Cowgirl Contemporary Fantasy

On the last day of the World Fantasy Conference, I attended a panel regarding the art of leaving things to the reader's imaginations.  Some of the comments got me to thinking, and I knew this was an important topic for me, as I usually try to hit my audience over the head with whatever point I am trying to make.  Repeatedly.  With a big-ass hammer. When I was a kindergartener, I suffered from chronic nightmares.  While my sister dreamed of watchdog rocks that blew her on the butt and scrambled her like a TV screen, I don't remember much of what I dreamed.  I only remember that it terrified me and occasionally gave me glimpses of Armageddon. I loved to poke around in my dad's library in the office, which sounded grand, but it really consisted of a shit-ton worth of books on bowed bookshelves.  Most were pretty heavy-duty, consisting of dad's college texts from his chemistry degree, his chemistry set, and Step-Grandpa Art's artificial kidney.  There ...

I'm sitting in the Denver International Airport, and I'm so excited to be on my way to the WFC that I can barely contain myself.  I was going to edit during my layover, but I can't muster enough concentration... Hey!  Look!  There's a bird! Seriously, there's a tweety bird hanging out by my departure gate. I'll be spotty for the next few days on Twitter and on the blog.  The conference schedule is packed and I'm staying with a cousin instead of at the hotel.  I'll be spending a lot of time driving and soaking up info, and sadly, my phone freezes whenever I tweet. If you're coming to conference, I can't wait to meet you!