ConDFW VI - Dallas, TX

Thursday

The first convention on my 2007 schedule and, having had several months to recuperate and recharge from the con-trail, I was more than ready.

With the weatherfolk warning that All Hell Breaking Loose was a distinct possibility for the weekend, we decided that having one van instead of both onsite, and me not having to drive home Sunday, would be good things. So, mid-afternoon on Thursday, George came home, swapped his vehicle for the already-loaded Cripmobile, and drove me down to the Radisson North Dallas in Richardson.

Yes, it’s a local convention for me, and yes, the hotel is less than five miles from HarpHaven. But I learned way back in my Mensa Gathering days that commuting to a convention from home will exhaust me faster than the most vigorously-loaded schedule. Hence the hotel room, and our first hotel-oriented glitch. As usual, the reservation was for a smoking room with king bed (What can I say? I *like* sleeping with my husband!), and had been guaranteed same. Had always gotten one at this hotel, in fact. But not this year. The young man on the front desk was rather rudely adamant that no such room was available. The only smoking room I could get was one with two double beds. Let it be noted that this was the first of numerous instances of rudeness from hotel staff this year. It bodes not well, I think.

George got me unloaded into the room before heading off for a professional society meeting. I got unpacked and then headed off to refresh my memory regarding the location of various panel and function rooms. During the course of that, I ran into Ben and Bear from Lazy Dragon and enjoyed my first good-natured harassment of the convention. Then it was off to the hotel restaurant for a supper of salad, grilled salmon, sauteed spinach, and a wonderful coconut tres leche dessert that gave 70% cocoa dark chocolate a run for its money as the definition of “decadent”. Purrrrr. Then it was over the bar, where I sipped amaretto, availed myself of the in-house wireless high speed internet, and got a little writing done in between greeting arriving familiar faces. It made for a pleasantly relaxing evening. George joined me after his meeting and a run home to check on the cats, and we toddled off to our (snarl) separate beds around 11pm.

Friday

I didn’t have to be anywhere until after noon; George, on the other hand, had to go to work. So, while I was marginally aware of him getting up at 6am, I didn’t actually wake up until he woke me with breakfast fetched from the next-door Burger King. A real advantage to this location: multiple reasonably-priced alternatives to the hotel restaurant within easy walking distance. And being awakened by breakfast in bed and a fresh pot of coffee - lovely. Then off he went to the office and I spent the morning writing and doing a slow get-ready for the first day of the con.

I hit the convention floor just before 1pm, acquired my packet and our badges, and chatted with assorted folk until 3pm, when it was time for my joint reading with Linda Donahue. We had audience, and we spent a lovely hour swapping five- and ten-minute segments. A grand kick-off of my weekend’s programming schedule. And a happy surprise at the end of it: my friend Heidi arrived earlier than we’d thought she’d be able to manage. We played catch-up on news and cheered her first story sale until time for my next programming assignment at 5pm - “Remaking the Myths: Folklore and Mythology For the Modern Writer”. Arthurian lore and bardic tradition are important parts of my storyteller’s kit, and the discussion was lively and interesting.

Shortly thereafter, George arrived, just in time for us all to join the Yard Doggies & Friends in the hotel restaurant for dinner, where the usual insanity ensued. And where the restaurant earned more ticks in the “not good, guys” column for the hotel, first with the food, which was, between the three of us, either so highly-spiced that it made our eyes water or, as in George’s case, bore little resemblance to its name or the description in the menu. But the kicker came with the bill. I’m well-used to, and don’t disagree with, the practice of tacking a tip or a service charge for parties larger than eight or so. But not both, and not to a cumulative total close to a third of the bill.

Just enough time after dinner to go out for a cigarette and to check the feel of the incoming weather - and boyhowdy, did it feel unsettled - before sitting in on Opening Ceremonies, which were both enthusiastic and short. Then came the Yard Dog Road Show. The incoming weather was starting to kick up a migraine; Selina took pity on me and called on me to read early. Bless her.

We said good night to Heidi shortly thereafter and headed up to the room, where George imparted happy news. The project that might have kept him at the office for most of the weekend had been completed and he was going to get to enjoy the festivities. I rejoiced, took meds and went to sleep in my (snarl) separate bed.

Saturday

I’d expected to be awakened sometime during the night by thunder, lightning, and hail. I wasn’t, and the morning news explained why. We’d lucked out bigtime. All hell had broken loose, including tornadic activity, west of us, and was breaking out east of us, but the nasty stuff had missed us beyond a little (too little) rain.

There are much worse ways of beginning the programming day than surrounded by talented men. My first gig of Saturday was autographing in the company of Harry Turtledove, Steven K. Z. Brust, and Bradley H. Sinor. Steven is fun to sit beside, both he and Harry had sizeable lines that provided excellent people-watching opportunities, and I had a surprising number of folks coming for my autograph as well. Laughs were generated with a bit of “my husband is being unfaithful. He’s in Harry’s line!” schtick. A fun session.

Heidi arrived during the autographing, so immediately following she, George and I scuttled through the parking lot to Potbelly’s for a very tasty - and inexpensive - lunch. It was also our first encounter with the weather phenomenon of the day: 50 mph winds blowing half of West Texas and points west through us. For most of the afternoon, the sky was brown and the air was, as Joseph Abbott described it, “crunchy”. And talk about pervasive! In the pores, in the sinuses, in the hair, and it even felt like it had gotten under the clothes. It felt like 10 lbs of west Texas went down the drain with the next shower.

Back to programming after lunch, with the first thing on the schedule being something that wasn’t. Joe Abbott asked me to sit in with him for “Filk 101", along with the drafted talents of Robert Asprin and Lee Billings. We did have a good time. That was immediately followed by “Who Are We Reading?”, a discussion of what several of us had on the nightstand and the to-be-read stack. Author and title suggestions flew, notes were taken, and the hour passed quickly.

There was an uncharacteristic six-hour window in my schedule, and I used it to good advantage. Caught up on life with an old friend, Gayle, from my Mensa days, whom I hadn’t seen in years and who had come to the con for the day. Provided helpful tips to potential buyers at the Yard Dog tables (read: pimped my own works and others). Bantered with the Lazy Dragon crew, borrowed a couple of items for use during the evening panel (more about that later), and conferred with them about ways I could contribute to the fun of Lazy Dragon Con (no relation of any sort to Atlanta’s DragonCon), while simultaneously attending Archon/TuckerCon/NASFiC in St. Louis that weekend. (I am, after all, Lazy Dragon Con’s Author Guest of Honor Who Can’t Be Here.) Webcams, t-shirt contests, and all manner of other mischief were mentioned. And, having been extremely impressed by the lovely fabrics and outstanding workmanship of Claudia of Pan-Gaea Designs, sat me down with the lady to discuss items she could custom-design with my uses and wheels in mind. We came up with three, for starters, and I’m looking forward to adding them to my wardrobe.

Supper was another tasty, inexpensive meal in good company. Heidi and George hauled in meals from the Grandy’s across the street from the hotel, and I stoked my body with veggies and chicken-fried steak while talking shop with Heidi. So it was that, well-rested and well-fed, I headed off for the last panel of the day.

The “Porn vs. Erotica Panel” has become a tradition at ConDFW, and none of the five previous incarnations of it have resembled, in any way, shape, or form, any other others. That record now extends to six. This year, the panel of crazies was made up of Julia Kosatka, Melanie Fletcher, Selina Rosen, and me as moderator. I’d come prepared; I’d brought my own chair and borrow a whip. Actually a whip (10-ft bullwhip) and a cat-o-nine-tails, courtesy of the Lazy Dragon gang. After verifying that everyone in the room was 21 years or older, we launched into a lively and laugh-filled hour that settled nothing but was high in entertainment value.

ConDFW was a room-party-rich environment on Saturday night, and I dropped by the Lazy Dragon Con party to return the props. But I was too tired to go party-hopping and opted, instead, to take my fatigued frame to bed. (I heard later that the ApolloCon party finally closed down at 6am Sunday morning. I envied their stamina.)

