For the second day in a row, I've rolled my tired ass out of bed and onto an aching foot. I was joking with friends yesterday that it was gout, but I'm actually pretty sure it is (or maybe just a sprain). Sadly, like a sprain, there's very little a doctor can do to help it out. Anti-inflammatories and pain meds. I got those and I'm taking them. Now I've just got to cut out the fats and drink lots of water to flush my system. 'Til then, just a little limp and feeling all that much older.
And it's not a good week for it.
Monday, the Pacific Northwest Writer's Conference people contacted the esteemed and mysterious Kat Richardson and begged for her to put together an impromptu workshop. Never mind that Team Seattle had put together a lovely proposal that was completely disregarded and we never heard a peep on. So are we bailing their asses out? Of course, we do like our attention, after all.
So Saturday Kit Kittredge, American Girl (aka Caitlin), Richelle Mead, Cherie Priest, Kat and moi aussi will descend on the writers conference like the rough and tumble street gang we are and regale the crowd (I expect at least 50, if not, I'll be corraling the hall herds and routing them into Emerald E) with our strategies for urban fantasy worldbuilding. If you're in the neighborhood, you may want to fork it over for a day pass, just for our workshop, which promises to be thoroughly interactive and super fun, or awkward and uncomfortable depending on your social skills.
Watch out for me in the halls, I'll be the one limping.
Proceed to make fun of my advanced state of decay, or leave a question about world building or knife fights, even.