Nothing caught on fire, no engine trouble - nothing. It may well be, may I dare to hope, that my bad travel karma is at an end.
I drove down to Chicago with the utterly charming Ayo Onatade and the newly signed and companionably Tourrettic Sean Chercover.
But I do sit here hacking up a lung and developing an acquaintance with the odd colors a body can produce when it has a bad cold thanks to John Rickards who I will hereafter refer to as Contagion. He very happily and willfully spread this virus from bar to bar. Laugh in triumph while you can, but know that revenge will be mine, oh spiteful Contagion!
The Crimespree party on Thursday was a rousing success. So much so that actually walking more than a few feet was impossible. I was quick to sit my ass down on a comfy sofa with Dave White, Contagion, Bryon Q, the lovely Banks Babes and Otis Twelve (whose story Dead Puppies made it's debut in issue #7). I was happily ensconced there for quite a while then, remembering my host duties, made another attempt at mingling.
This netted a great conversation with Todd Robinson from Thuglit. You probably saw him if you were there - big, brawny guy, sounds more than a bit like Reed Farrel Coleman (who I think is the sexiest man in crime fiction) and he had on a shirt that said simply -THUG. I sooooooo wanted one.
At this point, if I begin to list everyone I saw and spoke to this would get ridiculous.
Highlights:
- Hugging. Lots of hugging.
- Bowling - who knew the UK produced such genius bowlers?
- Tapas!
- Sashimi
- Barbara Serenella showing up on Wednesday. I have endless respect for that woman.
- Meeting the minds behind Bleak House.
- The weird ways yoga kept making an appearance in words and in actions throughout the convention.
I hope everyone made it home safely and contentedly.
2 comments:
The Rickards flu is immensely contagious and hell on legs, too. I feel like I died a few days ago and have yet to realise the fact properly. My body burns, my head is filled with gunk and I have odd dreams about weasels dancing the tango with badgers. Above all that in the space of one night, I myself have infected a dear friend and possibly her boyfriend, too, with the Rickards flu. You just have to look at a sufferer and you're infected.
Anyway, all illness aside, BCon was rather good fun, indeed. Fantastic meeting you, hmm-hmm, and thanks to both yourself and Rickards for the diseases! Its just not fair coming back to Scots food, though... I want Tapas, dammit.
Contagion - making people shake and sweat across the planet!
Having broken my foot playing volleyball, team sports are an anathma to me.
I'd feel bad for you, Russpoo, if I weren't busy feeling bad.
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