Wednesday, August 3

Made it here, but not entirely in one piece. I did, however, keep the tooth that broke off while eating dinner at Chicago O'Hare. It's one of my root canals and hadn't been a very good candidate to begin with, so this isn't a huge surprise, but it freaked me out a little to have something like that happen on a trip to the UK, a place not known for its cutting-edge dentistry. It doesn't hurt, though. I didn't even know it had broken until I bit down on it with the other side and put a tiny chip in one of those teeth. Ow. I've determined that if I am gentle with the broken tooth I should be okay for the next three weeks.

But Scotland. Scotland is as pretty as it ever was. I can't believe I'm here again. This is getting to feel like habit. And that's kind of nice. Not so much fumbling around as on trips past. I guess I've got the basics down, and now can look past things like figuring out the money or driving on the left. I'm still very careful crossing the street, though. I find myself looking the wrong direction when I step off the curb. Oh...kerb.

My seatmate on the flight over pegged me for fen immediately, and asked me if I was going to the convention. It turns out the plane was carrying quite a few of us.

I was able to sleep on the flight, which is a change from last time. Bless whoever had the bright idea of putting headrests on airplane seats designed to hold up a person's head. I'd bought one of those neck pillows, and ended up not needing it. I still arrived tired, but not achey and zombotoid like I had on the last trip.

Immigration went smoothly and I hit the ATM machine for my daily allotment of cash without any fuss or muss. Got to talking to the cab driver on the way to the hotel, and when I mentioned I was a writer he said, "Then what are you doing in Nashville?" I had to laugh. Even in Glasgow they know.

Check-in being in the afternoon and I arrived at the hotel in such a timely manner that it was still mid-morning, I ended up crashing out, surrounded by luggage, in the lounge of the hotel. I was gone for three hours, a shock to me because sleeping in public is not something I even thought I could do. Goes to show how tired I was. When I awoke it was 1P, the lounge had emptied out of people waiting for rooms, and the girl at the desk was surprised I hadn't been allowed to check in earlier. I am surprisingly mellow about it, just glad I am not as exhausted as I was on my last trip when I had to pull over in Glencoe to sleep, or the trip before that when I had to wait two hours in a train station to get to Edinburgh.

Nice room. Okay, small but nice room. And not nearly as small as I'd feared. I should be able to access the Internet, but the computer is not cooperating. I need a new computer. Talyn is five years old (about a thousand in computer years), and was never all that cooperative to begin with where some things are concerned, particularly dialup connections. He's lost two pounds recently, because the brand-new batteries I bought for the sake of keeping him around longer went dead. Won't take a charge, let alone keep one. No Dell next time. Toshiba. After five years of replacing parts, I'm working with Lincoln's ax here.

I'll need to find an Internet café or something tomorrow, and log on to at least set my auto responses for the emails and go nomail for the listserv I'm on. It was stupid of me to not do that before I left.

Fabulous Greek restaurant across the street. Lamb so tender it falls off the bone. Great service. There's a nice take-away shop around the corner, and a couple of Indian restaurants nearby. I think I'm in the right place.

Tomorrow I toddle over to the convention and register.

Friday, August 5

Made my way to the SECC yesterday and made it there in time to cool my heels for an hour, waiting for registration to open. Then another two hours before anything else opened. Then another two hours before the dealers' room opened. It was a leisurely morning, finding where all the rooms where and marking events in the program guide.

Lunch was very nice, in the bistro/bar in the center. Bangers and mash, which is one of my favorite of the UK's contributions to world cuisine. Then I asked about a dessert that was unfamiliar to me, and when the server said it was like a cranachan she said, "But that probably doesn't help much." I said, "No, I do know what that is." I've never tried it, but described it in one of my books. I ordered it, feeling a lot like Jeremy Hilary Boob seeing a hatch for the first time. I knew all about it, but I'd never actually seen one before.

It was really good.

Went to Keith's reading, which was a bit from the "Serenity" novelization, then to a couple of panels. Not much to do until dinner.

