Ask my Colonel, for I don't know
I am badly missing the sea at the end of summer. I spent some time this afternoon reading on the front steps, but it wasn't the same. I was reading Dick Francis' Hot Money (1987) and Cat Sebastian's A Gentleman Never Keeps Score (2018), though.
After this year's Arisia and Readercon, I believe I am firmly not a person who was designed for virtual conventions, but I had a really lovely time this weekend. It ended up that two of my program items were pre-recorded, which gave me the ghost-like experience of watching myself while hanging out in the relevant Discord channel. Taking part in the Ig Nobel Dramatic Readings is a highlight of any convention—I especially enjoyed hard-selling the scheme of structured procrastination—and "Children of the Daughter of the Night: Descendants of Tanith Lee" was a blast from start to finish as we fanned over Lee and her identifiable inheritors and the difficulty of tracing the lineage of a writer who for all her influence is still far too much like a secret history than a cladogram. I really would like that tribute anthology edited by![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handful_ofdust. Gratifyingly, "Grappling with Imperialism's Traumas" blew past the premise in the first round of questions and turned into more of a discussion of the ways in which empires are commonly represented in speculative fiction versus the ways in which they actually function in real life. asakiyume took some notes and I have proposed a sequel panel now that we've done the revolution 101. I desperately missed wandering through the dealer's room and hanging out wherever in the hotel I found people to talk to, but I want those people to be there to talk to in future years, so. Still, it's hard to hug through a screen.
I suspect I will never know what I caught at the start of this month that made me so disablingly ill for almost two weeks straight, but it saw itself out with remarkable melodrama: at the classical wolf-hour of the morning, I spiked a sudden fever, even higher than I had guessed from the chills and the skin-ache and the light-headedness and so on; by the time I woke in the afternoon, it was gone and I felt better already. I thought that sort of thing went out with the nineteenth century. Or at least the early twentieth, pre-penicillin. I am now taking things carefully in case I melodramatically relapse. I am very against coming down with even a different plague.
For Afghanistan, I donated to HIAS. I should call politicians in the morning. I read the letter from the president of Bard College. Papers, papers, the old refrain of borders and visas and governments not caring to get people out, it lost its novelty last century. To this we've come.
After this year's Arisia and Readercon, I believe I am firmly not a person who was designed for virtual conventions, but I had a really lovely time this weekend. It ended up that two of my program items were pre-recorded, which gave me the ghost-like experience of watching myself while hanging out in the relevant Discord channel. Taking part in the Ig Nobel Dramatic Readings is a highlight of any convention—I especially enjoyed hard-selling the scheme of structured procrastination—and "Children of the Daughter of the Night: Descendants of Tanith Lee" was a blast from start to finish as we fanned over Lee and her identifiable inheritors and the difficulty of tracing the lineage of a writer who for all her influence is still far too much like a secret history than a cladogram. I really would like that tribute anthology edited by
handful_ofdust. Gratifyingly, "Grappling with Imperialism's Traumas" blew past the premise in the first round of questions and turned into more of a discussion of the ways in which empires are commonly represented in speculative fiction versus the ways in which they actually function in real life. asakiyume took some notes and I have proposed a sequel panel now that we've done the revolution 101. I desperately missed wandering through the dealer's room and hanging out wherever in the hotel I found people to talk to, but I want those people to be there to talk to in future years, so. Still, it's hard to hug through a screen.I suspect I will never know what I caught at the start of this month that made me so disablingly ill for almost two weeks straight, but it saw itself out with remarkable melodrama: at the classical wolf-hour of the morning, I spiked a sudden fever, even higher than I had guessed from the chills and the skin-ache and the light-headedness and so on; by the time I woke in the afternoon, it was gone and I felt better already. I thought that sort of thing went out with the nineteenth century. Or at least the early twentieth, pre-penicillin. I am now taking things carefully in case I melodramatically relapse. I am very against coming down with even a different plague.
For Afghanistan, I donated to HIAS. I should call politicians in the morning. I read the letter from the president of Bard College. Papers, papers, the old refrain of borders and visas and governments not caring to get people out, it lost its novelty last century. To this we've come.
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We planned it that way very carefully—the year-round Readercon community Discord is a ghost town precisely because it's hard to chat without knowing what to chat about, and we wanted to avoid that during the con. Still working on figuring it out in the community space post-con...
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