August 27, 2013 by Laird
I drove up to Providence last Thursday for Necronomicon with Bob Waugh and John Langan. It had been a few years since I officially attended a convention. The committee put us up in a suite at the historic Biltmore. Over the weekend, I participated on panels dedicated to Mythos and weird fiction. I conducted readings alongside Joe Pulver, Michael Cisco, Mike Griffin, and Scott Nicolay. I met readers and signed books and got a look at lovely Providence herself. Many thanks to Niels Hobbs and a team of scores and scores for their work putting together one of the best conventions I can recall.
A slew of us sat around the suite each night, drinking scotch and discussing Gilligan’s Island versus Moby Dick, the problematic nature of Lovecraft’s work and how the New Weird is not a thing. Langan and Jack Haringa waxed revelatory, but Selena Chambers was persuaded to not live tweet their indiscretions while Simon Strantzas crossed his arms and shook his head in grim disapproval and Joe Pulver muttered that he’d never die and hunted for his fiddle.
Too much happened and I saw too many friends and colleagues to do the weekend justice. So, I’ll keep it to a minimum. I drank Wathens. I drank Laphraoig. I drank Lagavulin 16. Knob Creek. Nameless whiskey casked in California. Something from a flask that Sandor Silverman handed me. Space Mead. A shot or three from Bob Waugh’s gin store.
Then Cisco summoned a byakhee to the roof of the Biltmore and it flapped into the starry void, bearing Strantzas and Richard Gavin insensate in its claws. Back to Canada, I presume. The rest of us polished off the booze and called it a con.