(Title from Steely Dan’s “Reeling in the Years”)
Before we get to the week, let’s get back to Con-Gregate. Winston-Salem is less than 90 minutes away, it was a smooth drive and I found a spot in the parking garage very close to the entrance to the hotel. On the downside, parking cost around $40 for the weekend; it may be a good thing if they switch hotels next year.
(The view from my hotel room)
Because the “author’s alley” tables for selling books were all bought up, I had to settle for a table in the dealer’s room. That was less than ideal as they cost more and have shorter hours. I did, however, want to sell more than I was able to at Ravencon, and that wasn’t going to happen without some sort of table. So … and it paid off, covering the cost of the space and a little more.
I’m always fascinated by how some books click at different cons more than others. There’s no pattern to it I can see, unless it’s something in the way I display them. This time I sold five copies of Atlas Shagged. One of them because one of the audience at my reading Sunday liked Dark Satanic Mills so much. That’s very flattering.
I also sold three copies of Questionable Minds, three of Undead Sexist Cliches, and two each of Atoms for Peace, Ceaseless Way and Sex for Dinner, Death for Breakfast. Links available at my Behold the Book page. This time I was professional and figured in sales tax ahead of time — otherwise I’d be going “Oh, I’ll eat the tax, don’t worry about it” rather than figuring it out.
I only had three panels: one on fashion in fiction, one on fae in fantasy (I plugged Southern Discomfort mightily) and one on mad science in movies (I brought up some Dr. Jekyll, of course). The rest of the time, I sat at my table. Which was fine except I kept worrying when I left to get food or tea that I’d miss another sale — and yes, I’m small-fry enough that every sale matters. As guesting comes with a free second membership I’m thinking about inviting someone along to help — though they’d still be stuck paying for hotel rooms (I really value having a room to myself and I can’t afford two). Food for thought.
I still managed to chat with several friends and bought $60 of tea from Moments in Tea, a dealer who’s found cons supplement their online business well (I’ve bought from them before so I knew they were worth it). Then a smooth drive home.
Then the week. I took Monday off to recover but rather than rest it was the third type of day off — attending to assorted tasks that had accumulated. A couple of issues with my insurance (resolved), one with pet insurance (still up in the air), various other odds and ends. Necessary, and glad they’re out the way, but not relaxing.
Tuesday I spent mostly working on Local Reporter update articles on Tropical Depression Chantal. One about the impact on local businesses, one about ways to donate to help. Then, Tuesday evening TYG was running a quick errand and wound up with a staple in the right rear tire. The big heavy kind, not the paperwork kind. Fortunately she got home safe on the donut, once AAA changed it for us, but I spent Wednesday afternoon at the tire place getting a replacement. And that after a Wednesday morning spent at a doctor’s office, one of those routine “let’s check that possible problem to make sure it’s not a problem” appointments. That chopped up the working day to the point I got zippo done.
Yesterday? Cleaners came in, which didn’t use to be a big deal. Now I spend a couple of hours upstairs with Snowdrop and Wisp – we lock them in so they don’t panic and rush out with strangers in the house. This is surprisingly brain deadening so I budget it into my time … but as the cleaners came first thing in the morning, that meant most of the day deadened. Probably worse because I think I have a low level of “con crud” — nothing disabling, just a general sense of dragginess. This morning I overslept by about two hours which is way abnormal for me. If that’s the worst it gets, though, I’ll consider myself lucky.
So a little bit of work on Savage Adventures, a little bit on Jekyll and Hyde. Nothing else. And this weekend we take Snowdrop to the vet for his annual physical. Pray for us.
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—and 
I also sold at least one copy of every one of Behold the Book’s books, with
— and three copies of 
I also did several panels, got to catch up with multiple authors I know (though sitting and selling books reduced my hanging-out time) and generally had a fantastic time (not having to deal with 
The trouble is, I don’t want to go the urban fantasy route. I enjoy reading books where the normal world is just a shell hiding a reality full of magic but I don’t seem inclined to write them. Southern Discomfort is closer to intrusion fantasy: the normal world works much as we see it but something magical has intruded in, disrupting things. In Questionable Minds there’s no hiding: the world is full of psychic powers but they’re being wielded in plain sight. In Atoms for Peace the mad science that’s made the world so different from our 1950s is also commonly known. In Impossible Takes a Little Longer, super-powers are the same way.
Plus some of my books are in the catalog, which is pretty cool.
#SFWApro
Unsold novels, however, do not turn into series. And few of my short stories generate enough interest to feel a sequel is particularly sellable. The exception is 
When I wrote the original “finished” draft more than twenty years ago, I thought that if it sold I could do lots of sequels. Maybe even follow Sir Simon Taggart’s daughter Ann growing up and becoming a hero in her own right. But it didn’t sell.
The dread is that now I’m going to release them into the world. Self-published stuff, and not previously published like the stories in 
The film’s opening scenes in which Kathleen Crowley wakes up (having tried and failed to commit suicide by sleeping pills) to find the small city she lives in completely empty are extremely effective. Then she meets up with a similarly baffoed Richard Denning and a couple of party animals; together they figure out that the city was evacuated while they were all passed out for one reason or another. Then the sight of some rather unconvincing robots tells them why everyone else left … meanwhile the military tries to figure out how to stop the robots sent as the first wave of a Venusian invasion.
In a recent thread on Twitter (sorry, I don’t have a link), NK Jemisin took issue with people pushing for fewer dystopias, more utopias: people of color, women and gays (for example) all have good reasons not to feel optimism. Where utopian fiction is sunny escapism, dystopian fiction grapples with the darkness.
