Good morning, Readers!

Today is yet another rainy morning.  It has been overcast and damp for what feels like a fortnight now.  Most people complain.

Not I.

I adore this weather.  The cold and the rain (and the snow) suit me just fine.  I love the moods of days like this.  I love the calm.  I love the quiet, over which the soft patter of rain drops hitting the roof can be heard.  I love the cold, which inspires warm tea and thick blankets.  All of it makes me happy.  It soothes me. This, for me is a perfect day.

I'm one of those weird people.

I like the calm times, the darkening times, the in between times.  Autumn is my favourite season.  My favourite kind of weather is cool and rainy.  I am enamoured by dawn and dusk... mostly dusk though, as I rarely see dawn.  I also happen to love sleep.

I knew I couldn't keep this post serious for long.  Sigh.

The point is, I hear people complaining about the day and I raise my brows at them.  This weather is beautiful.  It might not be convenient - I chaffed at having to use a bus ticket to get to work this morning.  It might mean extra care is taken with wardrobe in the morning.  But it is still beautiful.

I think I can trace back my love of the rain to growing up in Australia.  We lived in a semi-arid region of Australia.  Travel the hour and a half it took to get to the coast, and you would be in the tropics.  Alas, the Mingela Range generally stopped all but the most determined clouds from crossing and, so, we lived in almost perpetual drought.

The days were bright and sunny and hot.  Sounds like heaven to most people, I know.  I was not really a fan.  However, it did set the stage for some spectacular storms.

My memories of that time are not happy ones.  My family was slowly falling apart around me.  I was a loner and outcast who had a closer relationship with a very climbable mango tree than I did with my peers.  In fact, my two fondest memories are of that mango tree, and another tree that grew near a tiny brook that was created by a puncture in the town's water reservoir.  Whenever I was upset or angry, which was often, I'd flee to those places to calm down.

However, when it rained, things were good.  My family would cease to fight.  We'd pour ourselves a cup of tea and head out to the veranda to watch the lightning and listen to the thunder all the while the rain pounded on the corrugated iron roof.  When it was raining, we could all be in the same space and not one angry word would be spoken.

I've loved the rain ever since I can remember.

Admittedly, I've had a difficult time adjusting to the weather here.  My first year, I was ill-prepared for the September snowfall that randomly happened.  I had only an old, slightly too large for me leather jacket for warmth.  No scarf.  No hat.  No gloves.  I got frostbite on my ears that night.  Also my first year here, I had a tough time adjusting to the reduced amount of sunlight I was getting.  I had SAD (Seasonal Affect Disorder) for the first little bit, and it took me a while (read here: a couple of years) to realise what was wrong with me and how to fix it.  Thanks to the University clinic for help figuring it out.  I'm now careful to take vitamin D supplements during the darker days of the year, get enough sleep and pay particular attention to my moods.

Speaking of, did you know that a northern town in Sweden has installed light therapy lamps in their bus shelters to help people during the shorter days of the year?  Man!  Scandinavia knows how to treat people!

I digress.

The point is, this kind of weather and living in this kind of climate produces a specific set of challenges, but none of these challenges are insurmountable and despite them, or perhaps because of them, I find this climate to be breathtakingly beautiful.

Bring on the rain!

Ciao.

Good morning, Readers!

This weekend was a first for me.  For the first time in a long, long time, I stepped foot inside a gym.

For the record, I hate gyms.  A lot.  I have since, well, high school when I was a assaulted in one.  I have tried at various points to return to one, but it just never worked out.  At first, it was because I did not feel safe.  I got over it.  Then it was because I felt so incredibly judged - my fragile self-esteem couldn't handle even a glance my way.  I got over it.  Then it was because I was bored out of my tree.  Gyms are seriously dull places.  I haven't gotten over that one yet.

There are a myriad other reasons why I dislike going to a gym (dude-bros/meat-heads who try to intimidate you into relinquishing the machine you're working on early so they can go, exorbitant costs, etc).  I don't think, outside of special excursions like the one I took on Saturday, that I'll ever step foot in one voluntarily.

