across the board; by politicians, business, individuals.
And it's like we don't even have the illusion of freedom anymore.
So I have to force myself to play by the rules, because it seems more and more to me like no one else does.
At least not the people in charge.
May 9, 2012
We are all padewans in the presence of a master
So me and the guys I work with went to Tim Horton's this morning for our weekly Wednesday morning…um…safety meeting. As we entered, the police were escorting out an older gentleman (and by older I mean way older than I am) who was apparently unhappy with his hot chocolate and so threw it in the manager's face.
I have black belts in seven different martial arts. Over the years I've run a number of martial arts clubs, including the Royal Military College Jiu Jitsu club, and have been employed as an unarmed combat instructor in the military and for units like the Ontario Provincial Police Tactical and Rescue Unit.
To date I have never once used chocolate as a weapon. Clearly my training is lacking.
I have black belts in seven different martial arts. Over the years I've run a number of martial arts clubs, including the Royal Military College Jiu Jitsu club, and have been employed as an unarmed combat instructor in the military and for units like the Ontario Provincial Police Tactical and Rescue Unit.
To date I have never once used chocolate as a weapon. Clearly my training is lacking.
May 8, 2012
Is this Hell?
Still no response from the agents I queried, and I've queried a bunch more since the initial batch I sent out.
I don't get it. This book has heroes and monsters and intrigue and witty banter and romance and self-sacrifice and actiony action. What's not to like--or at least be curious about?
Maybe it's time to rethink this whole writing career thing. I mean, it's one thing to be rejected, but to be ignored?
I don't get it. This book has heroes and monsters and intrigue and witty banter and romance and self-sacrifice and actiony action. What's not to like--or at least be curious about?
Maybe it's time to rethink this whole writing career thing. I mean, it's one thing to be rejected, but to be ignored?
May 7, 2012
It's not supposed to be like this.
Damn. I don't seem to be able to write lately. Not at all. Nothing is coming to me -- no characterization, plot points, scenes, lines -- nadda. It's not so much writer's block as writer's shut down. It's almost as if I've convinced my brain of the futility of it all, so it just shut that portion of itself off.
Oh no! Now even I'm not returning my calls.
Oh no! Now even I'm not returning my calls.
May 4, 2012
One less thing to worry about.
The blood test came back normal so no diabetes for me. I guess I'm just a naturally sweet guy.
May 3, 2012
Read only if you plan on writing a country song later.
I've come to the realization that I'm suffering from depression. Oh, not the little bouts of depression that I've been prone to all my life, but full blown depression that's been going on now for at least a couple of years. The reason I didn't recognise it as depression is that it's not the near debilitating doom, gloom and despair that I suffered from way back when, where the only thing that kept me from killing myself was my refusal to ever give up and the thought of what it would do to my friends and family.
No, this depression is more insidious. It's a flat line depression just below contentment--one where the lows really aren't that low, but there aren't any highs to speak of either. I never get to that "I wish I were dead" state of mind, but I don't reach the "Wow, everything's great" peak either. As a matter of fact, I don't get much enjoyment out of anything, and even doing the things I once loved to do seem like a chore. It's an apathetic kind of depression that just goes on and on. For the most part I'd stay in bed if I had my way, or at least in my home. I believe agoraphobics lock themselves away because they have a fear of going outside, but what do you call someone who'd just prefer to stay home because they can't be bothered?
I think it really kicked in back when I developed melanoma. Oddly enough, with all that I've experienced in the military it was being diagnosed with melanoma that really brought my own mortality front and center. You often hear of people that have had a brush with death speak of how it changes their outlook on life. How they learned to live every day to its fullest or just chucked it all and followed their bliss. What I realised was that I still had bills to pay, people to take care of. Chucking it all would have been irresponsible, and following my bliss costs money--money that if I had had it in the first place I would have been following my bliss long ago. It's all well and good if it's your last day, but what do you on the day after your last day, and the day after that. The bank wants that mortgage payment--they don't care if you spent the money on hang gliding.
So you set goals for yourself. Maybe you can accomplish the things you want to do in little bits and bites. Move ahead one step at a time. Get a new job, write the book, stay in shape, travel.