One of the panels was about asexuality in SF. All men, talking about how unnecessary sex scenes are and how difficult it is to incorporate them into SF stories. Had I been inclined to say anything, I think I might have suggested they speak for themselves. I find sex scenes to be unutterably easy to incorporate, without disrupting the story. The problem with that is that as soon as a relationship rears its ugly head in a story it gets pegged as "Romance" rather than SF or Fantasy. Just another case of the boys being right because they construct the definitions. I was fairly disgusted by the time I left that room.

Anyway, next was to meet Liz W., Esther and Others in the convention center "lobby." Hrm. There was a lobby of sorts, but it ran the length of the entire building. I parked myself outside registration and hoped I would recognize Liz if I saw her. Happily, I was able to recognize her from quite a distance by the photos I'd seen in Locus, and snagged her before she passed me by. We collected Esther, et. al., and moseyed on to the Ubiquitous Chip.

Fancy schmancy. Extremely nice place, and fabulous food. I had the mutton. "Research," I sez. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. The entire experience took over four hours, and now I have an appreciation for the long, multi-course meals of medieval aristocracy. Fig stuffed with duck, mutton stuffed with mussels, poached meringue with custard, and tea. Earl Grey. Hot. Then they passed around these little shortbready things with clotted cream and raspberries. To die, sez I.

Sunday, August 7

The panel on Friday went well, I thought. "Return of the Queen: Introducing Feminism to a Medieval Setting." The initial reaction was to question the assumption one would want to do that, but several of us mentioned ways to address such issues without creating anachronistic characters. Bottom line, if one is skilled and writes with a full understanding of the period, one can address almost any issue.

Dinner was takeout at this Korean place across the street. Not a clue what it was, and it smelled horrible, but somehow it tasted good.

So Saturday was a day of hanging out and going to some panels. All the rooms here seem to be too small for the crowds trying to attend, so getting in to see pretty much anything is tricky. Get there early, or risk not getting in at all. I've begun to attend the panels before the ones I want to see, just to get a seat.

Dinner with friends last night. Evil Brother James, meerkat, and a few new friends, at the Cul de Sac. Good company. Good food, and not so terribly expensive, served in a stack on the plate. A pile of food. Cheesecake you could die from. One thing about Glasgow, you can get good food here. I suspect once Liz and I leave for the islands that will change.

Now it's Sunday morning, and I've been up since about four o'clock when the hotel fire alarm went off. Just when I though I was going to get over the jet lag, I'm suddenly all screwed up again. Only I'm not even on Tennessee time, either. Right now is when I should be sleepy, but I'm not.

Oh, well, I use the time to read manuscripts for the workshop. I'm about three quarters through the stack, and am still missing three contributions I won't receive until tomorrow sometime.

Wednesday, August 8

Con over. Now for the vaca...uh, research. Yes, research. I swear it. Liz W. picked me up and we made it out of Glasgow in one piece. It was in a timely manner, too. Lunch was by the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. I still think they must design eating places here with an eye to a loch view. It seems everywhere you go to eat there's a bit of water nearby.

Bad luck struck in Glencoe when traffic came to a halt and backed up for miles. Seems there was an accident farther on, and the wait was expected to be hours. Since we were due at a bed and breakfast in Broadford on Skye, we ended up having to take an alternate route and never got to the village of Glencoe. I did get some nifty pictures of the glen I hadn't gotten last time, and when we return south on Friday we'll try to catch the museum there, but for now it ain't happening.

Furthermore, the detour took long enough that we lost two or three hours. By the time we got to Fort William we had to scarf something to eat and bolt northward at an unmentionable speed. The landlady at the B&B in Broadford, hereafter referred to as Anne of Green Gables, was phoning Liz and making dire threats of re-letting our room. As we neared Eilean Donan we called her to tell her we were nearly there. She wanted to know exactly where we were. "What do you see?" she asked. I replied, "Trees and road." I knew exactly where we were, knew we'd arrive within half an hour, and didn't need a hard time, thankyouverymuch. We arrived late and exhausted, having just risked life and limb so our landlady could have her shower. Anne at that point was all smiles. We were ready to smack her.