Anyway, those who know me will probably fall done in shock at the news that I went to a gym, but I did.  It was for a special reason.  I say special... it was to use the facilities.  Obviously.  As most of you know, if you follow this blog, or my twitter feed or my facebook page, that I have started to do weights before training on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  My Kung Fy brother, J.K. has been helping two other Kung Fu brothers by doing weight training sessions before class starts on those days.  For a semester I watched them and envied them.

They can do unassisted pull-ups.

Bastards.

The point is, my Kung Fu sister and I decided that we wanted to give it a shot.  We both have different goals.  C.S. is looking to build muscle; to get as strong as possible.  I'm looking for strength enough to haul my weight around without much difficulty.  I want functional muscle as I want to start doing all the obstacle and adventure races in and around Ottawa next race season, including but not limited to the Zombie Run, Mud Hero, Prison Break, Badass Dash, and Warrior Dash (which will be a problem as both the Badass Dash and the Warrior Dash are on the same day next year... I'll have to choose).  They just look like so much fun, and I really want in on the action.

The problem with me, of course, is that I have very little upper body strength.  Hauling my arse over a wall will not be an easy feat.  So, I took up weights to help increase my upper body strength.  I don't really feel like it's been working, though I did have to take a considerable amount of training time off, as I had injured my left triceps.  Unsurprisingly, my triceps are the weakest of my weak muscles.  I'm almost all healed now; healed enough to start using the muscles again... even if (frustratingly) only a little.

We started weight training in the middle of September - when Wutan began training again.  Due to my injury - the beginning of training would just seem lacking if I didn't injure myself in some way.  It's become tradition - I couldn't do as much arm stuff.  So, naturally, I don't feel like I've progressed very far.

This has gone wildly off topic.  Right, back on track.

J.K. invited C.S. and myself out to a gym in order to work on our strength.  Unlike the training he gives us at Wutan, this time it was heavy weights with few repetitions.  Usually the weights are lighter, and there are many, many repetitions.  It felt weird not to be sweating a bunch, like I normally do.  Of course, I did not do as well as I wanted.  C.S. makes me jealous (but in a good 'I have a goal' way rather in the much more destructive 'I want to hurt her' way that some people have when jealous).  She is really very strong.  I am not.

But at least I have a starting point.  I know my base level, and I can and will improve.  Eventually.

C.S. and I are very silly when we get together.  If we're partnered up, you will hear a lot of giggling.  It was no different during our excursion.  Probably much to the annoyance of the gym members, C.S. and I were making wisecracks about ourselves and our training and, of course, giggling.  It's hard to take anything seriously at training and when in the company of C.S.  It really is.

So, despite my general dislike of gyms, I had a great time.  We are, apparently, going to be doing it again in February some time.  J.K. is using these as milestones, I suppose.  Which is a good way to do it.  That way he gets to track our progress (or lack thereof), and we can see how far we've come... or not.  Whichever.

I also stepped onto a scale for the first time in ages at the gym.  Because they had one.  I do not.  I'm now under 160lbs (just).  This is a big deal for me.  When I started training all those years ago, I was clocking in at almost 180lbs.  Sure, it took seven odd years for me to lose the weight, but still.  I never thought I would get under 160 in a million years.

Heartened by that, I decided to restart checking in everything I eat with My Fitness Pal - a habit that had long ago fallen by the wayside.  Ugh!  Even after inputting everything I have planned to eat today, and adding food I'm going to buy because I was 1 400 calories short of a healthy amount of food, I have to find another 900 calories to eat.  It seems I've fallen into the old habit of not eating nearly enough for the exercise I'm doing.

Good grief!  It is impossible to eat that much.  Who eats that much?!?!  I'm going to have to go grocery shopping some time after training and pick up some more meat - it's the fastest way to get the calories and protein I need without having to eat a truckload of food.

My lack of eating the necessary amount may account for how tired I've been of late.  You would think that someone who has spent almost her whole life being chubby would be eating more than enough food.  Apparently not.  Why am I not a skinny little rake?  Psht.  Bodies are weird.

Um... I was supposed to be talking about my weekend.  So yes, after the gym, I went to a friend's birthday celebration.  I had accidentally scheduled this month's meet-up at the same time, and fought to find a way to reschedule everything so I could make both.  Alas, I couldn't find a way, so I had to cancel the meet-up.  I had promised myself to the birthday party first, and they're very dear friends of mine.  We went out to dinner, then headed over to Monopolatte to play some Cards Against Humanity.  I have never laughed so hard for so long!  It was basically continuous laughter for four and half hours.

