In water, there is truth

Arisia so far: cool. My first panel went better than I'd expected, given that I walked into it not even remembering that I had written stories with fictional musicians myself. Andrea Hairston brought her banjo player and talked about Lorraine Hansberry's science fiction. Tanya Huff explained how learning the bagpipes had required her to take up running again. I ended up singing one of my own songs—there was a direct request from the audience. (I had someone else take the next question while I used nineweaving's iPad to scroll through LJ and see what I could perform with no warning or warmup. I went with "Chez Vous Soon." I was told to record it, so I guess it went over well.) I waved at cucumberseed and kate_nepveu in passing. Today was not the most socializing first day of a con ever, but I'm giving it way more reportage than usual, so it will have to be content with that.

I didn't get to the dealer's room, but Greer gave me a pair of delayed Christmas packages that turned out to be Lal Waterson's Teach Me to Be a Summer's Morning for me and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Undead (2009) for derspatchel, and mrbelm covertly passed me a kit of Japanese sushi candy, which I am planning to make with my cousins and phi as soon as we all survive Arisia weekend. I heard rushthatspeaks and stealthmuffin on the secrets of cities and I am looking forward to Daniel José Older's first novel so much.

The Trouble with Tribbles works brilliantly when genderswapped. I was especially fond of the way the number of onstage tribbles increased without the audience ever quite being able to see how (agoodshinkickin's Kirk waves her hands in ever more implausibly suggestive configurations, attempting to broach the delicate question of tribble reproduction without point-blank asking how a furball does it, and Liberty Moody's McCoy just isn't going to let her off the hook), and usernamenumber's ethereal baritone rendition of the title theme vocals. The entire front row had to be rearranged for fire hazard; I was faintly disappointed to find out this just meant the Foley table was blocking the exits, not that one of the sound effects actually required flame.

I did not have a long enough conversation with ratatosk; I got a ride home from my cousins and ate coconut-milk ice cream while waiting for my husband to return from his professional commitment: the second weekend of A Man for All Seasons. It kind of sucks that we can't see all of each other's work, but I like that we both have it.

My short story "Skerry-Bride" has been accepted by Lakeside Circus. They are a new market for me, publishing such excellent writers as Sofia Samatar, Megan Arkenberg, and Bryan Thao Worra. This is the story I wrote in November while listening to Moss of Moonlight's Winterwheel (2013), right before I saw Thor: The Dark World; it's about jötnar and it was my first prose since finishing "The Boatman's Cure" in July. I am really rather pleased about it.

Tomorrow I don't have a panel until seven o'clock in the evening. Sunday is all the panels. Monday is when I'll need my brain. I have no idea why this schedule, but at least it's off to a good start.