Here I am in the San Jose airport, early as usual for my flight, on the Monday following WorldCon. Yes, I survived. And I don't think I caught the Con Crud (I'm hoping the slight soreness in my throat is from yelling to be heard in the SFWA suite last night, talking with David Kirtley, Greg, Derek, Heather, and Tim, or maybe it's from hanging out in the smoking room with James and Laura Anne and the other puffers -- but it CAN'T be Con Crud!).

Overall, I had a really good time. There were times when I was sort of itching to get back home, but once I talked to Elizabeth yesterday and got some writing done, I felt much better (it's weird that way about writing -- it's sort of become an addiction, I guess; I know I'm addicted to Lizzie!).

I was really, really good about not buying a ton of stuff. The only book I bought was the most recent Writers of the Future, though I haven't even read last year's. I almost bought an autographed copy of The Scar for about $20, but I decided to wait. I figure I'll get that for myself as a reward for finishing the Wannoshay novel. It'll be a nice lead-in to the City of All-Worlds novel. But I did manage to find a nifty gift for Lizzie in the Dealers Room (another pair of earrings with moonstones in them, very nice, without all the super-fancy doodads most of the jewelry in there had), after scoping out all the dealer booths with Ling the Merciless yesterday afternoon.

I went to some readings and a couple panels yesterday afternoon, seeing Sean Stewart read from his latest novel (I must read the novel of his sitting on my shelf, Galveston), then got some lovely plugs from Susan Groppi and Mary Anne during their panel on online publishing (Susan, buddy, the check's in the mail!). I also got to talk to Ellen Datlow, at last, and let her put a face with my name -- she dug the handmade silver dragon I bought from Kathy Oltion.

I caught up with Greg and David eventually, and all of us headed over the hotel bar to meet the rest of the gang -- Derek, Heather, and Tim -- for dinner at an Indian place, where I ate way too much of the buffet, as usual. Then it was on to the Hugos.

Now, I was prepared to be a bit underwhelmed by the ceremony. It got off to a bit of a slow start, and it gradually grew warmer and warmer in the old Civic Center Auditorium as the night progressed. But once they got to the actual Hugo section of the program, and toastmaster Tad Williams gave a wonderful, funny, and emotional speech about why writing SF matters today, especially today, in 2002, I felt like I'd come home. That I'd made an excellent choice in deciding to focus my writing on the SF (and fantasy and horror) fields. It's all about dreams. People need dreams, and as a writer I'm lucky enough to deal in dreams every day with my writing. It's a fantastic job.

I was happy with how all the awards came out, even if I was pulling for gonzo novelist and chick magnet China Mieville to win over Neil Gaiman for Best Novel (but then we all would've missed Gaiman's final words: "Fuck, I've got a Hugo!"). And I would've loved it if the always-awesome and supra-cool Strange Horizons could've won for Best Website, durn it!!! And how nice it would've been if my buddy, super-artist and action-figure Frank Wu could've taken home the Best Fan Artist award he so justly deserved? And I wish Toby could've won the Campbell, but novelist Jo Walton simply has a bigger audience as a novelist. Um. So I guess I wasn't so happy with how the voting turned out!!!

Coming out of the awards, feeling really jazzed about writing and being an SF writer, and wanting to get onto that Hugo ballet, soon, I had a nice surprise when I got the latest status report for the Hugos. I had gotten 21 votes for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer! So I have at least 20 friends! ;) Granted, it was out of 272 total votes, but I was tickled to no end, especially as most of the other writers on the list were novelists (and I edged out F&SF mainstay writer Charlie Finlay by a vote! Take that, Charlie! ... Just kidding -- sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself to you (and try and learn the secret F&SF handshake)).

So I leave San Jose feeling pretty pumped up about writing. I plan on doing a ton of it this week, and maybe getting some done today on the plane, depending on how much elbow room I have. I just had to compile my final Con Report first, get all these positive vibes down onscreen, and remember what a great thing it is to be a writer. I feel like I'll never have to work another day again in my life! Later...

In case you're hungry for more, here are some additional con reports by friends and writers and editors:

• Tim Pratt
• Greg van Eekhout
• Heather Shaw
• Derek James
• Ling the Merciless
• Mary Anne Mohanraj
• Susan Groppi
• Jed Hartman

Damn, I know a lot of cool people. :)

Today's Words:
400

Today's Quote:
Jaret didn't have to tell his conscripts to freeze. They had all either stopped or began the slow process of retreating out of the cave. The stink grew worse as he approached the corpse of his former conscript.

How the hell did he end up here? he wondered, touching the unforgiving metal of the Bob's choke collar. He should've known the instant the Bob tried to take off the collar -- Jaret would have felt the Bob's death as the collar automatically head-popped the stupid creature. But here was the Bob, collarless but not headless, missing most of its belly. The outcome was the same, Jaret figured. Dead was dead. His job was to keep it from happening to any of his other rubberneckers.

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