Sunday, my voice raw from laughing, I headed over to film two upcoming episodes for Silver Stag Entertainment's Nights at the Round Table.  Then I came home and, exhausted, napped until dinner time.

There, that was my weekend... and a lot of stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with my weekend.

How was your weekend?  Did you do anything special?

I have to go and learn some Welsh now.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday Susan asked me, "... if Human is causing you that much agony, why write it? ... you have not been a large fan of vampires ... you technically have little reason to (finish it). Is it the subject of the idea? Is there something about the plot the angers you?"

Great question(s)!  Please excuse my ramblings as I attempt to answer it.  There is actually a lot here to deconstruct.  I'll start with the easiest questions or points.

1. Is there something about the plot the angers you?"

Nope.  Actually, the story itself is fairly decent.  It's sort of a paranormal version of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid (I realised last night when pondering this question).  The proper version, not the Disney version.  I quite like the story, actually.  It's the packaging I'm having issues with.

2. Is it the subject of the idea?

Um... did you mean subject or idea?  Either way, it's the fact that it's a vampire story that bothers me.  The idea is a good one... but it's vampires.  And this isn't to say that I hate vampire stories or vampires as characters, either.  I love some of them (Did I ever tell you my enduring love for Julian, the main vampire dude from the very 90s T.V. show Kindred: The Embraced?  I was convinced we were going to be married one day), but I feel the whole genre has been done to death.  Everyone and their aunt has written a vampire story.  It bothers me that I'm writing a story in a market already saturated with the same damned (Hah!  Damned!  Get it?) character set.

I worry that the story isn't original.  I'm stressed that it's too derivative.  I'm annoyed that my brain, despite my being sick to death of vampire stories said, "Hey, you know what I'm thinking of right now?  Vampires.  Now write, bitch."  I hate my brain.  My brain is an arsehole.

Mostly, though, it's because vampire stories are far too numerous right now.  If I was writing this at a time when vampires were not part of the popular culture, I'd be more pleased by this story, I think.  Oh gods... am I... am I a hipster writer?

Nooooooooooo!

Anyway, there are too many stories of this genre around.  Too.  Many.  Not all that surprising, considering it is about vampires, it. just. won't. die.

Get it?  Because the genre is (a) vampire? Get it?  I'm on fire today!

And now for the big question.

3. If Human is causing you that much agony, why write it?

Gods help me, I don't know.  I cannot not write a story once it worms its way into my head.  You remember earlier, when I told you my brain is an arsehole?  I wasn't lying.

Unless I get a story out onto paper (digital or otherwise), it does lazy laps around my head... or sometimes vigorous laps.  It depends on how urgently the protagonist wants their story told.  'Round and 'round the story goes.  Over and over it plays in my head, like some demented prison guard who has the same cassette playing all day, continually hitting the repeat button in order to torture the inmates with the strained tunes of the latest pop sensation... and it never, ever stops.  Unless I get it out of my mind and onto some other surface.  My brain will hold onto a story forever if it has to.

The Great Man series (completed but unpublished as yet), for example, was in my mind since the tender age of fourteen.  I graduated university in 2007, and finished the series shortly thereafter.  I was twenty-four when I graduated.  Ten years.  TEN YEARS that story played on repeat in my head.

To make matters worse, I am horribly affected by the stories that float through my head.  There is literally a storm of emotions that rage through me.  If something sad happens in the story, I get sad.  I have been known to burst into tears randomly in public places because that sad section of story keeps making those loops in my mind.  Sometimes I get angry, because the imaginary people I made up myself do something infuriatingly stupid, or something terribly unfair happens to them.  When my protagonists are happy or pleased (almost never, now that I think about it), so am I.

If you have doubts about how badly I am affected by the stories that my arsehole brain concocts, you should ask the Amazing Flatmate.  She was there when I was rewriting The Great Man series.  It was not pretty.

Mind you, that story is particularly dark.

If it sounds like I might be insane, all I can say is: Yes.  Writing is insanity.

