Saturday, August 31, 2002
I'm about to turn in after the first night of Dragon*Con. I stayed up late enough to catch a great set by The Changelings, including material from their new album. I had a little time to talk with Rogue from The Crüxshadows and Andy from Bella Morte, as well as the usual suspects from Tampa. It's nice seeing friends I haven't seen for a year, all that time I've been locked away in my brick box in Birmingham, writing the novel.
We'll not talk about the room service food.
Unfortunately, I also had to endure an hour-long panel from 10 till 11 p.m. (well, 11 p.m. in the loosest sense, since it went over), which was, ostensibly, about the impact of the 9-11 terrorist attacks on the art of writing dark fantasy. But one of the panelists was, rather inexplicably, some military guy who spent most of the time lecturing the room on How We Should All Stop Worrying And Learn To Love The Bomb. It was a strange, infuriating, and surreal experience. I've never come so close to walking out on a panel that I've been asked to participate in. One other panelist did walk out. So, that bit of dren aside, it's been a great first night. The panel wasn't a total loss. Someone whispered of me, overheard by a friend, "Well, she can't dress like that all the time. She has to put on a show for Dragon*Con." And while it's true I tend to write in my underwear, I did find it amusing that people think the way I dress is a "costume."
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