Tonight begins Can-Con, which I’ve been blabbering about for the last week and a bit. I’m part of my first panel ever this evening: “So this is your first [Lit] Con” at 7pm. I would invite all two of my readers to come, but Mom’s already got plans (HI MOM).
I’ll mostly be putting around after my panel and saying hi to folks I haven’t seen in a while, as well as then kicking off the unofficially official “Beers with Writers/Fans/Hockey Enthusiasts” at the Royal Oak on Kent at Slater. Then there’s the Chizine party before I stumble home, exhaused.
The schedule currently says I’ll be in two places at once at 5pm. I would if I could, but unfortunately I’m still working out the kinks of quantum vibration. Luckily my friend (and lovely critique group member) Mary Pletsch has taken over my spot so I can do the Multiculturalism panel. YAY MARY. I’D LINK IF YOU HAD A WEBSITE. GO MAKE ONE.
After that I thought I was scot-free, able to run amok through the con as usual. But no.
You may have read about the impending Doom on my friend Marie Bilodeau’s page about deaths by a thousand papercuts to the eyes, dervishes of sharply folded general use paper, or college rule.
Oh, the Calamity! Oh the humanity! (although if a paper airplane combusts into a large fireball I’m not sure if I’d be more impressed, or concerned).
Probably wander in a zombie-like state, muttering about NYCC.
Shit. So much to sew.
MARIE YOUR SITE KEEPS RANDOMLY OPENING WINDOWS ON ME. WTF IS THIS BLACK MAGIC?