One last note on Saturday night. Several years ago, at my first Conjecture, I noted the sound of guitars, dumbak, and singing coming through the wall between my room and the one next to it. There was filking going on next door, and I remembered seeing signs for a Smoker-Friendly Filk gathering posted around the convention. It wasn’t loud (good sound dampening in that hotel), it was good (on-key, steady rhythms, and intent on the music rather than shouting and loud laughing) , and I found myself humming harmonies as I was gently sung to sleep. The next morning, my next-door neighbor and I left our rooms at the same time. It was Steven Brust, who hadn’t known the room next to his was occupied and expressed concern that the filking had disturbed my rest. I asked him if a semi-naked old fat crip had showed up at the door begging for reduced volume. “No,” he laughed. “Then you didn’t disturb me. Had I any energy left, I’d have joined you all.” I recall being pleasantly serenaded that night, as well.

At ConDFW, Brust was again my next-door neighbor, and a Smoker-Friendly Filk again convened in his room. Superlative music, with fine voices and musicians holding forth, again came quietly through the walls, and I went to sleep (in my - snarl - separate bed) very happily. George woke up around 2am, and they were still going. It made for a pleasant end to the day.

Sunday

Up, prepped, and packed before my first panel at 11am, during which George loaded the car and checked us out of the hotel. It was “The Aspiring Writers’ Panel”, and moderator Mel Tatum took an inventive tact I’d not previously seen used. After Linda Donahue, Melanie Fletcher, P.N. Elrod and I introduced ourselves, Mel threw it to the audience - aspiring writers all - for questions that covered a wide variety of concerns, problems, and how-tos. An excellent panel, and an approach I plan to steal the next time I get the moderator assignment for something like this.

Only one more panel to go: “Cats, Dragons, and Fair Maidens: Fantasy Cliches That Sell” - which provided a lively discussion with Angeline Hawkes, Julia Kosatka, and Mel White and a fine cap on the con’s excellent programming.

Then it was off to settle accounts with the Yard Dog folks (I must have been a good little Writer Ho - they sold out of Folly of Assumption, and were down to one copy of the To Stand As Witness chapbook) and the nice lady from Sablewood Village, and to finalize the commission with Claudia at Pan-Gaea. Not to mention the goodbyes and “where will be cross paths” conversations with many others. Finally, a bit after 4pm, George and I headed home.

It was a fun convention, and Amy and her crew did a splendid job. The happy news is that they’re already making plans for ConDFW VII in 2008. And, barring something major, I’ll be there.

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StellarCon 31

Mar 9 - 11, 2007

High Point, NC

Thursday: Outbound

My flight to North Carolina was timed such that going with George when he left for work, spending an hour or so in the van while he went up and got his day starting, then having him take me to the airport from there was the best plan. We do it this way often, and sometimes I break out the laptop and write, sometimes I read, and sometimes - like this particular morning, having gotten up at 4:00am after 5 hours sleep - I nap.

As many times as I’ve flown out of DFW International Airport, I’d never gone out of Terminal B. After having done it once, I’d just as soon not do it again. The terminal feels odd to me, vaguely subterranean and somehow not really part of an airport I know like the back of my hand. Disquieting. There was a similar disjointed feel to checking in at the American Eagle counter, which I chalked up to it being Eagle.

Once checked in, I said goodbye to George, who headed back to work, and hung around outside enjoying the pleasant weather until time to go through Security, which went smoothly. Found my gate, hit one of the shops for take-along beverages, grabbed some lunch, and camped out at my gate to eat and wait.

Most trips, I travel on a nice, big MD80; this trip put me on a regional jet. My first thought, on seeing it pull up to the ramp, was “my wheelchair is bigger than that thing”, and I was starting a mild case of flight nerves I haven’t had since the first time I crawled into the back of a Steerman for my very first ever time in an airplane. Fortunately, I had something to distract me. Either American Special Services doesn’t cover American Eagle flights or a ball got dropped along the way. I ended up doing what I routinely have to do everywhere *but* DFW: training the gate and ground crew on wheelchair stowage. Since the ramp down to that ittybitty airplane was so steep, I suggested they take me down in a manual chair, so I secured the electric chair for flight myself. Off it went, and I watched them load it, praying they’d listened well when I told them how to lock the brake. (200 lbs of free-rolling load in something that small: nopenopenope, don’t wanna think about that.) Then it was my turn to be loaded, and the ride down the ramp to the door of the plane was...exciting. When handling a wheelchair down a sleep ramp, you back it down, but not the young man who had hold of the chair. Down forward, way too fast, and it was only iron will and full hands that kept me from showing him the error of his ways by slamming on the wheelchocks, ducking, and watching him fly over my head.

In due course, I was in my seat, and the plane didn’t look quite as small on the inside as it had from the top of the ramp. The layout was one seat on one side of the aisle, two on the other, and I’d elected to sit on the single-seat side. A good choice, and I found it was only marginally narrower than the seats in an MD80. Rather comfy, it turned out. We sailed along at 37,000 ft. with Dan Fogelberg on my iPod.

Two hours and forty-three minutes from take-off, we made a feather-light landing at the Greensboro/HighPoint Airport. In the battle of gate-delivery tags vs. baggage claim delivery that frequently happens, the latter won, so I collected my ramp-checked computer bag and let myself be ferried via manual chair to the baggage claim area. Along the way, I was met by Regina Kirby, the smiling blond StellarCon staffer tasked with collecting me. She fell in with the parade to Baggage Claim, radioed Transport Chief Bill Mann that I was in hand, and off we went to see how fared my wheels.

Very well, it turned out. Someone behind the scenes not only put it together correctly, but had it powered up and rolling. Points and blessings be on that individual’s head. By the time I was in it, Bill had rendezvoused with us, my bags had been snagged, and we were headed toward the StellarCon van pool. You’ll see me mention it many times during this report: these folks do things very right, very well, and with true southern charm.

People appeared and the chair and I were loaded into the back of Regina’s van. The thirty-minute drive to the con hotel was delightful, with good conversation and much laughter. I was starting to feel like a long-lost cousin being welcomed to a family reunion, a feeling that persisted throughout the weekend.

Check-in at Radisson High Point went smoothly, and shortly my bags and I were ensconced in my very nice room on the top floor. It didn’t take me long to unpack, freshen up, and head downstairs for my usual pre-convention activities: meeting members of the con staff and running the convention spaces so I’d know what was where. Then it was off to dinner in the hotel restaurant with two of the StellarCon folks - John and Warren; tasty food (including sweet tea and sweet potato fries - yum) and lively dinnertime conversation made for a most enjoyable meal.

It had been a very long day, so I headed to my room around 9pm to check email, call George, and turn in earlyish. I think I was asleep within nanoseconds of my head hitting the pillow.

Friday

My favorite kind of “first day of the con” mornings are those where I get enough sleep that I wake up rested and refreshed well before the alarm clock, have sufficient time for a leisurely ingestion of good coffee, breakfast if I’m hungry, and can take a sinful amount of time in the shower, getting made-up, and dressed. This particular morning boasted four out of the five; the hotel’s in-room coffee was abysmal. I ended up breaking into the emergency stash I pack for those times when housekeeping decides the nice old lady in the wheelchair only drinks decaf.

I hit the convention floor around 1pm., meeting up with Sarah, Will, and Jason, the nice folks who would be smoothing my way throughout the convention. It rapidly became apparent that being in their company felt a lot like hanging out with old friends, and I owe them bunches for a multitude of good laughs and good companionship, not to mention feeling secure in the knowledge that they had my back. First stop was guest registration, ably being run by Lati and her team, who had me squared away in nothing flat. Next, drop-off of a couple of things for the Charity Auction. Then it was off to the Dealer Room in search of a friendly book dealer who might be willing to take a few things on mine on consignment.

