Back from Wiscon

I am home from the convention. Since returning I have unpacked half my things, done a load of dishes, and spent lots of time with my family. This morning we’re heading out to the Y.

My convention was great.

Each year I find that an unofficial theme coalesces out of the convention for me. Some years I share that theme with other people who feel the same way, some years it is strictly personal. This year’s theme was strictly personal, and is summarized by Randall’s Crazy Nastyass Honeybadger video. On a related note, I need to learn more about Baba Yaga.

I saw a number of amazing people and had great conversations. I won’t list all of those here, because I will forget someone and then we will both be sad. I did miss talking to some people I meant to get to, dangit. Saladin Ahmed? I really meant to tell you in person how amazing your book is, but I think we were cross-programmed on *everything*. Jed Hartman? I’m glad I got to say hello as I was literally walking out of the hotel, but I hope to chat more next year.

There were more. There were others I didn’t get a chance to talk to. But the truth of it is, I love the social at Wiscon but I love the panels about 3% more, and the panels win in scheduling conflicts.

The Chicks Dig Comics party was a riot, figuratively. Though it was as loud as one. A decibel meter was brandished at the height of events — average level, 87 Db, peaking every few minutes over 100. Riot-levels.

I must admit, I had expected people to drink the same amount of alcohol as they normally do at Wiscon, and was not anticipating that the form factor would alter the quantity. But apparently test tube shots encourage rapid and heavy consumption. Kudos to our bartenders, Elizabeth Bear and Scott Lynch, who started offering refills early on. Thus we did not run out of test tubes.

And my thanks to Brit Mandelo and the Beyond Binary party for taking all the left-over supplies off of our hands. I had sworn a mighty mickle oath to my partner that I would NOT store booze in our basement for another year, and Brit let me keep my promise.

I left Wiscon exhausted, my brain full of half-conceived plans, my head aching from not enough sleep, and the coming year full of promise. So, just like every other Wiscon year for me.

My thanks to all of you I saw and met and talked to and had dinner with. My thanks to all the panelists who made me think — perhaps especially to the ones who pissed me off and made me reconsider my position. My thanks to the concom and the volunteers who make this work so well each year.

Good con, y’all.

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