The night passed uneventfully otherwise, and after a drink in the pub next to the B&B we crashed. The next morning we set off for Lewis. But first the sword place.

Tigh nan Druinich, the place Susanne MacDonald recommended on my last trip here, where they have some mightyfine swords, dirks and jewelry. Their web site doesn't do the work justice; I doubt any photograph could. Very expensive jewelry and cutlery, but I bit the bullet and ordered an ebony-handled sgian dubh with an etched blade. Approximately $350, but it's a very cool knife. They say it'll be about a year's wait for it, but I can be patient for this.

Onward and upward. North to Portree for lunch, then up and around to the ferry at Uig. Gorgeous countryside. We saw this mountain called The Old Man, where spires of rock thrust out of the ground and disappear into mist. Like the Mojave Desert done in granite and grass. There was a waterfall making its way down another hill, where I picked up some bits of flowers and bracken, etc., for my notebook. Got some pretty pictures.

Caught the ferry at Uig and landed on Harris, then tooled on up to Lewis. Dinner at a very good Chinese restaurant in Stornaway. Duck. You can't find duck in Hendersonville. Nor can you find most of anything else I've ordered since being here. There were mutton and mussels at the Ubiquitous Chip, kimchee at the Korean place, venison sausage in Fort William, monkfish in Glasgow, haddock in Portree, Scotch broth at the blackhouse village, and smoked trout and lamb at the Doune Braes down the road from here. Good stuff, Maynard. Also, where else can one be entertained while waiting for dinner by petting the hotel dog?

All the Border collies around here are making me miss Ziggy.

I told Liz that "Bless your heart" is southern for "Aren't you stupid!" She's quite taken by the phrase; I think I've created a monster.

So, we found our B&B on Lewis after narrowly missing a hedgehog and driving down the wrong road to nearly fall into the sea. It was very late and very dark by the time we arrived, and we fell into our beds and unconscious quickly.

This morning we set off for the standing stones at Callanish, where I took some photos. The scenery was quite nice. I'd never been to one of these before; the closest I'd come was the Clava Cairns near Inverness. Now I can say I've seen one.

I've also seen a peat bog finally, and realize I've seen them before without knowing what I was looking at. Around here they're like wheat fields in Kansas. Now I can describe them with far better confidence than before.

Next we went to the Gearrannan Blackhouse Village, where I got to see a, well, you know, black house. These were made of stone, of course, rather than the peat used in most of the houses in my books, but the layout and principle are the same. And thatching is thatching. I took some useful notes.

After dinner we stopped at a broch I'd spotted earlier, and were treated to a gorgeous sunset over a calm sea and a new moon over the millennia-old tower ruin. The place was deserted except for us, and the only sound was sheep chatting to each other in the distance. The ruin was similar to the one I'd imagined for "Son of the Sword," except that the inner wall was partly intact and there was no oak tree poking its branches over the wrecked wall. It was also smaller than I'd imagined, but I don't expect they were all the same size.

I must say that doing this trip with Liz has been far better than the trips I took by myself. She's been finding the most interesting stuff to see, and dealing with details that in the past have just ragged me out. And it's nice to not be five thousand miles away from every familiar face. Nice to relax. Getting punchy, even. Liz and I have decided her Indian name is Two Sneezes, because she sneezes twice each time. We figure, though, it could be worse. Could be Runs With Scissors.

Tomorrow we return to Green Gables and the nutcase landlady Anne, then on to Carlisle on Friday. So many of my stories want scenes set in Carlisle, it'll be nice to have a clue what the place looks like. Then on Saturday begins the Milford Workshop. I'm really looking forward to this.

Monday, August 15

Not much chance to write since Lewis; it's been a mad dash south. Broadford was a quick stop, during which we went back to Portree because of its nice restaurant. There I had what can safely be said was the best haggis I've ever encountered. I also scored a nice, black cashmere scarf for 60% off, earning my Combat Shopping badge for the trip.