Except that my aging memory had dropped the fact that part of my “package” was a dealer’s table. I had one - one that was entirely too big for what I’d been able to bring in my luggage. So I offered to share my table, which was in a prime, by-the-door location. And that’s how I ended up sitting with artist Jennifer Anderson, a delightful young lady whom I watched doing lovely drawings the entire weekend. A table from which to sell my work and chat with folks, a “home-base” when I wasn’t paneling - I was in heaven.

At 3:30pm, I went in to my first panel of the convention, “Creating Mythology” with Jim Butcher, Peter Schweighofer, and Daniel Hammond. A world-building panel that focused on an element I’d not done a panel on before: creating belief systems, deities, and ethical/moral components. Discussion was spirited and could easily have gone past the hour allotted, but the schedule prevailed and it was back to my table for more conversations and a few sales.

The restaurant opened at 5pm and I was ready for breakfast. (I eat when I’m hungry, and I hadn’t been hungry up to that point.) The a crab-and-shrimp-cake salad, with avocado and nice, crisp greens definitely hit the spot, and fortified me for the evening ahead. Then a quick trip back to the room, which I found in the same state it had been when I left it. Housekeeping hadn’t been there. So a word with the front desk was necessary before heading in for the next thing on the schedule.

The Opening Ceremony at 7pm was short, funny, and well-done, and over in time for me to stick my head into the Browncoats gathering. But only for a few minutes, because I had one more panel to do before I could call it a day. “What Part of ARRRRR! Don’t You Understand” - great title - hosted by a recreation group called the Buccaneers Of The Atlantic Coast and discussing the Golden Age of Piracy and their group. Their garb and weapons were wonderful. As one of two non-members of the group - Bill Fawcett was the other - I was a little worried about keeping up with them. But the research I’ve been doing for a story stood me in good stead, and the panel was a great deal of fun.

Not long after the panel ended, I said goodnight to my escorts and went up to my room. Someone had delivered towels and straightened the bed, so I got out of make-up, called George, and wound down to dreamland.

Saturday

The alarm went off at 5:00am, making me grateful that I 1) slept long and well on Thursday night; 2) slept not nearly long enough but very well that night; 3) brought real, high-octane coffee with me, and; 4) had a very good reason for getting up at that ungodly hour. The above combined to make it possible for me to not drown in the shower, get my eyes on straight, and be fully clothed when I hit the convention floor for the 9am Writers’ Workshop.

Allan Wold has been doing these for something like 22 years, and people I know who have either taken them or helped teach have spoken highly of them. So I was pleased that Allan has asked for me to sit in, with him, Jody Lynn Nye, and Karen McCullough, on the teaching side of the table, and interested in the approach he uses. It was pure craft-of-writing, working with a short piece the students write in the first 10 minutes of the panel. I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for my editorial eye, or put it into practice in quite that fashion. A very intense and pleasurable three hours. What was left of me went back to my dealer table for several hours of selling, visiting, watching Jennifer work on a new piece, enjoy (as much as I could eat of) the sub sandwich and chips Sarah and others brought back for me during their lunch run, and in general have a fine time. Ohyes, I also got assassinated.

I’d been asked back during the Trinoc*Con conversations if I’d be willing to be a target for a LARP called “Killer”, being run by Warren. Sure, I said, as long as certain rules were in place, such as me only being fair game during the day, only when I was on the convention floor, and only when outside of actual panel rooms and scheduled activities. Fair enough, said they, and they even “armed” me. While I was in the writing workshop, targets had been dropping right and left, and there were several groups with me in their sights, since I was one of the last targets s/t/a/n/d/i/n/g sitting. One of them - the Mafia, I think - got me mid-afternoon at my table. I went down in a strafing run of “machine gun fire”, without ever returning a shot. An ignoble death, to be sure, but reports had it that my demise earned extra points for the team, since they’d had such a hard time finding me in a killable location. (The smoking porch had also been declared off-limits at my request.) Weird fun, but fun nonetheless.

At 3pm, it was off to my Reading/Q&A. As a Special Guest, I’d been assigned an hour and half for sharing my work, answering questions, and generally shooting the breeze with anyone who happened to show up. One person did, a member of the Writing Workshop, and we spent a bit over an hour talking about the business side of writing and other interesting and related topics. It was enjoyable. A quick break, and then at 5pm it was off to “World Building” with Jim Butcher, Paula Jordan, and Daniel Hammond. Another lively and informative discussion, and I confirmed something I’d gotten an inkling of on Friday; paneling with Jim Butcher is a treat. The man has a dry wit and killer delivery that begs to be played off of. I don’t think I’ve ever had an hour pass so quickly. That was followed immediately by an odd little exercise called “QuickWrite”, hosted by Tony Ruggiero. Two teams each write a story in timed segments, with the requirement that an element as supplied by the host be used. Let me just say that Tony has a warped sense of humor; to say anything further wouldn’t do it justice.

I had planned to use the next two+hours to have a relaxing and reasonably balanced meal in the hotel restaurant. The hotel decided otherwise. In the absence of anything remotely resembling logic or good sense, they closed the restaurant just before 7pm. Now, this was the second time this convention had been in this hotel, and the concomm had repeatedly queried the hotel during numerous meetings prior to the convention and been assured that extra staff would be on duty in the restaurant and bar to handle increased business. The assurances were apparently so much hot air. So the hotel lost dollars when those who could headed off toward the restaurant row about two miles away. Not a solution for me, however. Fortunately, lunch had been late and I wasn’t feeling the need to break into the kitchen to roast up a nice haunch of idiot hotel manager. Not just then, anyway.

Which is how I happened to be hanging out on the smoking porch, having good conversations and enjoying a pleasant evening, when the charity auction folks came looking for me. Tuckerizations go well at that con, and a glitch had resulted in them not having enough. Would I be willing to offer one for the auction? I carefully explained the lay of my particular literary land: I’m a short story slinger who writes stories mostly on spec; some of them sell fairly soon out of the gate, some don’t see print for years, and a few are still pursuing good home. No problem, said they; we’ll explain that upfront before bidding starts. I thought about it long and hard, and thought about the two charities benefitting from the auction - a local hospice and pallative care facility and the transplant fund for a much-beloved local member. So with no small amount of trepidation but with right good well, I answered “On one condition. I do the auctioneer duties for this.” “Hot dog!” came the reply, as well as the follow-up request - would I be willing to also auction off the opportunity to say how the winner of the first auction dies. It was couched j ust that way. By now, I’d been tenderized, so sure, why not. As long as the winner of that one was willing to pick a demise consistent with the genre (SF or F) of the story. Again, no problem, and we’d explain it as such. And I’d auctioneer for that one as well.

It had been a long day, and I was beginning to fade by the time the charity auction started. (Did I mention they’d moved me off a panel on filk-song composition that was taking place at the same time?) The auctioneer promised to do my part of it earlyish, and I found a handy spot to park. A few items in, and then I was up. And UP! It’s this “the show must go on” gene I inherited, I suppose. In short order, the Tuckerization itself went for far more money than I expected it it, and the winner was the delightful Jenn Shinn. I don’t remember who won the right to pick her messy death, but I will soon. And as an added bonus, there was a third auction related to all this; the lovely Jennifer Anderson, who was sharing my table, offered to draw the scene of Jenn’s glorious death. All in all, we raised a few coin for good causes, and I look forward to having fun with this.

I sat in on a bit more of the auction (Jody Lynn also offered a Tuckerization that went for major buckage -go, JODY!), before I hit the wall and the end of my energy. I said good night and made it back to my room sometime after midnight. And I was finally hungry, which made having leftovers from lunch a very happy thing.

By the time I made into bed, it was close to 2am - or 3:00am. Yes, this, of all nights, was the accursed beginning of the New and Improved Daylight Savings Time. If the gods were kind, I’d get all of four hours of actual sleep. And to make sure I woke up when I needed to, I ended up setting three separate alarms. I usually use the alarm on my phone, which can rouse me from a comatose state without plastering me to the ceiling. But I wasn’t sure my phone would make the time switch while on, so I also set the alarm on my PDA, after setting it into Daylight Savings mode. And because I’m a belt, suspenders, and spirit gum kinda gal, I also wrestled the hotels bedside alarm into submission before achieving somnolence.

