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Conflux #2
Sep. 29th, 2007 11:54 pmI can sum up today with one word, but I guess you want a bit more than "wow." I'm so tired and so full and so totally incapable of getting the sleep my body craves, that I'll attempt to sum up today. Please note, however, that the blogging will be way less than the day itself.
I'm disorderly, I think. I want to start at the beginning, but I keep coming back to Simon Brown deciding that we should do something to commemorate the 200th (or thereabouts) anniversary of Frankenstien's monster. Nicole and I had readings planned, but they were lost in transit and probably not needed anyhow (it was apity - I found a great bit from Varney the Vampire which really needed a Richard Harland interpretation). I suggested to Simon that we could do a bit of re-enactment. He sounded enthusiastic, which just goes to show that he hasn't realised (despite yesterday's debate) that the Evil Gillian is loose this convention. I suggested that he mime Frankenstein's monster running across the ice. It would go well with desserts, I suggested.
Simon may never speak to me again, but Garth Nix personally said thank you for my work on the banquet(which means he's forgiven me for tripping him up, last Conflux) so I can endure. Garth looked spiffy in his jacket, which wasn't the jacket and pants he'd promised, because they are still coming. Garth will thus soon be the possessor of two Regency-ish jackets.
I suggested that the meal and the jackets belonged in his Ancelstierre, demonstrating clearly and loudly that I can't pronounce Ancelstierre in any sensible fashion. I kept wanting to make Ancelstierre French and it came out twisted. Garth put the emphasis on the second syllable but was polite about my suggestion for detail of his Sabriel culture.
Don't stir anyone that polite. Just don't. It comes out all wrong. Every single time.
Also don't let you sole remaining evil minion realise Garth Nix is anywhere near, as you will lose your credibility as an Evil Overlord when she bounces up and down at his feet. My evil minion was an entirely jubilant fangirl - up late at night, talking to Garth, and given a blanket by the hotel staff. I might need to bribe her back into minionhood tomorrow. She bribes easily, though I keep having to apologise to her parents for the sugar rushes. And the amount of bubblegum my erstwhile minion has got through! Maybe I should place some ads for minions without sweet teeth? Or only recruit over thirteens?
The banquet was lovely. The chef made some adaptations, but they were all sensible. And the number of dishes! I knew the meal in vast theory, but having it laid before us all was daunting. It felt like an old-fashioned Passover - so much food and so delicious that we simply *had* to eat. To me it's the just rewards of being an historian and spec fic writer and in Canberra - the best people and the best food and the best conversation and the best costumes and altogether the best evening.
I know the feast went wonderfully because people kept stopping and talking and stopping and talking and we got back to my place rather late. Emma's asleep in the library, but I am still high on all those months work turning out rather fine.
And that's why I'm scatty tonight. Also why I feel very overfed. I blogged the menu on my other blog, but there were small cheesecakes added to it.
The day started for me at 9 am. I had really lovely panel. We were talking about writing ethnicities: I chaired Dev and Kaaron and Kylie. Three vastly different backgrounds, fifty thousand useful insights. Never put me in the chair unless you want someone in the audience picked on. Today it was Mark - I pointed out his delightfully Swedish accent to everyone. He replied with a full sentence, to let us all examine the accent in its full glory.
After that I totally tangled my times and went on the registration table as a volunteer rather early. It worked out fine, because I was more use then than I would have been later.
From the reggo desk I ended up at the launch of In Bad Dreams. Lovely launch, despite Russell Kirkpatrick ending up in tears.
After lunch there were some lovely panels and things but my legs turned all wobbly and tired so I sat in the foyer and baited Trudi and Paul and (sometimes) Jane. I also fed them chocolate. (sometimes I wonder why my friends put up with me, then I remember the chocolate.)
I was almost recovered in time for my next panel. The leading luminary in the field found himself needed somewhere else, so Dave Cake and Leigh Blackmore and I reconfigured things in a hurry and managed to argue about good books vs brilliant books vs canonical books vs stuff other people read. I put in strong pleas for all of humanity to read The History of Mr Polly and Shaun Tan's The Arrival.
After that, I sat in a quiet corner of the bar (a round bar, but let's not split hairs) and had coffee with Margi and Leigh. I spent a happy hour.
After that there was the mass book signing. I expect it was the chocolate I told people I had if they asked for my signature, because I actually got to sign things. Since Dymocks ran out of my book just before the Con (to everyone's surprise), I kept being handed copies of Encounters to sign. I felt frighteningly authorial and borrowed a baby to bring me back to normal. I then realised that Lewis Morley was looking very tough in his black leather jacket, and so I handed him the baby. Said baby couldn't stop smiling at Lewis and so Lewis melted. His black leather jacket was in danger of melting too, so lovably did the infant smile.
