Chessiecon

Dec. 2nd, 2015 04:24 pm
tamorapierce: yellow sign showing figure banging head on desk (Default)
Chessiecon, in Timonium MD (right outside Baltimore), was great. Julie (my assistant) and I (my poor Spouse-Creature Tim had to stay at home and eat leftover Thanksgiving dinner because we had no cat sitter for 3 houses of kitties) motored up to the hotel around one a.m. on Friday and mumbled something about permitting the games to begin before we collapsed into our beds.

We registered and had lunch with my sister and her husband, which was an extra added benefit. Then we plunged into great discussions about the merits of some of the bigger names in genres such as horror, the need for more variety in YA and adult fantasy/science fiction/horror in terms of sexual orientation, race, and nationality (a subject you know I can't keep quiet about), complex main characters (good and bad), and frogs, toads, and reptiles. I'm not kidding. You haven't lived until you've heard Ursula Vernon (Ursula Vernon's webpage) on toads, frogs, turtles, and birds, weaving wildly in around Seanan McGuire's (Seanan's webpage--there's a separate one for her Mira Grant pen name) description of animal rehabilitation (emu, anyone?) and adventures with very large snakes, toads, and lizards. I laughed myself silly.

I missed many of the smaller concerts and pagan ceremonies, but I did get to chat for a while with my writer friend C. S. Friedman (her webpage), whose DREAMSEEKER, sequel to DREAMWALKER (which I blurbed) just came out. I also had lunch with Colleen and Ian, the parents of two of my fairy godchildren, as well as the godchildren myself. I would like to lodge a complaint with whichever deity is in charge of children. In the scant years since I saw these two godchildren last, they grew to be taller than I am, and they aren't in high school yet. There oughta be a law.

The highlight of Saturday evening was Heather Dale and Ben Deschamps, playing Heather's signature Arthurian, lady warrior, and wicked fantasy (filk) music, as well as a few Muppet hits. I adore Heather's music and Ben was terrific. Afterwards, I was too exhausted to remain for the con's Saturday night special, the singing of the "Hallelujah Chorus" in the vast hotel atrium. I simply could not remain upright.

One more panel and breakfast with a fan on Sunday, and then my longer "talk with fans" that is a fixture of my Sunday at Chessiecon, formerly Darkovercon. Then Julie and I joined Ursula Vernon and her husband Kevin for dinner. It was great, talking with two fellow cat-and-critter people who also loved books and knew how to deal with everyone collapsing in heaps over the table.

We met other writers and many fans both from earlier years and new ones as well. Next year, please, any of you in the area, please come. You'll have a splendid time--we always do!
tamorapierce: yellow sign showing figure banging head on desk (Default)
Here I am, brand new to dreamwidth and hoping that this works out. I'm here mostly to talk about anything that occurs to me or to anyone who decides to stop by and post, within the limits of civility. You are welcome, whoever you are, to discuss whatever is on your mind, with that one rule.

But I suppose that's an amorphous way to start, so I'll lead off with something innocuous. What are you reading? (Oh, yes, no just posting a title and author name and that's it. You have to say something about the book and how you feel about it.)

At the moment I'm re-reading Joyce Carol Oates's BIG MOUTH AND UGLY GIRL on my bedside table. It's about a hard-going, arrogant sports girl and a mouthy, fun-loving guy who makes the wrong joke in school, and people turn him in, saying he's going to shoot the place up. Out of the entire school, including his "friends," she's the only one who defends him, because she knows what she heard. Now he wants to be friends--he has no one else--but she's terrified of friendships. I wish JCO would go back to writing for teenagers. I don't like her adult stuff.

For my downstairs book, I was totally and utterly traumatized yesterday by Mira Grant's "The Day the Dead Came to Show and Tell." I've read some of Grant's work as Seanan McGuire--SPARROW HILL ROAD and the first VELVETEEN book being my favorites--and I thought this had all the signs of being a very funny book.

When my assistant came into the room to say goodnight I wailed with terror--I hadn't heard her come in. I was getting cramps from clutching my Nook, because I could not put it down, even though I could see things weren't getting any better. By the end I was like a football sock after the end of a game that had gone into overtime: limp, wrung out, and useless. I had never been so frightened by a writer in my life, not even by Stephen King. The kids were all fourth grade and younger, and if they got the slightest scratch and were over a certain weight . . . Okay, I'm getting flashback. If you want the hideous experience, you can read it. I'm going to read the second Velveteen book. (She's a former teen superhero who's now negotiating adulthood with her new, more super, former cohorts.)

I'll never think of first grade the same. Never.

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tamora pierce

September 2016

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