Sunday

The good news is that all three alarms went off at once. The bad news is that all three alarms went off at once. The even worse news is that I am no longer able to spring into action on what amounts to a long nap. The bags under my eyes were almost big enough to trip over, and the face staring back at me in the bathroom mirror looked like it had either been punched in both eyes or was on Day 7 of a week-long binge. I contemplated a coffee I.V.

Somehow or other, I managed to get it together, and headed down to the convention floor looking reasonably presentable. (And blessing every theatrical make-up tip I remembered.) First up was the follow-up panel on the Writers’ Workshop, in which we critiqued the rewrites of the students from Saturday. Pleasing improvements in all, and in all, a very satisfying experience. Allan seemed pleased with my contributions.

Back to the dealer table for more sales, more good conversations, and a delightful surprise. Warren, Guest Relations for next year’s combined StellarCon 32/DeepSouthCon came by to tender the concomm’s official invitation to be a guest. I gave it all of three nanoseconds’ consideration before giving them a grateful and enthusiastic “ohboyhowdyyoubetcha”. How could I not!?

There was one more panel on my schedule, and a fine one it was. Bill Fawcett and I, with able assist from Jody Lynn, did an hour on “Getting Published” to a bigger audience than I’d expected that late in the convention. Do’s, don’ts, don’t-even-think-about-doing-thises, and tidbits of experience. The questions were intelligent and reasonable, and it was one of the best of this type of panel I’ve had the privilege of sitting on.

Back to the table to pack it up and get the much-less-than-I-brought back to the room. I also wanted to get a start on packing my suitcases in preparation for the next day’s journey home. While I was doing so, there was a knock on the door. Jenn, Sarah, Will and Jason were getting ready to head out and wanted to say goodbye. They were an important part of a fabulous convention for me, and I’m hoping we cross paths again.

Came dinnertime, and I went downstairs to find out if the hotel restaurant was open for business. But first, I stopped at the registration desk and made my room reservation for next year. I was just finishing that up when assorted con folk invited me to join them for pizza at the Dead Dog Party. My taste buds instantly decided that pizza was exactly what they wanted, and accepted happily. Good pizza, too.

Everyone was well and truly fried, including me. So I said my farewells to all and dragged back to my room to finish packing, check on email (I’d been remiss), and snug down for a good night’s sleep.

Monday - Homeward Bound

It being a Monday and Bill not being confident of finding sufficient warm bodies to handle the chair, I’d called and made the arrangements for a 1pm pickup by PTI’s handicapped van. Which gave me a leisurely morning complete with room service breakfast, stowing last minute items in suitcases, and calling PTI to confirm the pick-up. Hotel check-out went smoothly, and I was in place, talking to Bill, when PTI’s van pulled up at 1:00pm. Trouble was, it wasn’t a lift van. The driver got on the radio and came back to tell me the lift van was on its way from Winston-Salem, and would be there within 30 minutes. I build extra time into travel schedules for just this type of thing, so I wasn’t in panic mode quite yet. But I did breath a tiny bit easier when at call + 29 minutes, a lift-equipped van pulled up. A fast goodbye to Bill and a pleasant trip to the airport later, I was at the American Eagle ticket counter.

Two unusual occurrences here. One of the ticket agents looked at my wheelchair and remarked, “I put that thing together when it came in.” So I had the opportunity to thank the person who’d done it right at the beginning of the trip. The other was one of those Twilight Zone moments. Delta paged a former me. Actually, Delta paged a woman with my maiden name, including my legal - and unusual - first name. The woman they were actually paging is a non-fiction writer and educator, but for just a minute there, it was timeslip city.

The trip through Security went smoothly, and I found I had enough time to grab a late lunch at the food court: a really good pulled-pork sandwich. Then it was off to my gate for the usual, train-the-gate-crew session, hand-off of the chair, and loading onto another itty-bitty airplane.

The flight home was the roughest I’ve ever encountered, with turbulence for all but about 10 minutes. Reading was impossible, so I sat back with more Dan Fogelberg on the iPod and utter amazement that I wasn’t getting airsick. I may even have dozed a bit.

I’ll say one thing for those RJs; they do move along. We landed 30 minutes ahead of the schedule and, mirabile dicta, went right to the gate. The chair and I were reunited (I had to hook it up this time), and I got to baggage claim before George arrived. But I was home safe and sound.

My first StellarCon was an amazing experience and tremendous amount of fun. Many thanks t o the concomm, the escort team, and everyone for their gracious hospitality and all the giggles. Next year is already being eagerly anticipated.

MidSouthCon 25

Mar 24 - 25, 2007

Memphis, TN

Thursday - Outbound

Getting out of DFW Airport went very smoothly, despite a last-minute change for one end of Terminal A to the far end of Terminal C. American Airline’s Special Services Goddess, Sherry Jackson, a.k.a. “Squeaky”, snagged me enroute and diverted me to the Skylink System for a fast and easy transition. This was the first time I’ve ridden Skylink, and I found it completely wheelchair-accessible.

For once, I was not the only wheelie on a flight. In addition to MidSouthCon, a convention of people with a neurological condition called, I think, ataxia, was being held in Memphis that weekend, and I counted three other wheelchairs gathered in the waiting area. All, it turned out, were first tme flyers, and I ended up giving Sherry a hand by doing a “what to expect” briefing while she organized equipment loading and people-seating. It all worked out quite well.

Things on the Memphis end didn’t work out quite so smoothly. I watched as the baggage handlers puzzled over the chair, specifically the location of and method for disengaging the wheel lock. Yes, there were directions, with pictures, in the usual back pocket, but those were ignored. Things came together when one of the flight attendants relayed a how-to message from me to the tarmac, followed by one of the baggage handlers coming up for anothe set of instructions. At least it didn’t get dropped.

Then came the trip to the hotel. In years past, a crew from MidSouthCon has met me with a van and multiple strong bodies, we’ve dismantled the chair and off we’ve gone. Similar routine for the trip back. This year, I was surprised to learn when I made my reservations, that the hotel had added a lift-equipped shuttle van to its fleet. In the interest of saving wear and tear on my Memphis friends, me, and the wheels, I decided to go this route. As instructed, I called a few days before the trip, and was told “we don’t have a lift van.” Two days and four-people/five-conflicting-stories later, having worked my way up through the front desk manager to the hotel’s general manager, and with the MidSouth crew standing by as back- up, I had instructions to call the hotel when I arrived and specify pick-up with the lift van.

Which I did, only to be told “we don’t have a lift van”. So, as instructed, I called the front desk manager, who said it would be on the way within a few minutes. Off I went, t railing my baggage train behind me, to the hotel-shuttle pick-up point. About an hour, multiple shuttles - all without lifts - and numerous phone calls later, the lift shuttle finally arrived, complete with a very apologetic front desk manager. We loaded and headed for the hotel, where we ran a round of “adventures in unloading.”

The lift was one of the “old-style” Bruno lifts that folds up inside the van, and I think the “van” for which it was designed was meant to be a minivan, not a shuttle-van. The platform was very short. It also appeared to be not very well maintained, based on the degree of slope between the van and the edge of the lift platform. Not a good combination, given that it takes longer for the brake on my chair to “catch” on a slope. Wracking of the nerves ensued as I eased out onto it and fine-tuned my way to the edge that I was in danger of sailing right over. Which may explain why, when one “helpful” fellow reached toward my joystick to speed things along, I put a good bit of “juice” behind my single-word persuasion against completing that action. The folks who got the backsplash froze with very wide eyes; and I’m pretty sure the fellow at whom it was directed ended up having to change his shorts. Ya just don’t mess with my joystick, especially not in a situation like that.