And that was my day, mostly.
I'm disorderly, I think. I want to start at the beginning, but I keep coming back to Simon Brown deciding that we should do something to commemorate the 200th (or thereabouts) anniversary of Frankenstien's monster. Nicole and I had readings planned, but they were lost in transit and probably not needed anyhow (it was apity - I found a great bit from Varney the Vampire which really needed a Richard Harland interpretation). I suggested to Simon that we could do a bit of re-enactment. He sounded enthusiastic, which just goes to show that he hasn't realised (despite yesterday's debate) that the Evil Gillian is loose this convention. I suggested that he mime Frankenstein's monster running across the ice. It would go well with desserts, I suggested.
Simon may never speak to me again, but Garth Nix personally said thank you for my work on the banquet(which means he's forgiven me for tripping him up, last Conflux) so I can endure. Garth looked spiffy in his jacket, which wasn't the jacket and pants he'd promised, because they are still coming. Garth will thus soon be the possessor of two Regency-ish jackets.
I suggested that the meal and the jackets belonged in his Ancelstierre, demonstrating clearly and loudly that I can't pronounce Ancelstierre in any sensible fashion. I kept wanting to make Ancelstierre French and it came out twisted. Garth put the emphasis on the second syllable but was polite about my suggestion for detail of his Sabriel culture.
Don't stir anyone that polite. Just don't. It comes out all wrong. Every single time.
Also don't let you sole remaining evil minion realise Garth Nix is anywhere near, as you will lose your credibility as an Evil Overlord when she bounces up and down at his feet. My evil minion was an entirely jubilant fangirl - up late at night, talking to Garth, and given a blanket by the hotel staff. I might need to bribe her back into minionhood tomorrow. She bribes easily, though I keep having to apologise to her parents for the sugar rushes. And the amount of bubblegum my erstwhile minion has got through! Maybe I should place some ads for minions without sweet teeth? Or only recruit over thirteens?
The banquet was lovely. The chef made some adaptations, but they were all sensible. And the number of dishes! I knew the meal in vast theory, but having it laid before us all was daunting. It felt like an old-fashioned Passover - so much food and so delicious that we simply *had* to eat. To me it's the just rewards of being an historian and spec fic writer and in Canberra - the best people and the best food and the best conversation and the best costumes and altogether the best evening.
I know the feast went wonderfully because people kept stopping and talking and stopping and talking and we got back to my place rather late. Emma's asleep in the library, but I am still high on all those months work turning out rather fine.
And that's why I'm scatty tonight. Also why I feel very overfed. I blogged the menu on my other blog, but there were small cheesecakes added to it.
The day started for me at 9 am. I had really lovely panel. We were talking about writing ethnicities: I chaired Dev and Kaaron and Kylie. Three vastly different backgrounds, fifty thousand useful insights. Never put me in the chair unless you want someone in the audience picked on. Today it was Mark - I pointed out his delightfully Swedish accent to everyone. He replied with a full sentence, to let us all examine the accent in its full glory.
After that I totally tangled my times and went on the registration table as a volunteer rather early. It worked out fine, because I was more use then than I would have been later.
From the reggo desk I ended up at the launch of In Bad Dreams. Lovely launch, despite Russell Kirkpatrick ending up in tears.
After lunch there were some lovely panels and things but my legs turned all wobbly and tired so I sat in the foyer and baited Trudi and Paul and (sometimes) Jane. I also fed them chocolate. (sometimes I wonder why my friends put up with me, then I remember the chocolate.)
I was almost recovered in time for my next panel. The leading luminary in the field found himself needed somewhere else, so Dave Cake and Leigh Blackmore and I reconfigured things in a hurry and managed to argue about good books vs brilliant books vs canonical books vs stuff other people read. I put in strong pleas for all of humanity to read The History of Mr Polly and Shaun Tan's The Arrival.
After that, I sat in a quiet corner of the bar (a round bar, but let's not split hairs) and had coffee with Margi and Leigh. I spent a happy hour.
After that there was the mass book signing. I expect it was the chocolate I told people I had if they asked for my signature, because I actually got to sign things. Since Dymocks ran out of my book just before the Con (to everyone's surprise), I kept being handed copies of Encounters to sign. I felt frighteningly authorial and borrowed a baby to bring me back to normal. I then realised that Lewis Morley was looking very tough in his black leather jacket, and so I handed him the baby. Said baby couldn't stop smiling at Lewis and so Lewis melted. His black leather jacket was in danger of melting too, so lovably did the infant smile.
And that was my day, mostly.