So, if I don't get this story out of my head and onto some sort of platform, I'm stuck with it until I do; even if the story is utter crap.  I have a few finished manuscripts that will never see the light of day because they are such utter steaming piles of ... drivel.

And, to state the obvious, my experiences with Skylark aside, writing is almost never very easy.  Some days, the words come, and I can go at a good clip.  Other days, I stare blankly at the screen with tears of frustration streaming down my face.  Human is just one of those stories that doesn't come as easily.  I think I know why.

I think that because I am so very tired of vampire stories, and so very resistant to the idea of writing one myself, that I have created an internal tug-of-war.  On one team, my arsehole brain and my need to write and the will to get this frakking story out of my head.  On the opposing team, my incredible resistance to writing vampire stories in general, and my fear that this story is, by virtue of its subject, utter shite.  Fear is a big problem for me, really.

Being incredibly stubborn sort of woman, both teams would be equal but for the fact that I consciously force myself to sit down and write.  It's often a struggle for this story, but it's happening regardless.

As much as I find this story difficult and frustrating and infuriating, I simply cannot walk away from it.  The trouble with arsehole brains is they go where you go.  There is no escape.  So I sit every day at my computer and attempt to write.  I've been doing that for almost a year.

Some writing days are more successful than others.  Still, I hit the 65 000 word mark yesterday.  It helps to see progress, and it helps to know that I'm not that far from the end.  It makes the writing easier.

So, Susan, I hope I answered your question.  I may have just confused you more.  I can sum up this entire blog post in a single sentence:

I'm insane and writing is the only socially sanctioned outlet for that insanity.

Or, more simply:

I cannot not write.

Right, now I'm off to try and learn Welsh for a bit before I get down to the work of writing.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

During my lazy, lazy long weekend recently, a new story popped into my head.  This is annoying for several reasons.  Mostly, it's because I'm still writing Human.  Human, incidentally is the bane of my existence.  It's moving along at a better clip now, and I should be finished relatively soon (fingers crossed!), but this is the longest I've spent struggling to write a story and I hate its guts with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.  Still, I am no quitter and so Human will get finished... even if it kills me.  Which it might.  I hate it so much.  It really bites.

Get it?  It bites?  Because it's a vampire story?

...

I'll see myself out.

Ahem.  That was a weird tangent.  The point is that I have a new story.  Following my brain's apparent lack of regard for being pegged as a writer of any particular genre, this book isn't a fantasy.  Nor it is science fiction.  It's not even horror.  Nope, not paranormal either.  In fact, this book is not speculative fiction of any sort...  Which is going to make marketing it problematic since I was always, until this, at least writing in genres that all belonged to the same culture - speculative fiction.

This story is actually historical fiction.  Historical fiction is precisely what it sounds like.  It takes known personages from the past and fictionalises them and their lives.  Unsurprising to anyone, the historical fiction that popped into my head begins and ends in Roman-occupied Britain, though most of it takes place in Roman-occupied Gaul.

I'm really excited about this story, guys.  Really excited.

Quite normally when I begin writing a novel, I have but two things figured out - the protagonist and the ending.  That's generally all I need.  However, like my science fiction novel Skylark, this story arrived to me almost fully formed.  I have it all in my head.  I know everything.  Of course, it helps that I'm such a Celtic Studies nut, and reading for interest and pleasure turns out to be the same thing as research for most people #HumbleBrag.  Still, the fact that it arrived pretty much fully formed makes me happy, and tells me that this one will likely not be such a horrific slog to write.

When writing Skylark, I was thrilled with how quickly that story was started and finished.  Just the writing part took me a little over a month.  Human aside, which has taken me almost a year, it usually takes me roughly three months to write a novel.  #HumbleBrag?  I don't know.  How long does it take most people?  In any case, three odd months is fairly average for me.  Skylark was a happy exception, and I was so happy while writing it, despite the fact that it's a pretty tragic story.

I'm expecting good things from this new story, which I will get to as soon as the first draft of Human is finished.  Let that book be finished soon.  I'm itching to get at this new story!

