Now that I've met the famed word sorceress (a.k.a.: Rachel Hartman) I can die happy.
Not that I particularly want to die now.
GAH! I (possibly) know the name of her next novel BUT I shan't reveal it *wiggly eyebrows* OH YES, I'm a sneaky secret-keeper-reformed-blabber-mouth when I want to be. I didn't think Dracomachia was that much of a mouthful but the new one, GOOD GOLLY it's good!
As was expected, I was late to the reading. I think this is the last time I will depend on a ride from anyone. I've been talking about this event ever since a MONTH ago but, as usual, my parents (who I have to run everything by) forgot. I would've arranged to go alone but when I mentioned it at the beginning of the month, it was agreed that I would get a ride there.
To make a long story short: arguing ensued. Tears were shed. And I was dropped off late. Running like a penguin in heels, I launched myself through the door to the library... or what I thought was the library. It was the nearby old folks' community center. After leaving that place, I relaunched myself through the door to the library and proceeded to enter the den of awesomeness. The supermegaawesomeauthor read the first chapter of the book and later on she read some of chapter four (Seraphina's introduction of her visions). There was music. Glorious music. Aldous Huxley had the right idea: "After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."
I had a whole speech planned out, I even made cue cards yesterday but left them at home. I remember writing the beginning of it: "Your word-sorceress-ship-ness" and just dissolving into gibberish. Thankfully they didn't accept credit cards because I had to run a block to the nearest gas-station with an ATM to get money to buy the newest edition of Seraphina and a COMIC BOOK *dies*. I forgot my speech on the way back.. not because I wasn't muttering it to myself like a crazy lady but because my right leg seized up and I must have looked like quite the sight, doing a weird version of a limp-run to the library.
~My collection of everything Rachel Hartman.~
Rachel Hartman knew who I was. SHE KNEW I WAS GOING TO UBC. She was... I don't even know if I can describe her. I think I said 'awesome' 5 times too many... I honestly couldn't think of any adjectives but bless her magical-soroceress-heart, she said that the perfect excuse in not being able to express myself properly is because I am a writer and not a talker. Dear Rachel Hartman, if you are reading this then know that my brain probably combusted a few times. I probably spoke a lot BUT that's because I was truly in awe.
YOU GUYS, she was the humblest of all the humble magiciennes des mots. I almost took my glasses out of their case to tell her that we were twins because my lenses were also rectangular... I know, I've turned into a basket case. I gave her one of the George Eliot bookmarks I got and now I'm beginning to worry because I can't find mine anywhere. It's chaos I tell you.
I think I really enjoyed her talk because here was someone who had this way of dealing with the people in her head. She gave definitions to what I was interested in, 'a geography of the mind' and having a place in your mind which deals with symbols and as ineffective as the process may be, that place allows explanations to bubble up by themselves. That's the best way to articulate the random stuff in my head.
Hopefully my sore calves heal before this author-high wears off because if I allow myself a chance to concentrate on the pain in my legs I can feel a searing bolt of shiny pain traveling to my lower back. Yes, pain is now shiny
