Regarding the tattoo, as that was the most commented upon topic from yesterday's entry, answers to questions and answers to answers: Tracing over it with darker ink is almost certainly NOT an option. The lines are much too fine. Spaces between them would close-up, and I don't even want to think about what a new mess would be made of this mess as the second round of healing allowed the ink to "bleed" subcutaneously. Yes, I am aware that the color of ink can change during healing. But it's very hard to believe that this blue-green could ever become a true/jet black (or even grey), which is what I requested. No, I was not told that this might happen. No, I will not be going back to that particular shop, and I will fucking caution others to avoid it. I will see it loses as much business as I am able. Which likely isn't much. Also, essentially all the "expert" information on tattoos and the healing thereof online is anecdotal and/or hearsay and therefore worthless. If X says H, I can easily find Y who says G. I have not seen the damned thing – the tattoo – since yesterday. I tried simply not using that arm, from yesterday afternoon until this morning. My fingers kept going numb, which, I'll admit, gave me hope of gangrene (lose the arm, lose the tattoo). I also discovered that the heel of one's foot can make a decent thumb. Anyway, today I'm wearing my eyepatch, which blots out that shred of peripheral vision in my blind left eye. This is allowing me to use that arm and still avoid glimpsing the tattoo. To the best of my abilities, I have removed all photos of it from the web (or blocked entries containing them).
At least the goddamn insomnia left me alone until last night. I think I slept no more than six hours. Instead, I lay awake listening to an audiobook of Neuromancer (read by some stupid fuck named Robertson Dean), and ruminating on how much I hate audiobooks. There's nothing worse than hearing a male reader mutilate William Gibson by suddenly trying (hard) to sound like a female hooker, and only managing to sound like a burly drag queen. Just read the text, people. Stop "acting." Stop "performing." Read the text, and let people listen. When I do public readings, I don't change voices. Pretty much no author does. Can people actually not grasp the difference between indicating a character switch by subtle shift of inflection and indicating it by shitty acting?
Yes, I would like to write about Readercon. I would like to post a few photos (I only have a few to post, owing to a combination of Spooky having taken very few and to my looking like shit in most of them). But I think it might be best to do that when the anger has subsided, the anger that didn't actually hit me until yesterday. Mostly, it was a good con. And there were some utterly remarkable moments. One so precious to me and so unbelievable that it shines brightly enough to blind me to almost every other moment of the weekend (no, it has nothing to do with new opportunities, etc.). And, too, I have learned never again to do panels, but, instead, to stick to readings and interviews and solo presentations and suchlike. This I do vow.
Also, people, when the time comes to ask questions, ask questions. Do not use that time to try to insert yourself as another panelist by offering your own position on...whatever. Questions, not editorials. Don't know what a question is? Find a goddamn dictionary. I swear, every con I do, you get these people who, during the brief Q&A at the end of panels, waste the whole five minutes– with no thought to others who may have questions – quacking on...and on...and on...like a duck caught in an olive press until I want to punch him or her in the ear.
See? Best I wait. Though, the longer I wait, the more the memories fade, and the less interest I'll have in saying much of anything at all. But this is the way of things.
Unlikely I'll write today. Well, excepting this entry. And it doesn't count. Only that which I am being paid to write counts.
Glad To Be Hot*,
* The forecast indicates the warm weather will be less warm soon, with highs only in the mid '70˚s F. That's not summer. That's barely spring.