2. Speaking of elevators: there weren’t enough of them. After waiting for one for twenty minutes, at which point we took the stairs up to our room. On the seventeenth floor.

3. Man taking a doggie sticker: “That’s my lucky dog!”

I informed him that he was correct.

4. Woman taking a gun sticker: “That’s what my heart looks like.”

5. Best outfit on anyone during the whole show: the three-year-old girl in a Spiderman muscle costume. I’m sorry I don’t have a photo.

6. Sean’s latest genius object: Smokin’ Zombies!

7. Useful Tip: When there is a bottle of fancy water on the table at the hotel restaurant, do not assume that it is on the table because that is the only kind of water they serve. Assume that if you open it, it will cost you more than eight dollars.

7.5. Conversely, do not assume that just because a restaurant has a dumb name, that it will not be a good restaurant.

8. Admonition from a gentleman passing by the table: “Don’t let the loonies get you!” He paused. “Unless…they already have!”

9. Ninety five percent of the announcements made over the PA system, I completely could not understand, what with the noise in the room, the distortion, et cetera. Fortunately, the one that I did was about a gentleman who had lost a fanny pack containing pain medications. I’d been wondering whose fanny pack was underneath our table.

10. When you come to the end of an intense convention weekend, it’s great to have a task to accomplish.

It was a good thing we decided to check the tires while we were still in the parking lot.

It measures how much one’s holiday experiences diverge from the media ideal.

I haven’t quite figured out the actual numerical part, but it might be like when you’re using a level and you assess how many bubbles off plumb something (or someone) is. So your holidays could be, say, four Rockwells off.

Like mine.

In other news: Steve and I are now in Columbus for the Mid-Ohio-Con, and we’ve already met some lovely people who totally know some of my friends at the Ann Arbor District Library, because as Steve says, all towns are small when you deal only with the literate.

The theme of the workshop was about finding a sense of self and place in young adult literature. Our panel was about place in different genres within YA, and I’m still thinking about it. We each had about five minutes, and I’ll give you a tiny snippet of  what we said. Cecil Castellucci talked about how a scene (punk, movie monster-making, etc.) can be a place, how a city can be a character, how art itself is a safe place for a lot of us. Holly Black talked about how description in fantasy needs to suggest, even before any fantastic elements come into the story, that the reader is someplace unexpected, where anything might happen. Garret Freymann-Weyr discussed how inextricable place is from memory. I talked about how in Rules, Battle adjusts very quickly to Portland, and the very ease of that adjustment to a new place underscores how hard it is for her to connect with and understand her brother. (I also told everyone about the anxiety dream I had the night before, appropriate for a conference full of English teachers: that all of us had to relate our own work to the Great Gatsby.) Jo Knowles talked about how an abuser can make every place feel unsafe, but also how places can, eventually, be reclaimed. And Ann Angel did a search for all the places mentioned in the anthology she edited, Such A Pretty Face, and saw that the places mentioned most often — bathrooms, locker rooms, bedrooms — were all locuses of anxiety about where the characters fit in the world.

I was so glad to have the chance to be part of the conference.

More soon, but right now, it’s sunny and I’m going for a walk.

One of which is my birthday.

I am suffering again from an attack of Too Many Open Tabs. Heading home in the Now It’s Really Winter darkness on the rain-slick road, I start listing all the tasks I have to finish before I get on the plane Friday morning. “Don’t talk about them while you’re driving,” says Steve.

About the weekend: once again, thanks to everyone who came to my writing workshop on Saturday, and thanks to the Lynnwood Library for hosting. Like I said, the library did great PR for my appearance. I’d seen the website graphic, but it wasn’t until I got to the branch that I saw the fliers and bookmarks. Very cool, but somehow disconcerting to see my own face smiling out at myself.

It was such a quick trip I didn’t get to see everyone I’d have liked to see (although it was excellent seeing everyone that I did) (but some of you were out of town). But I wanted to get back home as fast as possible since I knew I’d be leaving again so soon. I’m sure I’ll be back up there before too long. For Emerald City Comicon if not before.

Back to the tabs.  I was writing that list of things I had to do, and then the list expanded to multiple categories, with multiple items under each one. I didn’t even have that much coffee today, but the little hamster in my head was running running running in its wheel, and I didn’t know how to slow it down.

Then I remembered I had some reading material that had just come in on hold. To wit: I’m A Lebowski, You’re A Lebowski: Life, The Big Lebowski, And What Have You.

I did not pour myself a White Russian. I poured a different beverage. But I stopped scribbling furiously on my to-do list, and I started reading. Didn’t stop til I was done, with many pauses for cracking up. It was exactly what I needed.

And now, in not especially Dude-like fashion (maybe more like Maude? Or Brandt?) I can cross an item off my list. Because one of them was about how I should blog.

Exactly seven days later, at 2 pm Saturday, November 17th, I’ll have a signing at the National Conference of Teachers of English in equally beautiful (but in a different way) New York City.

And then, on Monday the 19th at 1:30 pm, I’ll be on a panel for the Assembly on Literature for Adolescents Workshop, with several illustrious compatriots: Holly Black, Cecil Castellucci, Garret Freymann-Weyr, and Jo Knowles; we will be illustriously moderated by Ann Angel.

10 am Saturday, November 24th, I’ll be at the Mid-Ohio Con, mostly to sell comics, but I’ll have some Rules and Empresses on hand, too.

I’m excited!

(Also kind of tired just thinking about it.)

But mostly excited!

September 28th, 2007: I wear Bill Mudron’s cap at a Stumptown pre-party.

(Also pictured, from right: Terri Nelson, Patrick Farley, and part of Steve Lieber. Photo by ocean yamaha.)

The next night, I take my one and only Stumptown photo, of the refrigerator downstairs at Cosmic Monkey.