At long last, I was in the line at the check-in desk, just in time to greet Esther Friesner and her delightful spouse WJ. I, in turn, was being greeted by various of the MidSouthCon folks, and my nerves were settling down a bit. Room check-in was shepherded by the front desk manager, who had introduced me to the general manager, who’d come to greet me and arrange a room upgrade as an apology for the multiple rounds of shuttle-van roulette. And a quite nice room it was, too, complete with a microwave and fridge that served me wonderfully through the weekend.

Kat called while I was unpacking, and we arranged for her to pick up survival supplies (Mt. Dew and a cigarette lighter) on her way to the hotel. Then I finished my unpacking, called George to tell him I was safely ensconced and where, and headed off to find dinner. Ribs. Good ribs, with excellent slaw and sweet tea. More ribs than I could possibly eat in one sitting and thankyouKalim for the fridge and microwave. I was replete.

The evening was spent at the pre-con gathering, several enjoyable hours visiting with MidSouth friends and other guests, catching up on news, and enjoying many good laughs. But it had been a long day, and in due course my body insisted that “horizontal” and “asleep” were two states in which it wanted to be. I bade good night to all and headed back to my room.

Friday

After an excellent night’s sleep, I achieved consciousness around 8am, got ready to meet the world at a leisurely pace, and headed out of the room around noon in search of sustenance. The “chicken-fried-steak” I’d spotted on the menu the night before turned out to be a “dinner-only” offering, so I went into fall-back mode with a chicken-breast salad that was very satisfying. Then it was off to collect my badge and packet, touch base with assorted folk, drop stuff off at the Yard Dog table, and hook up with Kelly, the lady who served as my “escort” last year and who’d volunteered to do it again. She’s a lot of fun to hang around with, and we enjoyed an ongoing, laugh-filled conversation all weekend.

My first programming item was an hour-long reading at 6pm. The audience was actually bigger than I’d expected, and was a lovely, responsive bunch who chuckled, laughed, and groaned in all the appropriate spots. An hour gives me the chance to give them a sampling of multiple pieces, and we merrily sailed through several. Then I dashed to my room via the “wheelie” route from the reading room - up a ramp, around the corner, down the hall past the pre-function space, down a long ramp to the “garden” floor, through the slalom composed of gaming tables and gamers to the elevator, up the elevator to the third floor, across the “bridge” to the executive wing, through the doors, down the elevator to the first floor and into my room. I did a fast change into SCA garb, then headed for Main Programming, which involved reversing the route just taken, going past the reading room, through a set of door into back of house, down a long steep ramp, around the corner, through another set of doors, around a floor drain pipe, around various carts and other impediments the hotel staff insisted on using to block the back ballroom doors, and through those doors into the front of the ballroom that is Main Programming. (I did a lot of this through the weekend, since this was also the route into the Dealer’s Room and the other big ballroom used for programming. My chair was wringing the last little electron out of its batteries at the end of each day.)

Opening Ceremony went quicky and relatively smoothly, and I hope I did credit to my home kingdom in heralding in that kingdom’s royalty. Another dash to the room to change back into civvies, and then to the hotel bar where the Meet the Guests soiree was in progress. I got a drink and snagged some first-class nibbles (yes, this ended up being “dinner”) while chatting with folks. I was not, however, done for the day. I’d been assigned to the “SF Cusswords and Insults” panel at 11pm. Main Programming, the usual suspects, and a full house. Raucousness ensued. And then I, most gratefully, headed back to my room and the bed that awaited me.

Saturday

My first official programming item wasn’t until 1pm, but that didn’t mean I could enjoy another late, leisurely morning. The SCA crew was doing a demo, and I’d been invited to participate. Hauling my gear when I’m soloing a trip is not an option, so I’d had to (darn it) decline the opportunity to fence with the local rapier community. But I could marshal, and did, as well as providing some between-bout bardic entertainment while the fighters took a breather. I much enjoyed watching some very stylist fencing and some good old-fashioned heavy- weapons bashing while making myself useful.

Next up, the mass autographing session. Due to the incredible lines for GoH Terry Pratchett, the rest of us were moved from the pre-function space to the ballroom being set up for the banquet. Esther Friesner invited me to sit at her table, and I spent a lovely couple of hours chatting with her, WJ, and others in between visiting with fans and signing books. After a break, it was time for the “Yard Dog Press Road Show” in Main Programming.

I now had a couple of hours and was starving, not yet having eaten that day. Off to the hotel restaurant in search of that chicken-fried steak I’d been craving. I found it (yum), as well as WJ, who was dining sans Esther due to her being committed elsewhere. A most enjoyable dinner and excellent conversation later, I buzzed back to my room to change into fancier dress for the Art & Charity Auction. Several hours and several thousand dollars having been raised for artists’ coffers and worthy charities, I was ready to plug in the chair and achieve REM sleep.

Sunday

With my first panel of the day scheduled for noon, I’d planned to sleep in a bit. But when Esther Friesner summons the troops for breakfast, one goes to breakfast. It was delightful, and the good company and conversation made for a fine start to the day. Had a lovely chuckle when Terry Pratchett came over and charmingly solicited assistance from “the Americans” in finding a breakfast cereal that wouldn’t kill him.” (Esther and Laura went to his aid.) Then it was off to do a turn of the Dealer’s Room before heading off for the “Strong Females In SF” panel. I headed for the Dealer’s Room again afterwards, to settle accounts with Lynn at Yard Dog and pick up chapbook stock to take home with me. Ran that to the room, then sped back to a MidSouthCon tradition: “It Was A Dark & Stormy Night”. Interactive storytelling played for laughs on both sides of the table. And as always, it was a blast.

And then things finished off with the Closing Ceremony, and MidSouthCon 25 was a wrap. I regretfully declined an invitation to go out to dinner with a number of the guests, and opted instead to join Kat, Charlie, and others of the crew in their hotel room, putting a dent in the leftovers. Kicking back with friends and my feet up while wrapping myself around a home-roasted turkey sandwich was wonderful. So was the next couple of hours spent at the Dead Dog Party. But I still had to pack for my getaway the next day, so I made my farewells and thank-yous and headed back to the room to do just that.

Monday - Homeward Bound

Should anyone doubt the truth of the saying that there is balance in the universe, I offer Monday’s adventures getting home as undeniable proof. I've had several glitch-free trips in a row. I had a fine time in Memphis, and outstanding support from and much fun with the Usual Suspects. The travel gods exacted payment for the entire account in one swell foop.

Starting with breakfast. More accurately, starting with the lack thereof. I was 95% packed and freshly out of the shower when Kat called to tell me that folks would be gathering in the restaurant. Sounded good to me, so I finished up the process of packing and dressing and headed that way. Joined a table with Charlie, Kat, and assorted others, got coffee, and placed my order with the server. (Buffets and I don’t get along well, and I knew it was going to be a long time until supper, hence the notion that steak and eggs would stick with me.) Forty-five minutes later, I had to cancel the order that had yet to come, since I wouldn’t have time to eat it, get back to my room, button up the luggage and get checked out. The server insisted it was ready and she’d have it right there. The restairamt manager insisted it was ready and they’d bring right away and it would be on the house. “I’ve run out of time,” just didn’t seem to get through to them.

While I was collecting luggage and getting checked out, Kat was getting the “we don’t have a lift van” routine again, and was getting stressed over it. That got worked out - we thought - when I called in Kalim, the front desk manager. I handed off the luggage to the bell captain for storage and hung out in Kat’s room until time to catch the van for the airport. Kat and Charlie rode with me, which turned out to be a godsend when the driver (not the regular driver, but this fellow had volunteered to take it when it was discovered that the regular, trained driver was off) couldn’t figure out how to work the lift. Between us all, we finally got it functional, and even figured out a way to diminish the problems I’d had unloading at the hotel. (Kat and Charlie at the end of the ramp, lessening the droop.) We got me to the ticket counter, I bade them farewell, and they caught a ride back to the hotel.