I had an office job that was literally killing me, so I quit the Reg Force, took my pension and joined the Reserves as a recruit instructor. I'd always loved recruit instructing, and here was a way to pass on what I knew, doing something I loved, and get paid to do it. With my pension, it actually worked out to a bit of a raise. The Reserve recruit school had been open since 1992 and had just geared up to teach Reg Force Recruits as well, so I could safely finish out my career there.
And I thrived. Got promoted to Sgt right away, made Platoon 2 I/C, and was in line for another promotion and the Platoon Commander's position. Even developing melanoma didn't slow me down. Then the announcement came that they were closing the school.
Suddenly I went from the prospects of being a Warrant Officer to the very real possibility of being an unemployed Sgt. Trust me, being unemployed was something I'd never had to worry about in the Reg Force, and until then had no reason to believe I had to worry about in the Reserves. In the mad scramble for employment I ended right back where I started. So at least I was still employed, but I was back in the job I'd left in the first place, except now I didn't have the security or promotion possibilities that the Reg Force afford.
See, the Air Reserve works in a rather funny way. Promotion is not based so much on performance any more, but in availability of position. My last 3 evaluations all recommended me for immediate promotion, but since there's no Warrant's Position here, there's no chance for promotion.
But hey, I had a job, right? And with my pension the pay was pretty good. Except the gov't decided they needed to trim 10% off of everyone's budget, the military included. Apparently the first to go are the full time reservists. My contract is up in September and I don't know if it will be renewed yet. And even if it is renewed, the best they can offer me right now is a contract until the end of March 2013. Where my initial contracts were 3 year contracts with the automatic option of an additional 3 years at the end, the best they can do now is offer year to year.
But wait, it get's worse. The gov't has decided that if you work full time in the Reserves you can no longer collect your Reg Force Pension. Which means even if they offer me a contract, I'll lose my pension, which is about 1/3 of my take home pay. I can actually make more money if I opt to keep my pension and go on unemployment for a year. Of course, they haven't decided yet exactly what constitutes Full Time in the reserves, so no one is sure how this works yet. And they could offer me a part time contract (12 days a month), so I could still keep my pension, but again, I'd make more money on Unemployment.
To be honest, being so summarily dismissed after 30 years of military service isn't exactly a boost to the old self-esteem either.
Let's see, what else did I do to change my life? Oh yeah, I wrote another book. See my dream (because you have to have a dream) is to be able to make a modest living writing. All well and good, except the Agents aren't rejecting me so much as out and out ignoring me. Of the 12 agents I initially queried at least 6 weeks ago now, 7 haven't even bothered to reply. Not even a, "Dear Steve, No!"
I'm starting to think being an author is not one of those professions at the top of the self-esteem list. Probably not the best choice for someone suffering from depression either.
So, I started hitting the gym hard again. Except somewhere along the line I got old. When you're used to being superman, getting old sucks. I have to wear reading glasses now--at first I needed them just to prevent eye strain; now I need them to…um…read. I'm on Lipitor for cholesterol and Synthroid for my thyroid (which means no matter how hard I work out orstarve myself eat right it's near impossible to lose weight) and today I just did some blood tests because apparently my blood sugar is a little high, so now I have the possibility of diabetes to look forward to. But hey, I'm still strong as an ox.
I tried to get a band going. Once upon a time I was a professional drummer. I won't bore you further with the details about that, but so far, no luck.
And of course I'm sure I'm suffering from the whole mid-life crisis thing. I'm certainly not where I thought I'd be in my life right now. I mean, I have an IQ over 140, and I don't think I'm socially awkward. I have strong proven leadership abilities, I'm creative, with an old-fashioned work ethic and sense of responsibility. Yet I know no-talent cretins with the brains of an icecube who pull in six figures at least, and here I am with absolutely no idea what I'm going to do or who will pay me to do it should I lose my job in the military.
So not the best time in my life: getting old, losing my job, no band, no luck publishing.
If this were a movie this would be right about the time where everything would turn around. I'd get a great job offer, or become a best seller. But this is real life so I'll probably get hit by a car or get cancer or something.
So I'm not sure if this is really depression, or just having the life kicked out of you. Either way, pretty pathetic, huh?
Thank god I still have my wife, Pen, who I love to pieces. I don't know why she puts up with me.
