Writing this at Gatwick Airport with ten minutes of free wifi left, which is apt because ten minutes was, I reckon, the average amount of time I manage to spend in conversation with any one person on any one (of a million) important, personal, silly subjects at WFC in Brighton.
Some conventions are relaxed affairs. You can spend the whole time mostly talking to the same crew of people. Sometimes you can even fall into comfortable silences. They’re nice. But the larger ones, the WFC sized ones, are a four-whirlwind of started threads and turned heads and new voices changing the stream of the conversation, of snatched corridor conversations and great times begun and immediately interrupted.
So apologies to everyone I didn’t see nearly enough of, and thanks to everyone who I did spend time with and had laughs, and said nice things about the upcoming novel, and generally made this year’s WFC an incredible but exhausting experience.
Ten minutes are up. Already.
You guys are amazing.