No problems at the ticket counter, and none through Security. As usual, I had plenty of time before the flight, so I grabbed a pulled pork sandwich at the restaurants in Terminal C, enjoyed it in leisurely fashion, and then headed back to my gate. My route took me past a bank of screens that included national weather radar, and it showed a long line of thunderstorms marching toward Dallas. So I wasn’t at all surprised when a forty-five minute weather delay was announced.

In due course, I handed the wheelchair off to one of the gate agents, with the usual instructions, it and I were loaded onto the plane, and we began the taxi to the runway. Just short of the runway, smoke began to fill the cabin. The young businessman across the aisle and I looked at each other and said, in unison, “that’s not good,” just before the flight attendant moved with dispatch up to the cockpit. We pulled off to one side and stopped, and my mind went into emergency mode. My seat was a few rows up from a wing exit. I began running what it would take to get to that exit, scoot across the wing, and do a drop-and-roll to the ground. The smoke began clearing, and the pilot announced we were going back to the gate.

Unloaded and waiting for word on what was going to happen next, one of the wheelchair fairies came over to me and said they would have to take the wheelchair I was in away. Excuse me? It was, according to her, against regulations to leave a passenger unattended in one of their wheelchairs. Whose regulations, I asked. FAA? DoT? The airport? The airline? The company she worked for, it turned out. I suggested she get her supervisor. I queried the gate agents, and getting my own wheels to was not going to be possible. So when the supervisor showed up, spouting “it’s regulations” from the get-go, I fired back with the Air Carrier Act of 1986. I also filled the terminal supervisor, who was by now in the fray, on what happened the last time - at LAX - I’d been dumped like a sack of grain and left without means of moving. Given that we had, at this point, no idea of what was going to happen, when, or if I would eventually get to my own chair, it could have gotten real bad real fast.

A deal was finally struck, with us finally getting the supervisor to admit that the rule had nothing to do with mobility and everything to do with “insurance”. I offered to sign a waiver promising not to sue if I did something stupid if left with wheels and no keeper. Hell, I offered to write the damned thing. The terminal manager was tracking with me, however, and offered to take personal responsibility if I promised not to go drag racing with their chair. “Deal” I said, we shook, and he then looked at both of the company’s reps and said “Shoo.” He also agreed with me that company management needed to be contacted by the airport regarding policies to cover situations such as the one in which we were currently involved.

About an hour later, we were told that the smoke that had filled the cabin hadn’t been smoke; it had been atomized hydraulic fluid, sucked into the A/C intake and distributed through the cabin. My first thought was “I’m glad it happened before we took off.” My second was “okay, now what?” The plane was being taken out of service. The one coming in from Dallas, which usually stayed put in Memphis and became the first flight to Dallas the following morning, was going to do a turnaround and take us home. We would be five hours late getting home, but we’d get home.

Just before the inbound flight landed, one of the gate agents ferried me up to the ladies’ room and back, and her comments made it clear that the entire gate crew was filing a complaint against the porter company. They also bumped me up to first class “in appreciation for my not, despite extreme justification, putting them in the position of having to to help hide bodies.” The travel report I subsequently filed with the airline included their names and commendation for recognizing the issues and dealing with the problems. They done good.

A smooth take-off, a Bailey’s, and a roomy two hours and change later, I was touching down at DFW just before midnight. We were the last plane in on that route, and two of Squeaky’s people had stayed late to meet the plane. Apparently, the baggage handlers weren’t happy about having to stay late, too, and they took it out on my wheelchair. When it didn’t come up in the usual time, one of the SA guys, whose handled my chair and me many times before, went to get it. He found it sitting out on the tarmac, seat off and looking as it had been thrown several feet, battery covers off and everything completely exposed to the driving rainstorm taking place. Did I mention that electronics and water do not mix? DOA. The SA guys got me and it to the baggage area to rendevous with George, my baggage, and a baggage agent.

Said baggage agent also didn’t seem at all happy to be there, and kept saying that the ramp guys couldn’t possibly have broken my chair. He was being singularly unhelpful until I suggested starting the claim the next morning with the head of Customer Service. That’s when he decided to do his job. And then, between George and the SA guys - who had gone well above and beyond during all this - I, the luggage, and the dead electric wheelchair to the van. It felt good to get home.

Summary

Not counting the travel woes, it was a good trip. Seeing Esther and WJ was a delight, and much fun was had with Selina, Laura, Lynn, et al. Not to mention the hours spent in the company of Kat, Elvis, Kelly, Monster, Shorty, Charlie, Pat, Carrie, Eric, and the rest of that fine bunch.

Epilogue

Nearly four weeks and a bit over $2000 later, my wheelchair has been repaired and restored to its rightful place. The airline, very rightly, picked up the tab for fixing it, and discussions continue on retooling attitudes and procedures.

Thursday, May 31

It had been a few years since I worked A-Kon, a huge anime convention that includes a genre-writers’ track. The fact I would *not* be screaming in from one con and trying to do a one-day turnaround, coupled with deft application of inducements by A-Kon Project Manager and Writers’ Track Shepherd Jamie Boughen, found me saying “yes” to returning. Which is how I ended up being collected from home on Thursday afternoon by Shadow and two husky members of A-Kon’s crack guest-relations team. Wheelchair and luggage loaded into one van, me handed into another, and off we went to Downtown Dallas. In fairly short order, I was checked into a huge and very comfy room (fully wheelchair accessible *and* designated smoking), unpacked, and headed out to take care of various pre-con chores.

First stop Con Ops, where I greeted numerous folks, acquired a radio, went over procedures with Eric, and hooked up with Jamie. Next came Guest Relations for badge and packet, and more greetings before Jamie gave me the “tour” of the conventions spaces, both in the hotel and in the convention center across the street, as well as routes and “shortcuts”. Big show, 14,500 attendees, and a layout that made me wish I’d brought breadcrumbs to trail. Standard “if I don’t show up within ten minutes of where I’m supposed to be when, send out search parties” instructions put into place. It seemed prudent.

The dinner hour came, and with it the pleasure of hooking up with Jana Oliver. Over a hefty, tender, and flavorful steak from a steer that died happy, Jamie, Jana and I caught up on news, cheered Jana’s numerous awards and successes since last we’d crossed paths, crossed our fingers for something she was up for during the weekend, and generally enjoyed a delightful meal. Relaxation and visiting continued over after-dinner drinks, and a most pleasant time was had.

I called it an earlyish evening after that, and went up to my room to check in with George before sliding into bed and sleep, in that order. The next three days were going to be very busy, and I figured I might as well start it rested.

Friday, June 1

Even with a leisurely get-going, I was out and about by 11:00am, with stops at Con Ops for a fresh radio battery and Guest Relations for details on the logistics of getting George into a parking spot when he arrived that night. I also met a young lady named Katherine, who spent the weekend keeping me on time, hydrated, and smiling. She was wonderfully helpful and a joy to be around. Then it was off to my first panel of the convention: “There’s A Sucker Born Every Minute” with Jana Oliver and Shanna Swendson. The subject was the plethora of scams out there meant to separate writers from their money, and we offered advise and resources to between 20-30 interested parties. Considering that it was noon on a Friday, I considered the panel amazingly well-attended.

Engaged in conversations for the next hour, then at 2:00pm it was time for “Writing Short” with Melanie Fletcher, Bill Fawcett, PN Elrod and Jana Oliver. Definitely a lively hour, with a even bigger audience and lots of good discussion. That was followed immediately by “Collaborations” with Tom Knowles and Helen McCarthy. The subtitle on that one was “The Good, The Bad, and the Homicidal Rages” and, between the three of us, we pretty much covered the entire range with wit, humor, and the kind of interplay you get when it goes reallyreally well.

