Right, enough about the sightseeing. What we really went to Glasgow for was Worldcon (the World Science Fiction Convention, for those who don't know) after all. It was fantastic, and huge, and exhausting, and for the whole week afterwards, I kept checking my watch every hour, wondering where I had to be now.
I probably did too much. I know I tried to, but Trev did (mostly) succeed in making me pause for things like food. I am awed, and informed, and inspired, most especially to actually send more stories out. I do have a confession to make. I went with the intention of trying to meet editors. There were certainly enough of them present. I chickened out.
I can think of two reasons for this. One is that I get very shy among large crowds of strangers - and there were about 4,000 people at this thing. Of whom I knew, oh, maybe a dozen, at a generous estimate. But that's not the main reason. Really, it's the fear that if I go up to an editor (most of whom seem to be men my father's age) and say "Hi, I've written a book" they'll give me a slightly disbelieving look and say something along the lines of "Have you? That's nice dear."
I know I'm not giving them a fair chance here. It's just that when I used to tell people I was Chair of London Quilters (which I was for two years, stepping down a year or so ago) I'd get such looks of astonishment and disbelief that I've been forced to conclude that I look a) far too young to be/have done any such thing, and/or b) too flaky.
I'm reminded of when my mother, at around this same age, ran for City Council or some such thing, and failed to get taken at all seriously, for much the same reasons. Of course, looking flaky might not be so detrimental to a writer.
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