WFC Part I: A Tiger Dress and Damn, That Hotel was Meh
Well, I finally have a Poison Ivy dress. Check it:
This was my first World Fantasy Convention and HOLY EFFING EF, christ, it's a Big Deal. Every other person you walk past is important. Or interesting. Or famous. I was all, "Whoa...that's Patrick Rothfuss, leaning up against the lobby." And then in the restaurant I was all, "That's frikkin' Charlaine Harris." It keeps going, why yes, that was Neil Gaiman crossing the parking lot.
On the unfortunate side, GODDAMN the hotel sucked. It's a labyrinth compound with at least fifteen different buildings, a main convention hall and misc. restaurants. Sounds like a convention creator's dream, eh? No. Their rooms are nil for soundproofing and that walking between buildings one was accosted with what sometimes smelled like roses and other times smelled like mold. The biggest deal... they absolutely SUCKED for disability access. You can see the unfortunate details here.
On to the better...
C.S.E. Cooney kicked ass at her reading on Thursday night. Mind you, the lady barely had a minute to herself. Plane got in. Reading began. She recited her Bluebeard poem (in a pirate voice!) and read from Jack of the Hills. Directly after, Cooney and I both had ten minute plays that were read at a packed room party.
And dear lord THE READINGS!!!!
I could go through World Fantasy chronologically, but instead, I think I'mna whizbang through this bitch as it comes to me.
Sharon Shinn is fabulous. I know this because Cooney has assured me of it multiple times and in great depth and because I got to hear her read not only on Friday, but at Saturday night's poetry reading. Badass. Must get her books.
Connie Willis is who I want to be when I grow up. I mean, seriously, the newest short story she is working on is about a robot that wants to be a Rockette. She's hysterical. She's not afraid to tell audience member's their question is stupid and yet still somehow she is totally charming. Double must read all other books by her. I've only ever done the Doomsday Book.
Yes, Neil Gaiman is as witty and wonderful as he appears. Gracious as all get out, gorgeous to boot and the man knows how to give a good reading. Too bad I left his reading early. Why? Why would I possibly leave a Neil Gaiman reading early???? Because Peter S. Beagle's reading started. High five and win at life, hell yes I got to see Peter S. Beagle.
And Tim Pratt, christ, if you don't read Tim Pratt, you should. If you ever can see Tim Pratt read his work aloud, do it. He's hysterical. He's a conversationalist. Somehow he is talking to you and reading to you at the same time.
The big surprise for me was Frederic S. Durbin. I'd been leaving a reading room and saw John O'Neill coming at me. He says, "Templeton, where are you going?" To which I had no good response and he then dragged me into Mr. Durbin's reading where I then proceeded to cackle and enjoy myself greatly. Durbin read a weird west tale that had everything in it from gunslingers to PIGSPIDERS to caverns, boiling oil, rattlesnakes and outlaws. LOVED LOVED LOVED this story. I am definitely going to seek out more of Durbin's stuff. It was one of those readings where I was like, damn it, I love this guy. He's amazing. And GODDAMNIT I hate this dude. He's too good. Got my neck hairs standing on edge and my pen fingers itchy. Made me want to write and that's the best that a writer can do for me.
Ok. I'm ending this early. I got to. I'm getting progressively less eloquent and leaning more towards saying, "BADASS" and "KICK ASS" over and over again about every reading I saw. Plus, I'm off to pick up Cooney. We're gonna have dinner and then it's on to see SLIM CESSNA! and THE STRANGER! at the Empty Bottle.
Part two coming soon.
This was my first World Fantasy Convention and HOLY EFFING EF, christ, it's a Big Deal. Every other person you walk past is important. Or interesting. Or famous. I was all, "Whoa...that's Patrick Rothfuss, leaning up against the lobby." And then in the restaurant I was all, "That's frikkin' Charlaine Harris." It keeps going, why yes, that was Neil Gaiman crossing the parking lot.
On the unfortunate side, GODDAMN the hotel sucked. It's a labyrinth compound with at least fifteen different buildings, a main convention hall and misc. restaurants. Sounds like a convention creator's dream, eh? No. Their rooms are nil for soundproofing and that walking between buildings one was accosted with what sometimes smelled like roses and other times smelled like mold. The biggest deal... they absolutely SUCKED for disability access. You can see the unfortunate details here.
On to the better...
C.S.E. Cooney kicked ass at her reading on Thursday night. Mind you, the lady barely had a minute to herself. Plane got in. Reading began. She recited her Bluebeard poem (in a pirate voice!) and read from Jack of the Hills. Directly after, Cooney and I both had ten minute plays that were read at a packed room party.
And dear lord THE READINGS!!!!
I could go through World Fantasy chronologically, but instead, I think I'mna whizbang through this bitch as it comes to me.
Sharon Shinn is fabulous. I know this because Cooney has assured me of it multiple times and in great depth and because I got to hear her read not only on Friday, but at Saturday night's poetry reading. Badass. Must get her books.
Connie Willis is who I want to be when I grow up. I mean, seriously, the newest short story she is working on is about a robot that wants to be a Rockette. She's hysterical. She's not afraid to tell audience member's their question is stupid and yet still somehow she is totally charming. Double must read all other books by her. I've only ever done the Doomsday Book.
Yes, Neil Gaiman is as witty and wonderful as he appears. Gracious as all get out, gorgeous to boot and the man knows how to give a good reading. Too bad I left his reading early. Why? Why would I possibly leave a Neil Gaiman reading early???? Because Peter S. Beagle's reading started. High five and win at life, hell yes I got to see Peter S. Beagle.
And Tim Pratt, christ, if you don't read Tim Pratt, you should. If you ever can see Tim Pratt read his work aloud, do it. He's hysterical. He's a conversationalist. Somehow he is talking to you and reading to you at the same time.
The big surprise for me was Frederic S. Durbin. I'd been leaving a reading room and saw John O'Neill coming at me. He says, "Templeton, where are you going?" To which I had no good response and he then dragged me into Mr. Durbin's reading where I then proceeded to cackle and enjoy myself greatly. Durbin read a weird west tale that had everything in it from gunslingers to PIGSPIDERS to caverns, boiling oil, rattlesnakes and outlaws. LOVED LOVED LOVED this story. I am definitely going to seek out more of Durbin's stuff. It was one of those readings where I was like, damn it, I love this guy. He's amazing. And GODDAMNIT I hate this dude. He's too good. Got my neck hairs standing on edge and my pen fingers itchy. Made me want to write and that's the best that a writer can do for me.
Ok. I'm ending this early. I got to. I'm getting progressively less eloquent and leaning more towards saying, "BADASS" and "KICK ASS" over and over again about every reading I saw. Plus, I'm off to pick up Cooney. We're gonna have dinner and then it's on to see SLIM CESSNA! and THE STRANGER! at the Empty Bottle.
Part two coming soon.