I had a few unprogrammed hours, so Katherine and I dashed back to my room to grab my rolling merchant bag and head for the table I was sharing with Jana Oliver on Writers’ Row. And this seems to the perfect time to mention one of the banes of my existence during A-Kon. The elevators. Elevators were impossible to avoid, what with my room being on the 9th floor of the hotel’s Central Tower, Con Ops and Guest Relations being on the 3rd floor of the South Tower, other assorted necessary destinations being on the 22nd floor of the Central and various floors of the North Tower, and the skyway to the Convention Center being on the 2nd floor of the hotel complex. Over in t he Convention Center, the room for readings was on the 4th floor, the panel room being used for all the writer track stuff was on the 3rd floor, the dealer room was on the 2nd floor, and the area where Writers’ Row was set up was on the 1st floor. Now add the aforementioned 14,500 attendees, and several hundred con volunteers. Being on time for things definitely took prior planning. Having back of house access in the hotel helped tremendously when I wasn’t changing towers, but over in the convention center, things got interesting at times. And many times, Katherine proved to be worth her weight in chocolate.

Having what amounts to a dealer table is always a blast, and books and the jewelry I’ve started making found happy homes steadily throughout the weekend. It was also a great location from which to visit with people coming by, and to people-watch. Our table faced the registration area, with areas marked out for various participation games. Which brings me to two other banes of existence that weekend.

Noise levels. They were insane. I’ve been on quieter flight lines when F-14s were doing roll-up. An hour in the middle of all that felt like spending an hour in a barrel going over Niagara Falls; it was like literally being physically beaten. And one of the contributors to that noise was an electronic game involving lights, electronic chords, and the participants hitting on pads with sticks. Loud, constant, and oh-so monotonous. By Sunday, I was begging for five minutes alone with that machine, a screwdriver, and an arc-welder. And I don’t think I was the only one.

Friday evening was slated to be an exercise in timing. I had a reading scheduled to run from 8pm - 10pm, before which, - I hoped - the rest of my party would arrive, get parked, find me, and retrieve their badges from my keeping. The gods were with us all and - thanks to the rapidly-becoming-indispensable Katherine, we pulled it off. Heidi was first to arrive, while I was still at the table, and her badge was passed and she was shooed off to Jana’s writing workshop. Shortly thereafter, I “closed up shop”, Katherine and I schlepped the merching bag up to my room. Then Katherine headed for Guest Services to grab Shadow and I headed for the convention center parking entrance to await George’s arrival. The parking garage was already full and blocked off; Shadow’s vehicle was holding George’s spot for him, and Shadow was to clear him in. It worked! He parked, traded a smooch for room key and badge, Katherine took him over and up to my (now our) room, and I screamed off for my reading.

Which went nicely. I spent nearly two hours with a small but enthusiastic audience, and enjoyed it tremendously. At 10pm, I made my way over to the hotel lobby, found George, and then headed up to the room to wrap myself around the Italian sub from the Tom Thumb deli that my darling hubby had hauled in for me. Yum! After which we enjoyed a very sound sleep.

Saturday, June 2

Up and at ‘em the next morning, even though my first panel wasn’t until noon. Midway through getting ready, I discovered I was hungry. So after we made our way to Con Ops for a battery swap, we made our way to the Green Room. Despite A-Kon’s reputation for running a positively sybaritic Green Room, I’ve managed to drop in there probably twice in the several years I’ve worked the con. This gave me a chance to up that count, as well as introducing George to the Door Dragon, in case George had to make a solo run for me later. An enjoyable half-hour quaffing excellent coffee, munching fruit and Danish, and visiting with the good folks who take such first-rate care of the guests.

Thus fortified, we headed over to the convention center to set up the table, say hi to Jana (already there), and be found by Katherine. I spent a short while there before leaving George to work his merchantly charms and heading up for the first panel of the day. “Research and Writing: What You Don’t Know CAN Kill You” with Jana Oliver, Tom Knowles, Helen McCarthey, Melanie Fletcher, and Bill Fawcett. Another lively hour, this one illustrating the importance of getting the details right with some of the more horrendous examples we’ve encountered, and pointing a nearly full-house audience to various useful resources.

Most of the next three hours, I spent at the table chatting, selling, watching a form of fantasy combat in one corner of the hall and planning a demolition raid on that damned noisy game in the other. The crowd was humongous, so Katherine and I headed up early for my 4pm panel. And a good thing we did. It took forever, and I was giving serious thought to running the adjacent parking structure when we finally got me moving to the third floor.

That panel was “Render Unto Caesar”, where Tom Knowles, Melanie Fletcher and I talked “the business end of things”. That was followed immediately by “Killer First Lines”, where I joined Bill Fawcett and Jana Oliver in discussing what makes a first line a grabber and why they’re important. We even ran a little on-the-spot exercise, and some of the lines the audience members came up with were very good indeed.

That did it for my day of programming, so we fought the elevator again and went back to the table for about an hour before closing up shop and heading for the hotel. More elevator madness, this time bad enough to prompt me to exercise my back of house privileges. A quick run at the room to drop off the stock and hit the bathroom before heading down to meet Heidi for supper in the lobby restaurant where I’d had dinner the night before. Good food and good conversation abounded. We parted company with Heidi, hooked up with Jana, and repaired to our room to enjoy more good conversation over well-aged single malt (Irish for me) that George had fetched in and lovely little cigars that Jana brought along. (George is on the hunt for me, youbetcha.) Naturally, we went past my bedtime without noticing, and a more pleasant way of staying up too late I can’t even begin to imagine.

Sunday, June 3

Sunday was going to be long and busy, and began early with us packing up and packing out of the room. We needed to be checked out by noon, so George started the process while I was dressing. And a good thing he did; the elevators were beyond insanity. His first two trips took nearly an hour. Finally, we got it done, got checked out, and went off to do the battery swap before heading over to the convention center to “open up shop” before my first panel.

“The Ripping Read Query Letter” at 1pm found Melanie Fletcher, Jana Oliver, Shanna Swendson and me discussing the how’s, why’s, and what-not-to-do’s of the titular subject. A far bigger audience than I would have expected on Sunday, and I *do* love working with these ladies. I thought I had an hour’s break, but it turned out I was wrong, and bless Katherine for running down and advising George of what my schedule really was. Which was going immediately into “Ain’t No Such Thing As A Fine And Private Place” with Melanie Fletcher, Helen McCarthy and Jana Oliver . Yet another combination that I’d work with anytime, anyplace, and we gave another robust audience the reality of being working writers, including being able to work in the middle of a hurricane, hanging by one’s knees from a chandelier, while a marching band gives out with “Dance Band On The Titanic”. I think we scared some folks.

The hour’s break I thought I had before this one came, and I didn’t even try to get downstairs. Instead, went out for a smoke, more good conversations, and what rest I could grab. I was fading fast, and there were still two panels to go.

At 4pm, Melanie, Helen, Jana and I swung into “When The Heroine ISN’T Blond, 18, and Size 3". They all appeared to be fresh, bright, and energetic; I was so tired my brains were leaking out my left ear. Bless ‘em, they “carried” me on that one, as did Shanna, Melanie and Tom on the final panel of the convention, “The Ideas Generator”. That one was a blur.

What was left of me dragged down to the table, where some last-minute sales were conducted before we packed it up and George ferried it to the van while I went up to Con Ops to turn in my radio. Then it was around to Guest Relations to thank them all for taking such wonderful care of us, and to sing the praises of Kathleen to her “boss”, Yolanda. If I do this again next year and Kathleen doesn’t think better of volunteering to be my assistant after I ran her ragged this year, I’ve told them I’d love to have her on my team again. She was phenomenal.

Shadow went down with me to get George out of the parking garage, while I waited on the hotel side. I hadn’t eaten at all, so my favorite post-con comfort meal of Black-Eyed Pea’s pot roast was what was keeping me moving. Heidi said that sounded good to her, and we arranged the rendevous for the one close to home.

Which is where I learned that it possible to enjoy dinner when one is almost too tired to chew. And where I heard the good things Heidi was told in the writing workshop. It was a very pleasant way to finish out a good convention.

