It is by caffeine alone I set my hand in motion…

Well, that and a fistful of Mentats. Apologies, of course, to both Frank Herbert and the people of post-nuclear America.

The last week has been pretty eventful. I made a trip East for the annual St. Louis Pagan Picnic, as well as an evening with some friends I hadn't seen since 2010. It was the sort of weekend I come out of wishing that I had a weekend afterward to recover -- I spent Monday on wishing my dogs weren't such effective alarm clocks and quietly cursing Seanan McGuire for writing books that keep me up past my bedtime -- but any 48 hours that feels like community and has a savory coffee house/drag show/gay bar center is worth it.

This weekend has been eventful, too, but in ways that have allowed for falling asleep more or less whenever I want to, with one really brilliant exception: yesterday's Save the Bookstores shindig at Village Books.

I got to spend the morning and early afternoon with Bridget Bufford (Minus One, Cemetery Bird), Martin and Neil from Uncle Robot Presents, B. Kent (Snow Boy, Afraid, and proprietress of The Book Times), and several folks from the Central Missouri Scale Modelers.

Despite the inevitable performance anxiety I always feel, I love to do events like this. It's fun to meet people who want to ask questions or chat, and I love the bizarre conversations I get to have with the other folks involved behind the table. I mean, before yesterday I had no idea that carbaryl (better known as Sevin) is readily absorbed by the scrotum, or that getting a high gloss on a scale model paint job sometimes requires judicious application of toothpaste. Now I do. Plus, selling books at a bookstore tends to result in having a bit of pocket money while being in a bookstore.

Of course, that last bit exacerbates my sleeping problems...

This post has been mirrored from Christian A. Young's Dimlight Archive. To see it in its original format, visit dimlightarchive.com