Thursday Jack and I left the apartment at 3:30 a.m. to fly to Columbus, Ohio, for World Fantasy Con. It was so early because (1) you can't get directly to Columbus from almost everywhere, and (2) there needed to be time to tussle with the dog, who goes ballistic at the sight of a suitcase. But we got to SeaTac, flew to Atlanta (does this make sense?) and was ready to backtrack to Columbus when the power blew in the Atlanta airport terminal. No passengers could be processed except for those already on the plane, which included us. The jetway could not be detached. So we sat an hour and a half on the tarmac.
Once in Columbus, we registered and then went to dinner with a group that included Ellen Klages, Ted Chiang, Patrick Swenson, Jim Van Pelt, and Therese Pieczinski. The food at Martini was good (although I did feel some skepticism at the waitress's insistence that the calamari was "absolutely fresh" when we were in southern Ohio, not known for its salt-water fishing). A topic of discussion was the up-coming con panel on whether distaste for or disagreement with an artist's private life interferes with the appreciation of his work. Ellen said yes, she can no longer read James Elroy. I said no. Other people weighed in. Should be an interesting panel on Saturday.
Everyone else then repaired to the bar, and I, sleep-deprived, went to bed.