So, tomorrow I'm off to World Horror down in Brighton.
It promises to be a lot of fun, although maybe not the informal boozeup that is Fantasycon. There will be many publishers, editors and writers there and there'll be opportunities to pitch stuff. Sadly I have nothing, as yet, to pitch- The Song Of The Sibyl (undergoing rewrites) is earmarked for a particular publisher, so it'd be bad form to offer it elsewhere till they have said yea or nay. Probably say nay, now... ah well.
But it'll be a chance to meet the likes of Barbara and Chris Roden, who published my first collection, and Ellen Datlow, face to face at last. And also there will be: Dennis Etchison, Melanie Tem and Steve Rasnic Tem, Roberta Lannes, Lisa Tuttle, Lisa Morton... and that's just a few of the American authors whose work influenced me as a writer coming on song in the mid-90s. Most of these names will mean nothing to you unless you read a lot of contemporary horror fiction. But if you do, they'll mean plenty.
And there'll newer writers on the scene, like John Avjide Lindqvist (Let The Right One In) and Gemma Files. And, of course, a host of names I know all too well and I'll be glad to sink a pint with once more...
Oh, and Ingrid Pitt. Takes deep breath and releases it- I'm not of the generation that grew up seeing the Hammer horror films at the pictures, but the one just after that never missed a chance to catch them on the TV.
Meanwhile, I have a new housemate due to move in over the weekend while I'm absent. Hopefully I can trust her not to burn the house down, but tomorrow afternoon, before I set off, I have to knock my pesthole of a house into shape.
I was sure I'd rung a Brighton guesthouse (which shall remain nameless here) and booked a room, but when I rang last night the response was : 'Sorry? We've nothing booked in that name.' And they were now fully booked. A tad mortifying. Either I've had a fairly ultimate blonde moment here and noted down the wrong guesthouse (I'll find out this weekend I suppose, when the real one bills me for not showing up) or they ballsed up.
Of course, that wasn't my feeling last night. More like 'OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!' Two days to go till a fairly huge convention and now having to look for a place to stay...
Fortunately I found somewhere, which basically seems to be even nicer than the original choice. 'Breakfast served in your room,' the landlady- who had one of those bright, warm, jolly voices that immediately make you like the owner and feel like you'll be in good hands for the duration of your stay- 'either a bacon roll'- fandabidozi- 'or a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel' -squee! (sorry Chris) '-and your choice of douche.'
Of course, she meant juice, but by the time we cleared that one up it was a toss-up which of us was more embarassed.
Anyway. This should be fun...