We had a lovely time out in Spokane this weekend. Two dear friends who are fans of John’s decided that, in a just world, he would have been a guest of honor, so they decided to treat him like one.

They picked us up at the airport, arranged our hotel, provided meals, covered my plane ticket, even arranged for small gifts for our children, as we did not have time to hit the dealer’s room. They made everything easy and joyful.

And their company was the greatest treasure of all, as was the company of another friend who came some distance with two of her children to grace us with her presence.

The weekend was just delightful. The con committee had somehow misunderstood our intention to come, so they had not put us in the program. This meant that, while some folks who wanted to see us missed us, anyone who might have wanted to object missed us, too.

Everyone we spoke with was charming. We met many fans. A few even recognized John as we walked outside and cried with delight. We met some Sad and Rabid Pups, all of whom were gracious and charming.

The town was filled with smoke from local forest fires. Everyone kept joking that the Supreme Dark Lord Vox Day had opened a door to Hell and let the smoke out.

Quite a joyous time.

I don’t really want to comment on the award ceremony or the pre-Hugo reception, except to say: There is a scene in the movie DEVDAS where the main character’s mother is dancing for the family of the hero. She is dancing with such cheer and joy, clearly sharing her happiness with her audience. However, she does not realize that her audience is mocking her.

I find that scene very painful and have trouble watching it. I certainly did not realize, as I joyfully watched the Hugo show, that I was playing the part of the mother.

When I hear the word asterisk, for instance, I think of French comics. I had no notion it was used in sports to note awards that have been tampered with or tainted. So when the MC declared this the Year of the Asterisk, I didn’t realize that this was meant to be snide and insulting.

And that was only one of many slights I did not catch, as I sat that enjoying the show and being happy that everyone was getting along.

But enough about that.

There were a few high points to the convention, other than seeing dear friends and fans.

One was the moment during our kaffe klatch, when a fan of John’s cried out in joy, “Wait! You mean you’re the author of the Prospero series?”

 Another was when years of bitter estrangement between two friends ended with a long overdue hug.

Those things—and the wonderful time we had with friends—were certainly worth the trip!

There was one rather funny moment: I was waiting on the stairs during the Hugo ceremony rehearsal and chatting with the lady behind me. She started in on the speech she was going to give if she won. It became clear early on, it was going to be anti-puppy rant.

I leaned down from the stair above her and said, "Before you say anything you might later wish you had not, I think you should know that I am standing here because I am accepting for Vox Day."

She blurted out in shock, "I am so sorry for you."

I added, "I'm John Wright's wife."

Ken Lui, who was standing behind her, burst out into good natured laughter.

The artist lady and I parted on good terms, but the moment still amused me. It reminded me of the kind of scene you see in movies.

***

I guess I hadn’t mentioned above that I was accepting for Vox. Neither Vox nor I thought he had much of a chance of winning, but acting as his acceptor allowed John and I to get two guests into the Pre-Hugo Reception, for which I am most grateful. (Actually, I was just accepting for Best Editor, Short Form. Another fine fellow was the designated acceptor for Long Form.)

However, Vox had asked, on the far off chance that he should win, that I go onstage to accept the rocket wearing a single feather in my hair Indian-style (or Brando girl style). I found a handsome one that had once belonged to the local Canadian geese, cleaned it, and left it on the porch in the sun.

When I went to get it, when it was time to pack, I discovered that the Cherubim had thrown the feathers off the porch into the mud. I rescued it, but it was rather bedraggled. My friends who saw it thought it still looked quite nice.

But the feather had lost its former glory, rather of like the Hugos themselves.