Well, I have to get back to work.  Today is Shwmae Sumae Day to celebrate the Welsh language.  I'm celebrating by getting frustrated with lesson six of Same Something in Welsh.  Seriously, I failed the first run of this lesson.  It made me sad.


Alright, I should go.


Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

As most of you know, this weekend was Thanksgiving here in Canada.  I went over to my step mother's house to have dinner with her and my dad.  It was an incredible meal.  G. always puts on a wonderful spread.  Mind you, I was absolutely starved by the time dinner was ready.  I had a long, leisurely lie in and left the house at midday without ever having eaten anything.  When dinner time rolled around, I was ready to eat my own arm.

Speaking of eating arms, I watched the movie Snowpiecer last night and thoroughly enjoyed it.  You would understand the segue if you have seen the movie.  Alas, Netflix in Canada is appalling and didn't have it, so I rented it via Amazon.  I hate doing that, but there wasn't much else I could do.

First world problems, I know.

Yesterday, after another colossal sleep in, I went to brunch with good friends Jen and Eric Desmarais; the lovely husband and wife couple behind JenEric Designs.  They are such wonderful people, and it's always lovely spending time with them.  I walked to the brunch place.  From my place, it was just over an hour; a little more because I stopped at the bridge to take photos of the stunning autumnal colours on the river.

This is my favourite time of year.  There is something about autumn which I find so very invigorating.  The colours are stunning.  The air is cool and clear, and usually carries to smell of spice and wood smoke.  There is genuinely nothing more lovely to me.

Growing up in tropical North Queensland, the change in the seasons wasn't ever really a thing.  I think part of my love for autumn is the fact that it's still, despite my thirteen years here, novel and new.

It also happens to be the season of my favourite day of the year:

Hallowe'en!

A brief history of Hallowe'en:

It's a survival from the pre-Christian Iron Age of Western Europe - a bona fide Celtic holiday that has been celebrated for, literally, thousands upon thousands of years.  Though there is good evidence that this was a pan-Celtic celebration (as in, all the various cultures under the monolithic moniker of 'Celtic' celebrated this day), the only surviving Celtic name for this day is Irish.

Samhain.

Pronounced Sahw-in, this three day celebration marked the end of the Celtic year and the beginning of the next.  The Celts counted the beginning of the day at sundown and thus the beginning of the year when the light begins to leave.  During this festival, they would carve turnips and gourds, fill them with light and place them at windows and doors.

A family meal would be had, with places set for the ancestors, who would use the lights in the windows and doors to find their way back from the Otherworld to their loved ones to share in the festivities.  A special bread called Barmbrack would be made.

Trick or treating would have taken place, I am sure, but the earliest example we have comes from Britain in the medieval period.  Then called souling or guising, the children and the poor would go house to house and, in exchange for bread, offer songs or prayers to the dead (souling) or, in Scotland, would perform (tricks with cards, singing, telling a story, etc) while in costume in exchange for a sweet/treat (guising).

Despite the intervention of the church, declaring November 1st All Saint's Day, the Samhain celebration persists to this day.  Dia del Muertos is a three day celebration in mexico.  It spans the same three days the Celts celebrated Samhain, and it's all about the dead (ancestors).  While nothing to do with the Celts insofar as anyone can tell, and probably of Aztec origins, this celebration still makes me happy.

All over Europe, people tend to take the day off and visit cemeteries, laying flowers on the graves of loved ones.  In Brittany, they also pour libations of milk over the graves as offerings.  Offerings are left in Spain and Potugal, and special cakes are sometimes left out for the returning spirits in various places around Europe.

I'm not against Christianity, but I am a sucker for all things Celtic, and the fact that Samhain has survived the tumult of history makes me incredibly happy.  No.  Seriously.  You have no idea how much I love Samhain.

There are, of course, complaints from the religious right in the United States, calling this celebration evil and satanic (seriously, I just saw a headline that read: Halloween, a Covenant with Death and with Hell.  Sigh).  It holds no water, of course.  Today, no one believes they are inviting the dead back to their family homes for a feast.  Today, people carve pumpkins and take the opportunity to dress up.  They take to the streets in the hopes of scoring some lollies for their trouble or, if they're more adult, head out to a party or several.  Today it's just a fun celebration to fill the time before Christmas.