No, this depression is more insidious. It's a flat line depression just below contentment--one where the lows really aren't that low, but there aren't any highs to speak of either. I never get to that "I wish I were dead" state of mind, but I don't reach the "Wow, everything's great" peak either. As a matter of fact, I don't get much enjoyment out of anything, and even doing the things I once loved to do seem like a chore. It's an apathetic kind of depression that just goes on and on. For the most part I'd stay in bed if I had my way, or at least in my home. I believe agoraphobics lock themselves away because they have a fear of going outside, but what do you call someone who'd just prefer to stay home because they can't be bothered?
I think it really kicked in back when I developed melanoma. Oddly enough, with all that I've experienced in the military it was being diagnosed with melanoma that really brought my own mortality front and center. You often hear of people that have had a brush with death speak of how it changes their outlook on life. How they learned to live every day to its fullest or just chucked it all and followed their bliss. What I realised was that I still had bills to pay, people to take care of. Chucking it all would have been irresponsible, and following my bliss costs money--money that if I had had it in the first place I would have been following my bliss long ago. It's all well and good if it's your last day, but what do you on the day after your last day, and the day after that. The bank wants that mortgage payment--they don't care if you spent the money on hang gliding.
So you set goals for yourself. Maybe you can accomplish the things you want to do in little bits and bites. Move ahead one step at a time. Get a new job, write the book, stay in shape, travel.
I had an office job that was literally killing me, so I quit the Reg Force, took my pension and joined the Reserves as a recruit instructor. I'd always loved recruit instructing, and here was a way to pass on what I knew, doing something I loved, and get paid to do it. With my pension, it actually worked out to a bit of a raise. The Reserve recruit school had been open since 1992 and had just geared up to teach Reg Force Recruits as well, so I could safely finish out my career there.
And I thrived. Got promoted to Sgt right away, made Platoon 2 I/C, and was in line for another promotion and the Platoon Commander's position. Even developing melanoma didn't slow me down. Then the announcement came that they were closing the school.
Suddenly I went from the prospects of being a Warrant Officer to the very real possibility of being an unemployed Sgt. Trust me, being unemployed was something I'd never had to worry about in the Reg Force, and until then had no reason to believe I had to worry about in the Reserves. In the mad scramble for employment I ended right back where I started. So at least I was still employed, but I was back in the job I'd left in the first place, except now I didn't have the security or promotion possibilities that the Reg Force afford.
See, the Air Reserve works in a rather funny way. Promotion is not based so much on performance any more, but in availability of position. My last 3 evaluations all recommended me for immediate promotion, but since there's no Warrant's Position here, there's no chance for promotion.
But hey, I had a job, right? And with my pension the pay was pretty good. Except the gov't decided they needed to trim 10% off of everyone's budget, the military included. Apparently the first to go are the full time reservists. My contract is up in September and I don't know if it will be renewed yet. And even if it is renewed, the best they can offer me right now is a contract until the end of March 2013. Where my initial contracts were 3 year contracts with the automatic option of an additional 3 years at the end, the best they can do now is offer year to year.
But wait, it get's worse. The gov't has decided that if you work full time in the Reserves you can no longer collect your Reg Force Pension. Which means even if they offer me a contract, I'll lose my pension, which is about 1/3 of my take home pay. I can actually make more money if I opt to keep my pension and go on unemployment for a year. Of course, they haven't decided yet exactly what constitutes Full Time in the reserves, so no one is sure how this works yet. And they could offer me a part time contract (12 days a month), so I could still keep my pension, but again, I'd make more money on Unemployment.
To be honest, being so summarily dismissed after 30 years of military service isn't exactly a boost to the old self-esteem either.
Let's see, what else did I do to change my life? Oh yeah, I wrote another book. See my dream (because you have to have a dream) is to be able to make a modest living writing. All well and good, except the Agents aren't rejecting me so much as out and out ignoring me. Of the 12 agents I initially queried at least 6 weeks ago now, 7 haven't even bothered to reply. Not even a, "Dear Steve, No!"
I'm starting to think being an author is not one of those professions at the top of the self-esteem list. Probably not the best choice for someone suffering from depression either.
