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Monday is the day of the reading at the Library of Congress. If you're in DC around noon, please do come.
Readings don't normally make me nervous, but this one feels bigger than the ones I've done at conventions. It might not be that many people, just an interest group of librarians who happen to work at LOC and happen to like science fiction and fantasy (how many of them could that be?), and the four authors' friends and relatives who happen to live in the DC area. I shouldn't be nervous, but here I am at nearly 3am, vacillating about whether to read from the current work in progress or from Closing Arguments, as if that question couldn't be better answered after a good night's sleep.
I'm staying at my parents' house in Maryland, which is conveniently full of toys my nieces keep here. Gareth always has plenty to play with when we visit, and we can still travel relatively light. One of his new favorites is a huge plush ape called Milli Gorilli, named in honor of my sister's most embarrassing adolescent obsession.
Thanks to Milli Gorilli, anytime I stop fretting about the reading or the anthology, I get this song running through my head, with a sort of Greek chorus of Yerkes Primate Research Center gorillas giving simultaneous translation in ASL. I'm not sure which form of obsessive ideation is worse.
Readings don't normally make me nervous, but this one feels bigger than the ones I've done at conventions. It might not be that many people, just an interest group of librarians who happen to work at LOC and happen to like science fiction and fantasy (how many of them could that be?), and the four authors' friends and relatives who happen to live in the DC area. I shouldn't be nervous, but here I am at nearly 3am, vacillating about whether to read from the current work in progress or from Closing Arguments, as if that question couldn't be better answered after a good night's sleep.
I'm staying at my parents' house in Maryland, which is conveniently full of toys my nieces keep here. Gareth always has plenty to play with when we visit, and we can still travel relatively light. One of his new favorites is a huge plush ape called Milli Gorilli, named in honor of my sister's most embarrassing adolescent obsession.
Thanks to Milli Gorilli, anytime I stop fretting about the reading or the anthology, I get this song running through my head, with a sort of Greek chorus of Yerkes Primate Research Center gorillas giving simultaneous translation in ASL. I'm not sure which form of obsessive ideation is worse.