But for me, I'll be celebrating more seriously.  Like always, I will use this time to think of my own ancestors; my sassy grandmother, her grandmother etc.  While I shan't be setting up an altar, I will take an extra moment to think of them and, perhaps more importantly, thank them.  Or perhaps I'll scrub down the kitchen, bake up some Barmbrack bread and set the table to seat the visiting ghosts of who I am today.  I owe them at least one meal a year, don't you think?  I wouldn't be here without them.

I'm a little pagan at heart...

Anyway, the too long; didn't read version of this is I love autumn and I love Hallowe'en.

Now, because it was a holiday this weekend, Nights at the Round Table took a little break.  Instead of the regular episode, we have another blooper reel.  You can find it below.  There are a lot of shenanigans that go on while we're filming...

Ciao!

I had the strangest dream last night about trying to catch a bus in an Ottawa that I did not recognise, and had for company and cuddles Byzantine Cumberpatch. Apparently Ottawa had a tram system that did not use the same tickets as the buses. And Slumberlatch Crinklesort was very cuddly. It was rather pleasant, actually. Despite being utterly lost.

This anecdote has nothing to do with Can Con 2014.  I just thought I'd share.  Carry on.

To be honest, there isn't much about day three that I remember all that well.  I was in a haze of exhaustion and illness-fighting.  I arrived in time to get breakfast at the Bridgehead on Bank and Albert and still be one of the first persons in the Dealer's Room.  I settled in, eating my breakfast sandwich in a hurry and chugging back that coffee as if my life depended on it.  I'm fairly certain that I felt my life depended on it.

First order of business for me was at midday.  There was a special live filming of Nights at the Round Table in which we discussed Calculating God by Robert J. Sawyer.  That episode will be going live next Monday.  Immediately following that was I panel I shared with the awesome Erik Buchanan, Tim Carter (I swear we weren't stalking one another) and Mark Shainblum.  That said, I don't remember Mark being there...  It might be my fatigue-addled brain however.  I was sitting between Erik and Tim.  The panel was moderated by the eminently wonderful Marie Bilodeau.

None of us knew what we were supposed to be talking about, so the audience was required by Marie to shout out fandoms and we on the panel had to figure a way to "out" an imaginary person as a secret fan of that fandom.  The puns flew thick and fast, my friends.  It was a very entertaining panel, and I hope the audience had fun.  I threatened to drown myself in whiskey the minute it was done.

I couldn't, of course.  There was my table downstairs to look after.

While I was away, author and friend April Laramey very kindly watched my table for me as the Amazing Flatmate had to go to work.  Ah life in the film industry!  This was April's first Can Con.  I hope she had a good time with it all and, more importantly, learned good stuff and made solid connections, because this is what these conventions are all about.

It truly was one of the best Can Cons I've attended, and I'm not just saying that because I was on a lot of panels (though I was on a lot of panels and they were hilarious fun!).  There was some incredible programming and awesome-sauces guests, and lots of things going on that were fun and informative.

As I owe Tim a drink, next time I think I'll stay a little later after the convention closes and hang out in the bar (next year, Tim.  I promise).  Then I can relax and chat with friends properly instead of yelling a greeting as I sprint past to get to the next panel.  That would be nice!

All I can say is that Can Con 2014 was brilliant.  I cannot wait to do it again!

Right, I have to get to my Welsh lesson, and then writing.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers.

So sorry I didn't post at all yesterday.  The weird cold cough thing I've been fighting for days on end got the better of me yesterday.  I awoke with my alarm at the usual time and realised I just couldn't.  I couldn't do life yesterday.  So I fired an email off to work and collapsed back into bed.  It was 2:00pm when I next woke.  Yup.  I was one exhausted gal.

Excuses aside, I intend to continue with the awesomeness that was Can Con 2014.

Right.

The second day of the convention saw the Amazing Flatmate and I there early enough to get breakfast and coffee and still beat the opening of the dealer's room.  It was then I realised that I had a panel first thing n the morning, and immediately following that, I had a reading.  All of my books were inside the dealer's room.  And I had yet to select the passage I wanted to read.

I'm very organised like that.

