Anyway, I got my program info for WorldCon today - reading at 4pm Thursday, room 215, signing at 10am Saturday room 201
Thursday will be the "interesting" one - see jet-lagged Kate who's fresh off two days of planes and airports try to read something and make some kind of sense! The excitement! The terror! The crossed eyes and swaying in the chair!
Okay, now I'm getting ridiculous.
Anyway, I'd love to see folks who are coming to Aussiecon drop in for the reading or the signing.
Stuffed if I know what, but who knows, maybe a plot will emerge at some point.
Of all the crappy jobs the world has to offer, slaying the evil undead is the suckiest. I ought to know, I've done most of them, and somehow I always end up back on the slaying thing. The pay stinks - if you get anything, which you usually don't - you've got to keep the law off your back while you're getting the undead to be just plain old-fashioned dead, and of course any undead with half a brain to call his own figures it's better to take you out before you can stake, behead or whatever. It would drive a girl to drink, except I already drank more than I should and that was on the good days.
You don't even get gratitude from the victims any more, just some dumb teenage girl wailing about you staking her sparkly boyfriend.
Something a colleague said in the last few days got me thinking - which is never a good thing because there's no telling what will come of it - about the nature of clinical depression and the rest of the family of mental illnesses that are associated with creativity. The association is so strong it's not controversial - the list of musicians, artists, authors and other creative types who spent their whole lives in a running battle with mental illness is enough to fill a book all by itself.
I'm not sure when I started thinking of my personal version of that particular hell as something external to me, and demonic, but it's proved to be a remarkably apt metaphor for depression. When I'm deep in an episode, the depression-induced promptings feel as though they're not me, and given their nature, 'demon' is as apt a description as any.
So, I live with the demons of depression. Mostly they're fairly quiet these days, thanks to the joys of medication and some hard-learned lessons in turning my thoughts away from the old, self-destructive paths. Sometimes they get louder, or something catches me by surprise and I fall into the old habits, but mostly, I'm doing all right.
It's a journey, and perhaps sharing that journey will help other people who struggle with similar issues. For me, perhaps the biggest adjustment was coming to understand at the gut level that I can't trust my own mind. When the demons are in control, it lies. I have been utterly convinced that the best thing I could do for those I loved was to take myself - permanently - out of their lives. That kind of lie.
So... that's the first lesson for life with the demons. They lie. They take your weaknesses and use them to try to convince your world is better if it doesn't include you.
No matter how bad things are, no matter how hopeless they seem, this is not true. Even if you really are the worst person in the world, you can redeem yourself.
After two lovely, lazy days on the beach, I came home, and wrote about 1k on ConSensual. That one's now over 50k words and hurrying on to the insanity of the final sequence - which is likely to be fairly long all by itself given what's going on there.
Some of the highlights of the weekend: - jacuzzi the perfect size for two - walking on the boardwalk. - American Beach House architecture, completely with candy colors or earth tones, lots of wood or something like it, and BIG decks. I never knew you could have a desert of them. Block after block after block of nothing but beach houses with holiday rental signs and too-perfect-to-be-lived-in appearance. Lots of people around, walking dogs, cycling, going to and from the beach, but stuffed if I know where they get their groceries, or if they eat out, where they go.
Now that I'm home, I've had much velcro from one cat, and am being shunned by the other. We will eventually be forgiven, but not just yet.