Eilean Donan on Friday was still Eilean Donan. Still gorgeous. There's a reason it's one of the most photographed places on the planet.

We did stop in Glencoe this time, and I was able to buy a copy of this little book my travel agent had loaned me a couple of years ago. I couldn't find Inverigan, though. Very strange; I'd thought I'd seen signs to the place when I'd come through before. Huh. In any case, taking a look at the glen again, I was struck by the steepness and closeness of the mountains. It is no wonder the people who lived there thought they were safe. I saw the Devil's Staircase, too. Kind of creepy. A rock-strewn path coming nearly straight down the side of the mountain.

Made it to Carlisle and hauled luggage up two flights of stairs, not counting the front stoop. Liz grabbed necessaries and left her bag in the car, but I had a lot of repacking to do and needed things not easily reached. So I brought everything. This room was a bit bigger than the last one, so there was room on the floor to put the suitcase.

Dinner was at a place in the town center called "Pancho's." Mexican food in England. Right. I ordered something that sounded a bit like a burrito but wasn't. It was good, but not terribly Mexican. Liz commented that a Californian eating Mexican food in England is a bit like her turning down a shot of Scotch. Which did happen. Honest. Those who know Liz will think I'm telling tales, but she really did decline a free shot of Ben Nevis at the distillery in Fort William. This day was filled with strange things.

Saturday at Carlisle Castle. I'd dropped my camera putting it in the car, and so when it started to act up I thought I'd destroyed it. But the memory stick had only jarred loose, and when I removed the battery and restored everything it worked. Big relief. So there are photos of this castle, which I wish I'd had while writing "Sword of the White Rose." Oh, well. I'm sure Alex will be back around to Carlisle as well, and now I know more about what the place looked like seven centuries ago.

Onward and southward, the rain gave us trouble at Manchester. Rain and roadwork, really. Manchester has a loop, somewhat like Washington where I495 makes a complete circle. Road construction had removed the signs for our exit, so we missed it and ended up making a circuit and a half around the entire city. Manchester's scenic route is about what one would expect; not even as pretty as Washington. By the time we escaped the gravitational field of that place lunch had been delayed enough we stopped at a service plaza for a heaping helping of grease. Then on to Wales.

Trigonos, near Caernarvon, is a gorgeous facility. A Victorian mansion with garden and outbuildings. My room looks out over a babbling brook and is larger than the sort of room you'd find in a Holiday Inn. Mind-boggling luxury after the tiny rooms I've had since arriving in Scotland. The table on which I've set my computer has a pleasing view, and I can hear various birds outside. The property has two Border collies. I miss Ziggy.

The Milford folk seem very nice. It takes a bit to acclimate, especially for me because I tend to be quiet around people I don't know. But yesterday's critique session was similar enough to the GRW way of doing things that I feel confident the rest of the week will go smoothly. They all seem to have a good handle on the craft, and some of the pieces I've read are of superior quality. Nothing here that's unreadable, which can't be said of the NIPW students.

Now it's Monday, and I've settled in for the week. Once I've finished reading the workshop submissions, I'll be able to get some work done on the proposal at hand. I've begun construction on it, but this trip is making my brain buzz with ideas for the next Alex MacNeil story. Discipline. I must finish the immediate work first. Meanwhile, I make notes in my PDA for the Alex story.

Tuesday, August 16

My day for the hot seat. Not too painful, and worth the trip, I think. Of the eleven people who read and critiqued my submission to the workshop, ten had useful comments, and I think that is a high ratio of effort to result.

Death by a thousand cuts, but I've been there before and survived. I've conflated the markings to one copy, the better to not have to cart a ton of paper back on the plane. Then I'll print out a hard copy of the novel, make the changes, and put it away until the copyedited manuscript arrives and I can transfer the changes to it. No fuss, no muss, and I'm on to Book Three. Tra-la!

