Michael Merriam

Sunday is the day when you awake (or maybe just stay awake) and are unsure about, well, everything. It is the morning you sit up in bed and realize you had pajama pants on when you climbed in, but you woke up without them (or your underwear) on, and you have no idea how that happened. But you find your pants and amble to the shower, starting the coffee pot along the way. You rummage around and dress in the last of your clean clothes, round up some breakfast, and have a mumbled conversation with your roommates about the logistics of packing out of the room. Then you pick up the cash box, grab coffee, and slowly make your way to the dealers room, where we all look at each other, silently agree not to ask too many questions, and go about the business of opening our tables before the first wave of customers arrive. Someone volunteers to go get coffee, which makes them Hero of the Revolution.

But then something happens. Maybe it’s the coffee and monster drinks. Maybe it’s the infectious energy of the convention and all the members. Maybe it is the comradely and the knowledge that we are all in this together. Suddenly, the energy comes up and we start wandering to each other’s tables, hawking each other’s wares, trading stories about conventions and lives. The table next to you gets swamped and everyone else helps get the line formed, makes sure everyone has drinks, then settles in to heckle and harass the con artist (Convention Artist!). We laugh, we joke, we connect on a personal level with each other and every single person who stops long enough to say hello and look at what we are selling. Exhausted, tingling with energy, and running on empty, we keep each other up and buoyant until it is time to close.

Then Sherry, Kevin, and I closed down the table, and I was off to my last programming item, “Advice for Writers.” I took questions from the audience, hopefully gave them some good advice. I tried to be personable and helpful. I wanted to give them clear-eyed advice, but not be too discouraging. They seemed receptive and there were several good questions.

Then it was time to wrap up the convention: Closing Ceremonies.

We found ourselves in a place surrounded by all our new friends, people we had come to adore in just a few short days. We laughed and applauded, and afterward, Sherry and I went around and shook hands with and hugged all the amazing people who make CoreCon happen. We said our good-byes, stopped to eat some hot food, and got on the road, leaving CoreCon behind.

The drive was quiet and uneventful, which was perfect. We arrived home, unloaded the car, and then recovered our Kitty, who was pleased to be home indeed.

Oh, CoreCon, I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed you. You made me so welcome. Everyone was so filled with energy that it spilled over onto everything. The people were amazing, friendly, and funny. The rooms were welcoming and warm, filled with good food, good drink, and good conversation. I made so many new friends; people who I want to celebrate our shared passion for all things geek and nerdy with again and again.

It was a fantastic experience.

Some of you might have heard me mention at some point, perhaps once or twice, that I was to be the Author Special Guest at CoreCon in Moorhead, MN. That happened this past weekend.

Thursday night was packing night. We packed up our clothes, some food, my stock of books, a costume for my wife to wear while judging the costume contest. Mr. Belyn was of great assistance in the matter.

Then we trundled off to bed to get a good night’s sleep before hitting the road.

Friday -

We left early Friday morning, first driving south to Savage, MN to drop of Mr. Belyn at the cat sitters, then north to Moorhead, stopping once to stretch and walk around at a spot with a historical marker about a smugglers trail. Inside the rest station was a state road map, something I haven’t seen in a couple of years.

We stopped one more time for gas and arrived at the Days Inn – Moorhead. We were greeted enthusiastically by the convention organizers, but our room wasn’t quite ready and there was a medical emergency with a hotel guest, so we drove over to the Village Inn restaurant for warm food. Full and happy, we returned to the hotel, got our room key, and upon entry was greeted by a lovely gift basket.

At first I was daunted by the strange hotel, but there were these helpful posters all over the con space.

We hit opening ceremonies which, while not without glitches, was good fun (which become the stuff of amusement and laughter- this was one of the truly lovely and joyful things about CoreCon, even when things were going a little awry, everyone took it in good humor and made the best of the situation).

Sherry and Kev the Roadie helped me set up my table and display in the dealers room,

 
where we found ourselves next to these desperadoes

and across from these folks, who had a taste for terror , and all of them were the absolute best neighbors you could ask for in the dealers room.

