Home. Finally. Orycon didn’t go as smoothly as my Con experiences usually do — most rare for me, I ditched late panels and went home when I realized that my state of tired-and-crabby was interfering with my social persona. Discretion truly is sometimes the better of valor. I’d gone into the weekend in a pecked-to-death-by-pigeons mode, and never really regained my footing. (On the plus side, a week away from the scale with social dinners and Con food, and I maintained my departing weight.)
Afterwards, karindira and I went to my parents’ house for early Thanksgiving with a cast of dozen, including lillypond and a friend of hers, the Niece, Mother of the Child, the_child, and my aunt and uncle visiting from Texas.
Woke up with a horrendous anxiety dream straight out of college — the “oh, no, I forgot I registered for these courses and the exam in next week” dream. Compounded by me being naked on campus, having no cellphone to call for help, etc. I think that’s Fred complaining about the Tor galleys, except I’m on target for those. Or maybe he’s complaining about the latest Sekrit Projekt, but that’s not behind either.
In the shower this morning, I was thinking of Dahomean history, as one so often does at 5 am on a Monday. That led me to a story title, “Ritualized Forms of Judicial Murder”, which I will almost certainly use at some point in a doubtless delightfully lateral way. Which in turn reminds of a story idea I popped out over the weekend with a panel audience assist, about Sarah Palin, the end of time on Mayan calendar, and her efforts in the 2012 election to win the popul vuh-t: “The Alaskan Book of the Dead.” Sadly, stories that immediately topical can be very hard to sell, so it’s doubtful.
I owe a post on the winner of the Post-Novel Ennui Contest, but that will have to wait until this afternoon, or possibly my lunch break. Likewise, I owe a post on the results of the “Write a Story In an Hour” panel from Saturday. You will be sore amazed. Or possibly just sore.
Meanwhile, write more.