Back from the Dead — Or Rather Eastercon

To someone used to near constant internet presence it feels like the same thing. The blog that follows was originally to be posted Saturday, and why it wasn’t will come in the one that was intended for Sunday….

Friday

One of the frustrating aspects of British conventions is the patchy nature of free wi-fi. So despite making it to Eastercon in fairly good time yesterday, I had very little time to investigate what coverage was available. So you get yesterday’s post today.
I travelled up with Gareth, him driving me navigating. My navigational ability is demonstrated by our circling the last stretch of motorway into and out of Bradford like a pair of proverbial Flying Dutchmen looking for my hotel. In the end we decided to register at the con first, and check into our hotels afterwards.

I spent much of the afternoon  scurrying; first to drop the books into the Dealer’s Room – before Richard arrived, then saying hello to him, then racing around getting the featured contributors, Andy Bigwood, Steph Burgis, Christina Lake and Gareth to sign in the quiet corner that I’d found.

Finally, time for the panel on YA fiction that as always generated a fair degree of impassioned opinion from the audience – including the interesting idea that Wicked is all about Woodrow Wilson’s segregation of Washington DC in 1913. Hmm. Not sure I buy this, but an interesting idea.

Then time for a quick visit to an SF-nal variant of Dragon’s Den, in which six aspiring authors pitch their first page and synopsis to a panel of agents and publishers. It was interesting that what I considered to be only the second or even third best entry was unanimous winner among the judges: Which just goes to show why I’m not a publisher or an agent.

Wrapping up the evening with dinner with Sharon and Elaine in the hotel restaurant; a mistake, since the chilli was more like road-kill. 
But on the plus side, the hotel had brought in some real ales at surprisingly moderate prices, so I spent the rest of the evening drinking beer with Gareth and Sharon and some friends of Gareth’s from last year, Neil and Gem, who seem really nice.

And so -to quote Mr Pepys– to bed.

 

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