So, I started hitting the gym hard again. Except somewhere along the line I got old. When you're used to being superman, getting old sucks. I have to wear reading glasses now--at first I needed them just to prevent eye strain; now I need them to…um…read. I'm on Lipitor for cholesterol and Synthroid for my thyroid (which means no matter how hard I work out or
I tried to get a band going. Once upon a time I was a professional drummer. I won't bore you further with the details about that, but so far, no luck.
And of course I'm sure I'm suffering from the whole mid-life crisis thing. I'm certainly not where I thought I'd be in my life right now. I mean, I have an IQ over 140, and I don't think I'm socially awkward. I have strong proven leadership abilities, I'm creative, with an old-fashioned work ethic and sense of responsibility. Yet I know no-talent cretins with the brains of an icecube who pull in six figures at least, and here I am with absolutely no idea what I'm going to do or who will pay me to do it should I lose my job in the military.
So not the best time in my life: getting old, losing my job, no band, no luck publishing.
If this were a movie this would be right about the time where everything would turn around. I'd get a great job offer, or become a best seller. But this is real life so I'll probably get hit by a car or get cancer or something.
So I'm not sure if this is really depression, or just having the life kicked out of you. Either way, pretty pathetic, huh?
Thank god I still have my wife, Pen, who I love to pieces. I don't know why she puts up with me.
April 27, 2012
If only!
I had a dream that Justin Bieber tweeted about how much he loved DARKSIDE and WAKING THE DEAD, and the books went viral and sold eleventy-four googlezillion copies in a few months. Suddenly I was rich and didn't have to worry about losing my job. All the agents were begging to represent me, and I was all, "Oh yeah? Where were you last month?" Which is so unlike me, because I would still be all polite and humble, and probably just make them kiss my ring or something.
I had to go on talk shows and stuff, and spent half of every interview talking about the books, and the other half with them asking me if I'd met Justin Bieber and what he was like in person.
*I think Justin even got a part in the movie adaptations.*
I had to go on talk shows and stuff, and spent half of every interview talking about the books, and the other half with them asking me if I'd met Justin Bieber and what he was like in person.
*I think Justin even got a part in the movie adaptations.*
April 21, 2012
I left work early yesterday on account of it was my birth...
I left work early yesterday on account of it was my birthday. I told the other guys at the office if anyone was looking for me to tell them that I'm senile and wandered off.
For me, leaving work early means going to the gym early. Nothing exciting. It's interesting to note though, that at 51 years old I'm still as strong as ever, it's just the cardio that's deteriorated. (I can press the max on the bench press machine and pec deck--over 240 lbs, 10X, for three sets of 12-15, but I can't run worth spit anymore.)
Oh, and speaking of senile moments: I don't work at the recruit school anymore, but we're still expected to correct troops when we see them slacking off. The other day I was watching a troop marching to class, and by recruit school standards it was pretty pathetic--arms not straight, nowhere near swung shoulder high, chatting while their marching, etc. But, hey, this is the Air Force, and for the most part they're not expected to maintain that standard so most often as not I turn a blind eye less I suffer an aneurysm. But this one kid was deplorable, so I just HAD to do something.
I stopped the troop and approached the private.
Me: "Who the HELL taught you to march?"
Student. *blinks* "Um, you did, Sgt."
Me: *frowns. "So we know you had a good instructor. Try putting some of it into practice."
Student: "Yes, Sgt."
Me: Got while the getting was good.
For me, leaving work early means going to the gym early. Nothing exciting. It's interesting to note though, that at 51 years old I'm still as strong as ever, it's just the cardio that's deteriorated. (I can press the max on the bench press machine and pec deck--over 240 lbs, 10X, for three sets of 12-15, but I can't run worth spit anymore.)
Oh, and speaking of senile moments: I don't work at the recruit school anymore, but we're still expected to correct troops when we see them slacking off. The other day I was watching a troop marching to class, and by recruit school standards it was pretty pathetic--arms not straight, nowhere near swung shoulder high, chatting while their marching, etc. But, hey, this is the Air Force, and for the most part they're not expected to maintain that standard so most often as not I turn a blind eye less I suffer an aneurysm. But this one kid was deplorable, so I just HAD to do something.
I stopped the troop and approached the private.
