Paradise lost

My heavens, what a gorgeous Readercon!



By my somewhat delirous count, I saw nine panels, five readings (Geoff Ryman's partly in a state of Adamic nudity), another rehearsal reading by greygirlbeast --all terrific!--three marvellous odd papers, an exhibition of controlled mayhem by the mad madrobins , an improv workshop (in which I portrayed a lady trying to return a pink, three-legged sweater--"and my poor Fido is allergic to mohair").



And for every one of those hours, I was missing some other tantalizing performance, some maddeningly alluring thing. Readercon is cruel in its lavish gifts.



I had one breakfast with crowleycrow and another with Samuel R. Delany, and tea with my dear friend BBW, who came out to specially to see me and negothick ; I got to hang out with sovay and rushthatspeaks and gaudior and rysmiel and teenybuffalo , and my Bennington Tea and Fantasy friends --too briefly!--and spoke with tens of other old friends and acquaintances and bright new faces. All too fleetingly. (I barely brushed past asakiyume .) I saw the miraculous Ursula, now tall and exuberant.



I got to the world's best book room, and did not overspend myself.



I had dinner just once, on Thursday (the Lemon Tree, with negothick and kestrell and Canterbury); after that only breakfasts and odd midnight snacks.



I won the Kirk Polands! (At least the audience did. We slaughtered them. And the words to the Star Trek theme are just bizarrely irrelevant.)



Oh yes, I got to speak on three more lovely panels; gave a reading of new work, whose reception gave me hope; and in the very last hour of the con, drew a roomful of avid listeners (there must have been forty, good heavens) to my paper on "The Languages of Fantasy." They stayed, they questioned, they wanted a book. What a rush!



Then I staggered out in a daze of joy, straight back to the prisonhouse.



Ah well. I have heard the chimes at midnight. Ding!



Nine