A Night In Tunisia (Oh, Sorry, I Meant Minneapolis)

It's amazing how many things I still haven't gotten around to doing, even after a year of living in Madison. This past weekend, for instance, was the first time I boarded a bus and traveled to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I spent the weekend doing two things: spending time with my family, and attending a tiny-but-awesome sci-fi/fantasy convention called 4th Street Fantasy.

Ah, the magnificent Midwest!

Unlike traveling to Chicago, it was a painless journey, full of rolling clouds and a lot of trees humping up between cheerful green fields. At the end of it—only five hours, with no bus transfers, and no zig-zags—I tumbled out of the bus fumes and travel cramps, ready for the challenge of finding my way around a new city (with some help from my fantastic cousin) and the slightly more nerve-wracking challenge of being among a group of entirely unknown people. Some of whom were incredible authors that I have admired for a very long time; specifically, Pamela Dean, Patricia C. Wrede, and Caroline Stevermer.

Hopefully, I wasn't too much of a fool—except, of course, that these are my rock stars, my favorite actors of Hollywood fame. At best, I managed to have half-way intelligent but still embarrassing conversations with these authors. I've been told that being kind to your audience comes with the job description, and these ladies were nothing short of gracious. I sat and sweated and chatted about going back to fix world-building problems with Pat Wrede, who knitted the entire time. Pamela Dean and I talked about the brilliant books of Diana Wynne Jones, and T.S. Eliot, and her own books. Maybe next time I'll get past the weakness of character that comes with being star-struck—after all, everyone at this con was reassuringly human (whatever non-human characters they might write).

It was a very full weekend. I still feel muddled up and over-expanded with new people—ideas—information—books to add to my Must-Read-Immediately list—new places. It was my first con, and also the first time in awhile I've had a chance to see my cousin Cynthia. The first time, too, that I met her husband. In between me running off to squee over panels on genre-crossover and misdirection in novels and good vs. evil in apocalyptic settings, I spent some quality time with my family. A late-night walk, an evening fire, a glass of wine—we even managed to squeeze in breakfast with my aunt, who lives much closer to Minneapolis than I thought.

I can't formulate the past three days into any kind of narrative, or bring out any connective thread in my mind. A lunchtime tea with a wonderfully knowledgeable hostess—picking black raspberries from Cynthia's small garden—chatting with author Django Wexler, whose works are now at the top of my Must-Read-Immediately list—the inspiration that comes from smart people talking about writing...these things don't hang together and yet crammed themselves into this weekend, almost on top of each other. 

Did I mention the tea tasting? There was a tea tasting. It was delicious.

I'd like some more time to sort through them before going back to normal life. More time to examine the meeting of minds, the inspiration to write, the similarities of life to the fantastical. But time spins on, even as I write this, and the world grows smaller again--no wonder so many people read fantasy.