Me: "Who the HELL taught you to march?"
Student. *blinks* "Um, you did, Sgt."
Me: *frowns. "So we know you had a good instructor. Try putting some of it into practice."
Student: "Yes, Sgt."
Me: Got while the getting was good.
April 18, 2012
An excerpt from the new Darkside novel (WIP):
Drat and Tirade's wedding -- where James has mangaged to start an old-fashioned rumble:
Tirade rounded on me, her hair in disarray, her wedding dress torn, and her left eye already swollen and purple.
This is going to get ugly--er, I thought.
I raised my hands in front of my face to protect myself, which was pretty dumb now that I think about it. Tirade was little over three feet tall, and a woman. Odds are she wouldn't be aiming to kick me in the face. Women tend to go for a somewhat lower, more sensitive target.
Instead she jumped up and threw her arms around my neck, practically shoving my face into her ample bosom, then kissed me lightly on the cheek as she slid to the ground.
I looked down at her, somewhat confused as she grinned ear to ear--which only served to show off the tooth she had apparently lost in the tussle--and gave me the thumbs up.
"Best. Wedding. Ever!"
Tirade rounded on me, her hair in disarray, her wedding dress torn, and her left eye already swollen and purple.
This is going to get ugly--er, I thought.
I raised my hands in front of my face to protect myself, which was pretty dumb now that I think about it. Tirade was little over three feet tall, and a woman. Odds are she wouldn't be aiming to kick me in the face. Women tend to go for a somewhat lower, more sensitive target.
Instead she jumped up and threw her arms around my neck, practically shoving my face into her ample bosom, then kissed me lightly on the cheek as she slid to the ground.
I looked down at her, somewhat confused as she grinned ear to ear--which only served to show off the tooth she had apparently lost in the tussle--and gave me the thumbs up.
"Best. Wedding. Ever!"
April 16, 2012
Ad Astra - 2012
I went to the Ad Astra Convention in Toronto this weekend. It’s more of a chance for me to catch up with people that I only get to see once or twice a year, rather than a learning/career opportunity.
I started off hanging out in the lobby with Chris Szego (and finally learned to pronounce her last name), Peter Halasz, and the trinity that is Michelle (Michelle Sagara, Michelle West, and Michelle Sagara West) talking about movies and stuff as we waited for the con to get organized.
I hung out at the Bakka Dealer’s Table for a while pestering Chris and Michelle, and chatting with whoever showed up. (For example, I chatted with Ed Greenwood, who I always chat with whenever I meet him, but only this year found out who, exactly, he is.)
Later I met up with Ian Keeling (who gave me a pep talk) and Lesley Livingston (who gave me a pep talk), the GOH (which she insisted on pronouncing as a single word in Klingon – repeatedly) and we hung out – mostly in the Green Room because it had free beer--for the rest of the night. I had a long conversation with Rebecca Simkin about…um…something life altering, I’m sure.
The next day I met up with Lesley for breakfast, and then she ran off to do GOH things. Luckily that was right about the time Caitlin Sweet and Peter Watts (who both gave me a pep talk) showed up. I’m sure neither of them realise just how wonderful I think they are – mostly because the make a point of including me in everything, and Peter has promised to kill me off in a book soon. So I tagged along with Peter and Caitlin and Dave Nichols and Madeline Ashby and Dave…um….Dave the really nice, funny, tall guy (sorry Dave!) and we all went to a pub, because the hotel DIDN’T HAVE A BAR, just a restaurant. Seriously. (Dave and I chatted about self-pubbing, btw. That’s tall Dave, not Dave Nickel—although Dave Nickel is tall too, and…never mind.
Somewhere in there I ran across Douglas Smith, but only got to talk to him for second, Sunny M Hope (who I chatted to off an on throughout the con) and Leah Bobet. I helped Leah put up posters for her book launch, which consisted of Leah holding the posters up just slightly out of my reach, and me attempting to throw tape at them to get them to stick to the wall. I even talked with Julie and Roger Czerneda at Leah’s launch. (I’ve met Julie before, but never really chatted with her—her first comment to me was, “You’re always dressed so smartly.” So I’ve got that going for me.)