In 1997, I could count the Portland people I knew on the fingers of one hand.

In 2007, I need both hands and both feet just to get through all the members of the studio.

How did it happen? The right place, the right time. But you don’t know if it’s the right place, you can’t know that it’s the right time. I remember the night, a few months after we’d moved to Portland, when I kept pushing the radio button presets in my car and getting nothing but static. Finally it dawned on me: they were still set to Ann Arbor stations.

I’ve sat at a lot of tables at a lot of comic conventions since. I used to be notorious for bailing out. Sometimes I’d come back with a sandwich for Steve. Not always. (Sorry, man.)

Then I started writing comics. (Remember about vampirism?) These days, not only do I not leave the con, I often don’t even leave the table.

Everything I bought at Stumptown 2007 was from Dylan Meconis: some original art from Click (not to be confused with the multiple-author novel of the same name, which sounds cool, though I have not yet read it) and a super Shrinky-Dink necklace of a two-page comics spread, panels and word balloons only. Congratulations, Dylan: you’ve made an identity badge for comics writers.

It was 1994, not 1997, when the Offspring released “Come Out And Play (Keep ‘Em Separated),” but allow me a little artistic license with my ten-years-ago vs. today musings, because for the longest time, I tried so hard to keep ‘em separated: librarian life, writer life — and it’s impossible. The library has a table at Stumptown. I didn’t work at it this year, but I have. Other library staff were at non-library tables. People who knew me from the library asked me library questions while I sat at my comics-writer table. I was on a panel about Comics in Libraries and I shifted between writer perspective and librarian perspective so many times I got a sort of mental whiplash. (It was nice to hear the library called “radical and anomalous,” though.) Both/and. Not either/or. You’d think I’d have figured that out sooner.

Two people asked me, “What themes do you usually write about?”

I think the question was code for: “Are there always queer girls and do they always make out?”

But I looked at everything on my table and said, “Relationships and performance.”

A few more things about Stumptown:

This was the first year for costumes.

Photo again by ocean yamaha.

Spacious Chinese restaurants work well for the inevitable Gigantic Con Dinner, but you can never order enough Pepper Salted Pei Pa Tofu, because no one who hasn’t had it before thinks they’re going to like it, but then they totally do.

It was great to introduce friends to other friends. I had a good conversation with an exhibitor up from L.A., remembered how much I’d liked talking with her last year, and finally deployed the power of the Internet to learn her last name. She wants to move to Portland, it turns out.

October 1, 2007: I’m paying for breakfast, entirely in ones. The barista smiles, raises an eyebrow, and asks, “Are you moonlighting?”

Yes, actually. Have been for years.

I came for a job. I got a community. Thanks, everyone.

P.S. Because I didn’t remember to tag my previous Stumptown posts with News/Appearances (my lack of tagging skills is perhaps the subject of another post), I will tag this one and take this opportunity to let y’all know about the next couple places I’ll be:

• Assembly on Literature for Adolescents Workshop: Helping Teens Discover A Sense of Place and Self Through YA Literature, New York: November 19-20.

• Mid-Ohio-Con, Columbus: November 24-25.

9:30 A.M. Friday: In line for coffee I realize that the girls in front of me are discussing the fact that they will soon have to put on their Pokemon character costumes, and how much they prefer being mascots at car shows. “Car shows are so FUN!”

to be continued.

Flytrap: Episode Three: Over the Wall: The story behind Bishop’s first tattoo.

Einbahnstrasse Waltz: High school orchestra trip to Vienna. Gin and tonic, marzipan, angst. A standalone story.

and Click: A snapshot of Battle’s senior year in high school, between Empress and Rules. Let’s just say she won’t be going to any reunions.

All three will debut at Comic-Con and shortly thereafter make their way onto ComicSpace. Needless to say, I am thrilled!

And about Comic-Con: again, I’ll be there Friday through Sunday. You’ll be able to find me some of the time in Artist’s Alley at table II-03, and on Sunday on this panel:

11:30-1:00 Comics Are Not Literature—For years, comics have presented themselves as a new kind of literature—but cartooning isn’t prose, and graphic novels aren’t novels. What if conflating comics with “literary” storytelling is a terrible mistake? Douglas Wolk (Reading Comics) moderates what should be a contentious discussion with Cecil Castellucci (The PLAIN Janes), Dan Nadel (PictureBox Inc.), Austin Grossman (Soon I Will Be Invincible), Paul Tobin (Spider-Man Family), and Sara Ryan (The Rules for Hearts). Room 8

Over and out. Time will tell if I can post anything from the show…

Last night, around eleven thirty, there was a small group of us at the studio, all working, and Rich asked me, “Typical Saturday night for you?”  “Um, yeah, actually.”

I’m reading, among other things, The Final Act: the roads to Waterloo by Gregor Dallas, for what he says about cities and diplomats and nobility and intrigue and power.

And I should mention that I’ll be at Comicon Friday through Sunday. You’ll be able to find me some of the time in Artist’s Alley at table II-03, and on Sunday on this panel:

11:30-1:00 Comics Are Not Literature—For years, comics have presented themselves as a new kind of literature—but cartooning isn’t prose, and graphic novels aren’t novels. What if conflating comics with “literary” storytelling is a terrible mistake? Douglas Wolk (Reading Comics) moderates what should be a contentious discussion with Cecil Castellucci (The PLAIN Janes), Dan Nadel (PictureBox Inc.), Austin Grossman (Soon I Will Be Invincible), Paul Tobin (Spider-Man Family), and Sara Ryan (The Rules for Hearts). Room 8

Preparing for contention, I remain.

And I stole this report about the comics panel from the Periscope blog.

Thievingly yours, I remain, etc.