Luckily, a member of the hotel staff with a key was by and he very kindly opened the door for me.  I ducked in, grabbed by book and flipped through, hoping to find something entertaining to read to an audience.  Since there was time, I read some of it to the Amazing Flatmate as a sort of approval-getting-plus-practice-because-I-didn't-really-have-time-to-select-a-different-passage-if-there-was-no-approval-forthcoming thing.  The approval did come, but I think that's just because the Amazing Flatmate is kind.

In any case, I was as prepared as I could possibly hope to be and so I left to head to the first panel of the day:
The Economics of Self-Publishing, expertly moderated by Kevin Johns.  I was seated once again in the middle, between Mark Leslie Lefebvre and Tim Carter.  Tim and I had met before at Can Con two years ago.  He's a lovely guy who writes very funny young adult books.  This was the first time I've ever met Kevin Johns or Mark Lefebvre.  Mr. Johns is a self-published author and podcast creator.  Mr. Lefebvre is the Director of Self-Publishing & Author Relations with Kobo and is an author himself.  It was a great panel, with really interesting stuff.  We all agreed that self-publishing was awesome, but if you're in it for the money, you're screwed!  It was vaguely depressing, really.

Immediately after that panel, I ducked out of the room and sprinted to the next, worried I'd be late for my reading.  I, thankfully, wasn't.  I shared the hour in the room with the very talented Maaja Wentz, who is not only a fantastic writer and poet, but a genuinely wonderful person as well.  The reading went well... ish.  I stumbled over a few words and accidentally called one of my characters by a friend's name.  In my defence, Bull and Bill are very similar, and I had just looked up to see Bill at the moment I was attempting to say Bull.  Anyway, a few of the funnier passages got a little chuckle from the audience.  The best part was, I made it in time.  The reading took 20 minutes, giving Maaja plenty of time to get ready for hers.  She read beautifully.

I had the rest of the afternoon to hang out in the dealer's room.  And so I did.  It is always nice to be able to relax a little bit at conventions, and my table was pretty much my safe haven.  Since I was unwell, I don't really remember much except being dog tired.  I had two more panels to attend, however, so I sucked it up and did my best to appear cheerful.

That panel was at 6:00pm and was on Multimedia Fandom.  None of us were too sure what was meant by that, but we ended up having a great discussion all the same.  This panel was moderated by Rebecca Simkin, of The Sunburst Award.  She was a great moderator.  Joining me on the panel was the cosplayer Alice Black, Gina Frietag of the new Cellar Door Film Festival, the best in Ottawa speculative fiction film and the wonderful Jay Odjick, who was the media guest of honour at Can Con this year.  Jay is the talent behind Kagagi the Raven, a graphic novel turned serial animated television show about an indigenous superhero.  I met Jay for the first time at the panel.  He is genuinely one of the nicest, funniest guys I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and he came up with some wonderful (and not a little terrifying) stories of fans at this panel.  The first episode of Kagagi aired Sunday morning at the con, and it looks really amazing.  Do me a favour, go like their Facebook Page, would you?

Immediately after that panel, I rushed away to another panel, also moderated by Rebecca Simkin.  The panel was called Email Spam: Can a Narrative be Created?  It was a great deal of fun.  I sat with authors Tim Carter, Max Turner, and Geoff Gander.  We were given bags of cut up sections of spam, paper and tape and told to go to town.  There were no rules.  Having no idea what I was doing, I used the scraps of spam to create a story, writing in bits and pieces to flesh it out.  My first story worked really well.  My second story less so.  I would like to include them in this post, but it's already a ridiculously long post, so I'll just include them HERE and HERE.  Needless to say, it was actually a tonne of fun and my fellow panellists churned out some really awesome stuff!

I was intending to go home immeidately following that panel, but the laughter that panel created gave me an unexpected second wind, so I headed over to Marie Bilodeau's Paper Aeroplane contest instead.  I was a judge in this contest and had a lot of fun adding and detracting points based on the contestant's performances.  It was great fun.  Still feeling good, I headed up to the ChiZine Publications party, but quickly plummeted into exhausted as all frak, territory.  So, not long after I arrived, I went home.

Sleep was blissful that night!

Tomorrow I'll talk about the final day on Can Con 2014.  I think I've babbled on quite long enough, don't you?

Ciao!