Not a Proper Entry, In Which I Talk About Talking

I keep meaning to write a proper entry about Elizabeth Bear's reading/signing/book launch at Bakka last weekend, but, well, "proper entry" and me are two things that don't seem to mix well at the moment. Can't even pull things together for an entry on the work blog. (Can you say "Aaaargh, I'm swamped!"? Because I can. And do. And then eat a clementine.)

What was noticeable about that particular Saturday was the cold. The terrible, evil, numbing cold. Even though I'd been looking forward to this event since it was announced and had declared my intention to be there, when it came time to actually prepare myself to go out in the -18 degree weather (not to mention the wind chill), I wasn't particularly ... enthusiastic. My warm pile of blankets seemed so nice. But I said to myself, aloud and everything, "You're Canadian. You can handle this," and proceeded to put on about half of the clothes in my closet and an interesting collection of outdoor gear. I wasn't colour-coordinated, but my god, I was actually warm. Most of the time.

I was able to talk with Bear herself somewhat briefly, which was nice, though I always seem to lose my ability to construct sentences more complicated than, "Nice book. Pretty words. Write me another!"

Sometime during the launch, Chris officially announced that Bakka is moving to Queen Street, west of Bathurst. I'm happy--a bigger Bakka can only be good--and yet part of me is sad, too, because I've only ever known the store when it was on Yonge. And now I have to figure out the best TTC route from here to there ...

Anyway, I chatted quite a bit with Sarah, Leah and Roopen about the sad, sorry and likely permanent absence of the Eco-Challenge (boo, hiss, Mark Burnett. That's right: BOO! HISS!), the plan to flood the Toronto Arts Council with genre submissions for funding (because really, who couldn't use a grant?), and the delightfully sick and twisted ideas for Canlit SF. There was alcoholism, and space, and zombie Newfies and a farming combine. I think I've managed to block out the rest. Lord help us if anyone actually writes this--though, you know, it might actually get a grant.

Oh, I know, I try ever so hard to be open and interested in all sorts of genres, but Canlit (or should I say, Canadian Lit-rah-ture) really just drives me crazy. Enough with the moody moping already!

And speaking of chatting, last night I phoned M'ris. I think we've known and spoken to each other online for approaching four years, but this was the first time that I'd actually heard the sound of her voice (and she mine). And, I admit, I was a little nervous to call, because what if after all the email and journal entries and whatnot, we just had nothing to say to each other? I needn't have worried--though in the end I did need to apologize to my body for going to bed so much past my usual bedtime. A happy sense of relief.