Oddly but perhaps explicably, that was about how I handled my first convention since 2006, and my first Furry Convention, ever; Furnal Equinox 2024 back in March and here in Toronto, where I saw my Beloved Homestar jenorafeuer in the flesh for the first time in almost 20 years, long since I jumped on the boat of my career as a professional trade writer in her kind hostage and training. It was oddly enough the day before her birthday IC, on March 16th. I don't believe in coincidence, not if there's a method to the orderly chaos, and even then you can call it coincidence if you want to. I certainly don't think calling the care of the Tether a respectful word is inappropriate, for that's why anyone deserves a nomen of their own, a gift accepted as one.
There, she helped me to walk, gave me more space and asked that of the people we met. I could barely stand but I knew where I was, saw clearly. That was enough, Steve; I was doing it. I knew the grave of my doubt wasn't nailing me to the stone below, but reminding me that people cared, and sometimes the speed of light is a reckoned constant, like the words someone cares to use.
I'd rather meant to go there to support her. I've got to stop being so damned selfish, and so fucking hard on myself, pardon my Quebecois. Channeling my goodman and our fellow dreamcroft, Maurice Georges Dantec, who I never bothered to go see a province over before he died in 2016.
And Janne Campbell, my French teacher who took me from home in Toronto for the first time at age 11 in 1989, the year I stood on the dais in graduation from Frankland P.S. and Grade 6, with our form's better and only valid of two Scholarship Awards, but in her company I knew my home borne with me, hostage and guest, was alive even then but I didn't see her, either before she passed on, and I did finish writing Boiscoeur (Heartwood), my first science-fiction novel and written entirely in French, the second tongue she taught me, aside from reckoning a mother's care I never knew or understood growing up.
Steve, I've promised never to make that mistake again. If I do anything right I'm not going to slip up, and I'll do what I can. I can do that now, and I'm not going to fool myself with pity. I'm going to stop being so damned hard on myself. God, it feels good to say that on Commonwealth Day!
How was that con in Tonopah?
Did you bounce around the area at all?
There, she helped me to walk, gave me more space and asked that of the people we met. I could barely stand but I knew where I was, saw clearly. That was enough, Steve; I was doing it. I knew the grave of my doubt wasn't nailing me to the stone below, but reminding me that people cared, and sometimes the speed of light is a reckoned constant, like the words someone cares to use.
I'd rather meant to go there to support her. I've got to stop being so damned selfish, and so fucking hard on myself, pardon my Quebecois. Channeling my goodman and our fellow dreamcroft, Maurice Georges Dantec, who I never bothered to go see a province over before he died in 2016.
And Janne Campbell, my French teacher who took me from home in Toronto for the first time at age 11 in 1989, the year I stood on the dais in graduation from Frankland P.S. and Grade 6, with our form's better and only valid of two Scholarship Awards, but in her company I knew my home borne with me, hostage and guest, was alive even then but I didn't see her, either before she passed on, and I did finish writing Boiscoeur (Heartwood), my first science-fiction novel and written entirely in French, the second tongue she taught me, aside from reckoning a mother's care I never knew or understood growing up.
Steve, I've promised never to make that mistake again. If I do anything right I'm not going to slip up, and I'll do what I can. I can do that now, and I'm not going to fool myself with pity. I'm going to stop being so damned hard on myself. God, it feels good to say that on Commonwealth Day!
-2Paw.