Each day I'm more impressed with the beauty of this place. The surrounding town is rather ordinary, but the property here has a high slate wall around it and trees enough to give the impression of forest, and the back looks out over a lake, beyond which lies Snowdon Peak. It feels almost as remote as the place in the hills I used to live in during high school, which actually was remote. A stream wends across the property, also defined by slate banks. Vines and flowers grow everywhere, and this time of year it seems everything is in bloom. I found a sundial made of pieces of slate on a lawn inside a wattle fence. There are blackberries and apples. I've stayed in hotels that cost many times what this is costing, that were not nearly as pleasing as this. I wish I could afford to come back for the workshop every year, just for hanging out purposes.

Sunday, August 21

More critiquing. I'm impressed with the quality of the work and the realist attitudes of the participants. They all seem to know the awful truths of publishing.

We gathered in the library every evening before dinner, and waited for the bell. It was a real bell. Some drank wine from a box, and we talked of writing, our work, and the cultural differences between Brits and Americans. Folks took walks in the gardens and along the lakeshore. Tuesday night a few of us sat out on a blanket to look at stars. There were some meteors and satellites, and a nearly full moon popped up over the mountains. At that moment I was listening to Clair's Ipod, terribly spooky stuff from Iceland. Jaine tapped me on the back to look, and I turned to see the silvery disk rise over the dark shadow of mountain as the music swelled and sent a shiver down my back.

Thursday finished up the critiquing, then Friday we went on an outing of shopping, lunch to include the infamous chocolate pizza, and a schlep through the local copper mine. In my shopping I was triumphant, having found not only a ceramic mug to replace the one that broke a few weeks ago, but something nifty to hang on the wall. A smoke-on-glass drawing of a man and a dog on a windswept mountain landscape, I think will look nice in my office. I was able to have it shipped, and so won't have to worry about it breaking in my luggage.

The copper mine was plenty of exercise, and involved hard hats. I was glad for the hard hat several times when I banged my head against the rock and beams overhead. As the tunnel narrowed a bit, claustrophobia set in and I became a bit panicky. Several times I had to concentrate on my breathing so I would stop wanting to turn around and leave the mine.

Then came the steps. I heard a rumor there were a hundred eighty-odd of them. Straight up. With my knees, I don't do stairs well, and by the time I got to the top I was in pretty bad shape. I've been hobbling ever since. But it was an interesting tour, and the view from the top of the mountain was spectacular.

Wales, though it doesn't speak to me the same way Scotland does, has its own beauty that is different from England. In certain areas everything seems made of slate, and there is stone on stone on stone. It also seems there are older intact castles than in Scotland. They're everywhere, and they're often whole, while in Scotland it seems the older ones are mostly ruins. Robert the Bruce did trash a lot of places to keep them out of Edward's clutches.

Saturday was goodbye time. It felt like I'd been here forever, but I was leaving too soon. However, there were things to do at home, WorldCon was over, the research done (It's research, I tell you!), and the workshop finished. Time to begin the trek back to the US. Taxi to the train in Bangor, train to Manchester (and thank God for Ian who explained my train ticket and transfer to me), then finally taxi to the hotel (and if the driver thought I didn't know by his expression when he heard the address the fare was going to be high, he shouldn't ever play poker).

The hotel sucked the wet farts out of dead pigeons. No food within a ten-minute walk and the restaurant wasn't open till 7P. When it did finally open, there was a wedding party taking most of the tables and the place was only open for two hours. The elevator didn't work. The room was too hot, no AC, and the window would only open two inches. It was five o'clock in the morning before the temperature dropped enough to get under the sheets. I ordered breakfast for seven o'clock, and it didn't come. No coffee. I began to wonder about the taxi to the airport I'd ordered.

The taxi came, but as I was bringing my luggage to the curb I tripped over a low step and went sprawling, ass over teakettle. I lay there thinking, "Get. Me. Out of here." But the driver just went on and on, explaining why he hadn't helped me with the luggage. I wanted to scream just to get me out of there.

Finally at the airport, got some coffee and my brain returned. Made it onto the plane. Next stop, Chicago, then Nashville.