I don't believe this.
The Northwest Bookfest didn't even
have a flyer table, or anything like one. I looked around and even
asked the information booth if there was anywhere I could put flyers, and
they told me there wasn't. Isn't that ludicrous?
On the bright side, I ran into Hardrock, who pointed out to me that Peter Straub was going to be speaking in ten minutes. I have to confess here that I don't think I've ever read any of Straub's work, but, ummm, I've seen Ghost Story, and, well, I'm a big enough Stephen King fan that I was excited at meeting his collaborator. It was the most recent collaboration, in fact, that Straub read from today, Black House. It was quite good; I look forward to reading it, although I imagine I'll have to read The Talisman first.
I was a little dismayed to realize that the occasional cheering I'd been hearing in the background was from the large number of people who were watching the Mariners game on the televisions throughout the exhibition hall. "Seven to two!" were the excited words I was greeted with by the door guard when I came back in from putting more change in the parking meter -- it took me a second to realize she was telling me the game's score, a fact that of course I had to be interested in, I'm breathing, aren't I? Actually, no, I was here because of the books, thanks awfully.
How did I get to this planet? And when can I go home?
I left shortly afterward, feeling depressed about the flyers and alienated by the baseball, and drove off with the intention of going downtown to drop some flyers off at Borders Books. (Yes, Borders does have a flyer table. Yes, Borders is better set up to serve the needs of a local author like myself than the Northwest Bookfest was. Yes, that's kind of sick.) But silly me! Did I think there was somewhere to park downtown? No, naturally not. After circling uselessly for a while, I gave up and headed to the U-District, with the intention of leaving some flyers at The Comics Stand, which had been closed when I'd tried it on Thursday.
The Comics Stand doesn't have anywhere to leave flyers, either.
Undaunted -- okay, okay; really, really daunted -- I headed for Lake Forest Park Towne Centre to leave some flyers on the copious flyer tables there, and to drop in and say hello to wendolen.
While I'm in Third Place Books, I hear an announcement that Timothy Zahn will be speaking in a few minutes. I'm not terribly interested -- the only book of his I've ever tried reading was his first Star Wars novel, and I couldn't get through it -- but as I walk past, I notice only three people have shown up to hear him. I instantly imagine how I'd feel in his position, and I take a seat.
I'm glad I did. I've met him before -- he and I were on a panel together at some convention a few years ago -- and he's fun and interesting to talk with. And that's just what this turned into; the five of us sitting around talking about science fiction, bad movies, and most importantly, storytelling.
I left content, feeling the connection with my calling that I hadn't found at the Bookfest.
On the bright side, I ran into Hardrock, who pointed out to me that Peter Straub was going to be speaking in ten minutes. I have to confess here that I don't think I've ever read any of Straub's work, but, ummm, I've seen Ghost Story, and, well, I'm a big enough Stephen King fan that I was excited at meeting his collaborator. It was the most recent collaboration, in fact, that Straub read from today, Black House. It was quite good; I look forward to reading it, although I imagine I'll have to read The Talisman first.
I was a little dismayed to realize that the occasional cheering I'd been hearing in the background was from the large number of people who were watching the Mariners game on the televisions throughout the exhibition hall. "Seven to two!" were the excited words I was greeted with by the door guard when I came back in from putting more change in the parking meter -- it took me a second to realize she was telling me the game's score, a fact that of course I had to be interested in, I'm breathing, aren't I? Actually, no, I was here because of the books, thanks awfully.
How did I get to this planet? And when can I go home?
I left shortly afterward, feeling depressed about the flyers and alienated by the baseball, and drove off with the intention of going downtown to drop some flyers off at Borders Books. (Yes, Borders does have a flyer table. Yes, Borders is better set up to serve the needs of a local author like myself than the Northwest Bookfest was. Yes, that's kind of sick.) But silly me! Did I think there was somewhere to park downtown? No, naturally not. After circling uselessly for a while, I gave up and headed to the U-District, with the intention of leaving some flyers at The Comics Stand, which had been closed when I'd tried it on Thursday.
The Comics Stand doesn't have anywhere to leave flyers, either.
Undaunted -- okay, okay; really, really daunted -- I headed for Lake Forest Park Towne Centre to leave some flyers on the copious flyer tables there, and to drop in and say hello to wendolen.
While I'm in Third Place Books, I hear an announcement that Timothy Zahn will be speaking in a few minutes. I'm not terribly interested -- the only book of his I've ever tried reading was his first Star Wars novel, and I couldn't get through it -- but as I walk past, I notice only three people have shown up to hear him. I instantly imagine how I'd feel in his position, and I take a seat.
I'm glad I did. I've met him before -- he and I were on a panel together at some convention a few years ago -- and he's fun and interesting to talk with. And that's just what this turned into; the five of us sitting around talking about science fiction, bad movies, and most importantly, storytelling.
I left content, feeling the connection with my calling that I hadn't found at the Bookfest.