I love WFC, it's one of my favorite conventions. It's one of the few times of the year I get to see my sf/fantasy-writing friends. (There's some spillover between it and the Necon and World Horror crowds, but not a lot.) Anyway, I adore these people and am always happy to see them. I can't even attempt to name-check everyone I saw and spoke with, but mad props, as usual, to Laura Anne Gilman for whatever the hell was in her flask. Best drink of the weekend. Though maybe I should start asking her what's in it before taking a swig. You never know.
Talking with Peter Straub at the Tor party made me feel guilty that the Straubathon is on hold while I get to some other books I really want to read before the year is out. The Throat beckons from the bookshelf, but I must resist, at least for now. Tom Monteleone and F. Paul Wilson were there as well, surrounded by adoring fans. We also got to see Chris Golden, Tom S. (don't ask me to spell his last name!), Nate Kenyon, Bill Shunn, Chesya Burke, Ellen Datlow, F. Brett Cox, Tempest Bradford, Jeff Ford, Chris Roberson, E.E. Knight, Jay Lake, Cat Sparks, Robert Hood, Ben Peek...oh jeez, now I'm trying to name-check everyone! It's impossible to do. Just as impossible as getting to talk to and/or say goodbye to everyone you want.
I did get to meet Joe Haldeman at the Orbit Books launch party and tell him how much I loved The Forever War. I also inadvertently told David Drake that he looks old. (I didn't mean to, I was making a follow-up joke to his own joke, and anyway, there was no harm because I wasn't wearing a name tag. Still, I made sure to tell him I was Chris Golden.)
We left around midnight and realized we were too tired to make the schlep back to Brooklyn, so we stayed overnight at the Marriott Fairfield in Malta, just a few miles away. Scored the very last room, too.
So much fun! Yay World Fantasy!