No sooner were we set up then I had to head for my first programming item: I was helping crew the bridge for the Artemis Bridge Simulator Demo. Our captain was the ever-funny Joseph Scrimshaw and two of our crew were from the Kamikazi Snowmen, which meant four entertainers, so you might have a guess about how it went. Yes, we died horribly. And quickly. Twice. But we were entertaining, and the crowd laughed and had a good time.

Right after that was finished, we had to grab books and head for my reading. Special thanks here to everyone who helped Sherry and I carry books out of the dealer’s room, through the bar and restaurant, and into the comedy club. I read my work-in-progress, A Study in Violet off my wife’s brand new smartphone and later from Old Blood’s Fate. We had a decent turn out considering I’m not a World Famous Author Person. After the reading I returned and manned my table until they closed the dealers room.

We ended Friday by taking a turn about the convention, visiting with people and–mindful that cons are a marathon and not a sprint–found food and drinks before heading for bed.

How softly
decay sets in
making their love
a quiet thing –
longed for touches
glances over coffee.

The years have made them
wise.

Familiar selves and routine
days replace the burning agony
of passionate youth.

Now, they wish
to turn to each other
weeping, clinging –
desperate to hold
to keep the chill
away.

How true the decades
have made them
how together
the years have let them
become.

He leaned into the young woman, gently caressing her cheek with the barest feather-light touch of his fingertips. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth slightly, her tongue darting out to moisten lips parted for his kiss.

“Dear Contessa Moretti,” Arkady Bloom whispered, placing his other hand on her hip, the soft fabric of her dinner dress pliable under his embrace. Only the finest for the most favored niece of the Italian ambassador. He ran his hand up her side, stopping mere inches from her breast before stoking back down and over her hip, caressing the top of her outer thigh. “I have so been waiting for this moment.”

She swept the top hat from Bloom’s head with a pale hand, tossing it to the chaise lounge nearby. As it landed with a soft thud, she reached behind her head and pulled the long silver pin from her hair, allowing the dark brown locks to cascade down. “As have I, Mr. Bloom.” She struck like an angry viper, stabbing at Bloom’s neck with the sharp pin.

Bloom twisted away, moving with the speed and grace of his sídhe ancestors. He slapped the hand that held the pin, sending the sharp silver ornament flying across the room. It stuck in the back cushion of a chair. The fabric around the pin began to smoke.

“Really, Contessa, I had no idea you felt that way about me.”

She backed away from him with an elaborate string of what Bloom thought were probably curses and spat at his feet. “As if I would lie down with a half-blood thing.”

He smiled at her, picking up his hat and placing it on his head while keeping a close watch on her. He had taken what he really wanted from her. It was time to leave. “While I admit the idea of partaking of your charms held a certain temptation, it seems your temperament, my dear, renders us incompatible as companions.”

Bloom stepped around her, keeping her in his line of sight. He backed toward the door, picking up his cane from where it rested against the frame. He tipped his hat to her. “Good-day to you, Contessa.”

Bloom reached behind his back and turned the door knob, pulling it open. He planned to slip out while making sure she did not manage to stab a knife into his back. He came up against something hard as he backed through the doorway. Bloom looked over his shoulder at the thing that had stymied his retreat, his eyes widening in surprise.

It stood over six and half feet tall, a huge, blocky individual that was once a man but now…now it was a mindless man-creature, its eyes grey-white orbs, its skin ashen and bloodless. A ticking clockwork pump strapped to its back hummed as it pushed light blue fluid through a tube into the creature’s neck. The man-creature was dressed in the leather apron of a butcher, its shirt and trousers underneath the apron and the boots on its feet all showing the telltale dried splatter of the trade. It raised its hands and took a slow, clumsy step into the room, forcing Bloom to retreat from its grasp.

“Oh my,” Bloom muttered.

Contessa Fiorella Moretti laughed, harsh and shrill. “You did not think I would allow you to simply walk out alive once I lured you here, did you, Mr. Bloom?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Curious Case of the Jeweled Alicorn is available in print from The Sam’s Dot Publishing Bookstore and in ebook format from Amazon and Smashwords.

Ask me no more, for fear I should reply;
Others have held their tongues, and so can I;
Hundreds have died, and told no tale before:
Ask me no more, for fear I should reply –

How one was true and one was clean of stain
And one was braver than the heavens are high,
And one was fond of me: and all are slain.
Ask me no more, for fear I should reply.

–A. E. Housman