I ran into an old friend, horror writer John Goodrich, who I hadn't seen since he was running the World's Best Call of Cthulhu campaign, back in the early 1990s. That was a very satisfying thing, and now that I know he's the same John Goodrich,
There was a signing at Flights of Fantasy bookstore (very cold! nice cats!), and a couple of group readings (I got to read between Nancy Kress and Carol Emshwiler. NO PRESSURE BEAR.) I was supposed to get to play guitar with pnh Sunday night, but he vanished when my back was turned, so that didn't happen. My fault; I should have dragged him off the moment I saw him rather than trying to wait politely. Memo to me, be ruder. *g*
And in conclusion, I have only this to say:
"Quick! To the Buttery!"
"The clitoris exists!"
And then we came home. And I slept ten hours last night, which is for me highly unusual. (I was in bed at 8:30, with the third graders.)
The cat is even happy to see me.
And I really need to pay bills.
This livejournal might remain a bit broadcasty, as I have two novel revisions to finish by the end of the year, and a short story and two novellas to write. We are going to be instituting Discipline, starting tomorrow. Four pages a day of new writing, and four hours of revision, every day that doesn't get eaten by other considerations. Which means less hanging out on the internets with my friends.
...whatever shall I do?