Adrienne Kress (who gave me a pep talk) showed up somewhere in there, and we both bought really cool steam-punky pocket watches (although hers is more girly than mine—just saying) and we chatted about movies and…um…something life altering I’m sure. I know we got into a discussion about luck, and about how mine really sucked, so JM Frey (who gave me a pep talk) decided she was going to introduce me to the publishers of Dragon Moon Press to pitch my book, but then couldn’t find them, thus proving my point.
Still, J.M had this whiskey flask which she said contained some sort of magical alcohol from Japan where she stayed, sacred to the local god of poetry and literature, so I took a sip. You all know I don’t drink, but it was magical, and from Japan, and…um…in a flask, so how could I say no? Anyway, if I suddenly get an agent or publishing deal within the next few months or so, I’m blaming it all on that drink, just so as you know, J.M.
Anyway, the rest of the night and the next day were spent doing a lot of the same. To be honest it probably blurred more than usual because I forgot to bring my sleeping pills so didn’t sleep at all during the con. I remember I did chat with Don Shears, who I used to work with in the military, but I could have imagined that.
I started off hanging out in the lobby with Chris Szego (and finally learned to pronounce her last name), Peter Halasz, and the trinity that is Michelle (Michelle Sagara, Michelle West, and Michelle Sagara West) talking about movies and stuff as we waited for the con to get organized.
I hung out at the Bakka Dealer’s Table for a while pestering Chris and Michelle, and chatting with whoever showed up. (For example, I chatted with Ed Greenwood, who I always chat with whenever I meet him, but only this year found out who, exactly, he is.)
Later I met up with Ian Keeling (who gave me a pep talk) and Lesley Livingston (who gave me a pep talk), the GOH (which she insisted on pronouncing as a single word in Klingon – repeatedly) and we hung out – mostly in the Green Room because it had free beer--for the rest of the night. I had a long conversation with Rebecca Simkin about…um…something life altering, I’m sure.
The next day I met up with Lesley for breakfast, and then she ran off to do GOH things. Luckily that was right about the time Caitlin Sweet and Peter Watts (who both gave me a pep talk) showed up. I’m sure neither of them realise just how wonderful I think they are – mostly because the make a point of including me in everything, and Peter has promised to kill me off in a book soon. So I tagged along with Peter and Caitlin and Dave Nichols and Madeline Ashby and Dave…um….Dave the really nice, funny, tall guy (sorry Dave!) and we all went to a pub, because the hotel DIDN’T HAVE A BAR, just a restaurant. Seriously. (Dave and I chatted about self-pubbing, btw. That’s tall Dave, not Dave Nickel—although Dave Nickel is tall too, and…never mind.
Somewhere in there I ran across Douglas Smith, but only got to talk to him for second, Sunny M Hope (who I chatted to off an on throughout the con) and Leah Bobet. I helped Leah put up posters for her book launch, which consisted of Leah holding the posters up just slightly out of my reach, and me attempting to throw tape at them to get them to stick to the wall. I even talked with Julie and Roger Czerneda at Leah’s launch. (I’ve met Julie before, but never really chatted with her—her first comment to me was, “You’re always dressed so smartly.” So I’ve got that going for me.)
Adrienne Kress (who gave me a pep talk) showed up somewhere in there, and we both bought really cool steam-punky pocket watches (although hers is more girly than mine—just saying) and we chatted about movies and…um…something life altering I’m sure. I know we got into a discussion about luck, and about how mine really sucked, so JM Frey (who gave me a pep talk) decided she was going to introduce me to the publishers of Dragon Moon Press to pitch my book, but then couldn’t find them, thus proving my point.
Still, J.M had this whiskey flask which she said contained some sort of magical alcohol from Japan where she stayed, sacred to the local god of poetry and literature, so I took a sip. You all know I don’t drink, but it was magical, and from Japan, and…um…in a flask, so how could I say no? Anyway, if I suddenly get an agent or publishing deal within the next few months or so, I’m blaming it all on that drink, just so as you know, J.M.
Anyway, the rest of the night and the next day were spent doing a lot of the same. To be honest it probably blurred more than usual because I forgot to bring my sleeping pills so didn’t sleep at all during the con. I remember I did chat with Don Shears, who I used to work with in the military, but I could have imagined that.