Friday, June 8

A-Kon had been the kind of con that cries for a month's recuperation time. No such luck. George and I made a break for the Oklahoma border around 9:30am on Friday, under mean-looking clouds and more than a trifle threat of nasty weather. According to George, we ran into rain showers a couple of times along the way. I say “according to George” because I was asleep most of the trip. Waking up with a headache will do that to me, and I definitely wanted to shake it before getting onsite and into the action. We made excellent time, and pulled in at 2:00pm.

This is as good a time as any to get the major unpleasantness of this trip out of the way: the Biltmore Hotel. Which isn’t a hotel at all; it’s a motel, built on a strange model of several, separate, two-story buildings devoid of elevators and “connected” by covered walkways. Restaurant and some of the panel rooms in one building, other of the panel rooms, plus main programming, dealer room, etc. in another, and my room in the building waaaay in the back. Which would have been okay had it not been for this being the most handicapped-surly set-up I’ve ever encountered. There’s no other term for a venue in which the handicapped stalls in the public bathrooms are inaccessible to wheelchairs and where most of the “ramps” are narrow and approximately 40-degrees of slope. (ADA code calls for slopes of no more than 12 degrees.) I managed to find one out of the building where my room was that was doable if George pressed on the back of the chair to keep me from turning over, but I couldn’t have managed it if I’d been soloing. And this was *after* a much- ballyhoo’ed remodeling. Yeahright.

Our first encounter with hotel personnel was at the check-in desk. The front desk person I got was one of those people I’ve encountered who simply don’t “register”. Most people, regardless of attitude or emotion, have some kind of “presence” - unconscious, subconscious, psychic, call it what you like. This guy was like looking into a black hole; a complete absence of “signal”. It was almost frightening and definitely cause for the antenna snapping up, probably because the few people who’ve registered like this with me have been the dealers of various violent crimes. Another reason I was glad not to be soloing this trip.

Oh, and the room wasn’t what I’d reserved, either, despite the phone reservation I’d made and further checking by the concomm confirming that I was all set for a king/smoking/handicapped room. I got a smoking room, but we slept in separate double bed and I clung tenaciously to the grout between the tiles in a bathroom without grab bar one. It was *not* fun.

Once we’d unpacked and freshened up, we headed out to find an alternative to that killer ramp closest to our room. In the course of doing so, we discovered that, just down the corridor from our room, was the Hospitality Suite of another convention using the hotel at the same time. It was a reunion of “Ghost Riders”, Viet Nam veterans of the 158th Aviation Battalion of the 101st Airborne. And very excellent building mates they were, too.

We finally found a ramp that, with George’s assistance, didn’t require me to take a tranquilizer before using, and in short order we scurried through the parking lots and into the building housing the “main” parts of the convention. Badges and packet were obtained, people were greeted, and then we checked in at the Dealer’s Room. Yard Dog was there, as was Karen with Sablewood, who had my CDs on prominent display. I also dropped in at the Green Room, being supplied and run by Noddy, the Guest Relations goddess. Bless this dear lady’s heart, she came from a tradition of supporting the guests with food, beverage, and a place to kick back out of the line of fire, and she’d taken it into her own hands to do just that. I tucked into a snack that kept me going, praised her efforts, and twisted her arm into putting out a “tip” jar so that we could help out with the cost. Her Green Room proved invaluable throughout the weekend.

My first panel of the convention, at 5pm, was in the far end of the “Main” building. “Firefly Retrospective”, which I moderated. To be honest, I didn’t recall all that much about it, other than it was unusually tough to make sure everyone got a crack at the questions. I chalk that up to my not being entirely at the top of my game, and at least one of the panelists being more used to doing one-person presentations than panels. One of the few times I’ve ever been glad to have a panel end.

Then it was back from whence we’d come for Opening Ceremonies. This was held in the “Atrium”, a large, glass-enclosed space with a stage and chairs set up in one half, and the hotel’s indoor pool in the other. Warm, humid, with the smell of chlorine in the air and the sound of splashing, noisy children in the pool. But we got the con officially opened.

George and I were ready for supper, which led to our first experience with the hotel’s best features - the restaurant. The staff therein was uniformly friendly and helpful, and the food was solidly good throughout our stay. Then it was back through the parking lots to our room, where I made use of another of the better features - free wifi with excellent signal in the room. Then off to an early bed.

Saturday, June 9

It’s never a good sign to wake up with a headache, which I did. Or, more accurately, two headaches: a classic weather-driven migraine and a sinus headache that made me feel like the front of my face was going through lycanthropic changes. Meds, I hoped, would help, and I had a similar hope for breakfast-oriented protein. Since my first program item was at 10am - a Kaffeeklatch in the back of the restaurant, we decided to head that way early enough to grab breakfast. Again, friendly treatment from the restaurant staff and tasty, inexpensive fare, and the headaches both dialed back to manageable levels.

The divine Rachel Caine and the delightful Shanna Swendson were holding a joint Klatch just before mine, and were kind enough to stay. They are both fine writers and just plain neat people, and it turned into a fine, laugh-rich hour. A self-professed fledgling writer who’d attended theirs also stayed. It became evident, very quickly, that he was asking me the same questions he’d asked them, hoping for different answers. It also became evident that my answers were similar to whatever theirs had been. No surprise to us, but apparently it was to him. (This same individual cornered me later in the convention, and found my answers to subsequent questions even less to his liking. But there’s not much one can truthfully say about 26 rewrites other than “that’s not writing. That’s masturbation.”

By now, the protein and meds had worn off, and it was a toss-up which I’d do first: keel out of my chair or throw up. I looked at the schedule, and found I wasn’t due anywhere until 6pm. So I did something I haven’t had to do at a convention in years; went back to my room, took the high-powered meds, set the temp for just above “too chilly”, turned out the lights, snugged under the covers, and went comatose. Somewhere in there, I was vaguely aware of George leaving the room, but not so aware that I did more than roll over.

Before I’d gone unconscious, we arranged for George to wake me around 4:30pm. I awoke on my own a half-hour before that, feeling decent and - hallelujah - pain-free. I was wrapping myself around a cup of coffee when he arrived promptly at 4:30pm, a sandwich from the Green Room in hand. Resurrection complete, I headed off to co-auctioneer the Art Auction with the always-fun-to-work-with Cat Conrad.

We were back in the Atrium for that, humidity and chlorine fumes and all, and - for the first half of the Auction - racket louder than we were from the pool. The concomm talked the hotel into closing the pool for the evening at 7pm, which meant we could finish out the auction and continue with the evening’s activities in good fashion. As for the auction itself, it was quite successful. There were a lot of very tempting items up for bid, and several times I found myself quite tempted. And, as has been the case in the past, Cat and I had fun.

According to my schedule, I was done for the day, but the person slated to auctioneer the Charity Auction had had to bow out. I was asked if I was up to it, and I decided I was. The charity auction took place after the Masquerade, while the judges were sequestered making their picks. Much good loot, lots of spirited bidding, and a goodly chunk o’ change raised for this year’s charity, The March of Dimes. Go, everybody!

We grabbed a late supper in the restaurant, then called it a night. An atypical day, but one that worked out pretty well, all things considered.

Sunday, June 10

George and I got up in time to pack up the room and go to the restaurant for breakfast, t hen went back to the room to load the van. I checked out of the hotel in plenty of time to make my first scheduled activity, my reading. That was followed immediately by an hour in the good company of Cary Osbourne at the autograph table before heading over for another rendering of the Yard Dog Press Road Show. Which finished things up for me.

Another pass at the Dealer Room and I saw a t-shirt I wanted on the Pegasus table. Got a second one of the same design as a present - it kept leaping up and screaming the incipient recipient’s name - before collecting cash for the CDs Karen at Sablewood had sold for me. We sat in on Closing Ceremony, and before long, headed the van’s nose toward home.

We made good time, and I slept part of the way. In before dark, much to the delight of the felines.

Postscript:. Leonard and the ConComm tell me that the hotel really wants SoonerCon to return, and that’s leverage with which to convince them that meeting ADA codes and getting things right would be of benefit to everyone. I’ve offered to come up and offer a wheelie's eye view if it appears that would be helpful.

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