Thanksgiving, Shades of Blue, Birthdays, Book Love and Masks

Wishing all those of you who celebrate it a Happy and Thoroughly Delicious Thanksgiving! Taking a day to recognize the blessings you might've otherwise taken for granted or overlooked, while sharing food and conversation with family and friends, always unspools those bright, golden threads of memories woven throughout the year that reel in warmth and laughter. Good thoughts beget good thoughts. Which is why Thanksgiving has always ranked high on my holiday meter. Besides, every so often it lands on my birthday.

It feels as if the universe itself is nudging me out of my misanthropic hibernation, hinting rather transparently that I can't help but be grateful for...well, for being here. On this planet. This side of the world. In my body. A little on the nose, universe. As if I need to smell the turkey and pumpkin-cranberry pie to bask in the glorious joy of existing. Or maybe I do. I certainly enjoy it. As I prep and cook and joke with Troy, the festive, bright feeling slowly sinks in, and by the time dinner is ready, our minds are brimming with the pleasure of each others company. Cooking always reminds me of Like Water for Chocolate, of those parts, where the heroine infuses the food she prepares with her emotions. Only in real life, this happens in reverse order; it is the sensory act of cooking that makes you shimmer and bubble, grow languorous and unhurried, light-hearted and bubbly, depending on your concoction.

For me, Thanksgiving has always been a chirpy, lively affair (and I always sneak in a glass of red wine as I cook); besides, after all these years of making stuff together, Troy and I have synchronized our culinary temperaments to perfection and the whole thing, set to the soundtrack pumped out by Pandora, is pretty effortless. Which reminds me of our very first joint Thanksgiving, when we were still unknown quantities to each other, when our mood was exploratory and our oven in a tiny hole of a house -- perpetually out of order. My hubby surprised me with a birthday trip to San Diego, where we made a proper, many-coursed dinner (turkey, stuffing, baked yams, pie) right in our room (serendipitously equipped with a full kitchen) and realized how well we got along with the spices, sharp knives and each other. I can still see the bewildered expressions of other hotel guests, as they paused in the drab, oatmeal-colored hallways to sniff suspiciously at the roasting-turkey-scented air. Good times! On a scale of effort to gratification, cooking falls just below sitting in a deep chair with a really good read in your lap. Dreaming comes close. Very close.

Love the symbolism of the cover!
And, yes, the crocodile is a part of the plot,
and so is the raven.

And while I'm thinking about dreaming and books, I cannot help but rave about a fairy tale-esque, dreamy novel by Sally Gardner -- I, Coriander.  Set in a seventeen-century London during Cromwell's revolution, the story follows Coriander -- a girl who falls on hard times when her mother dies and her father is driven away by his evil new wife. The premise might sound simple, but the story is anything but! It is fascinating and funny and heart-rending and magical, with the added bonuses of featuring two of the most malicious, creepy villains I have seen in a fantasy and delicious pages of gorgeous, lyrical writing. This book is such a delight! The history and fantasy intertwine, showing us now dazzling magic, now harrowing darkness. Through it all, Coriander remains a strong, determined heroine, who fights hard to keep her dignity and set things right.

This book was a birthday gift from my hubby, and I stayed up and up and up, unable to part with its lush, chilling, captivating world. And after I finished reading, I stayed up a  little longer to get more books by the same wonderful author. So far, I've read three of her novels! Sally Gardner is my new hero! Her spirit is as bright and persevering as that of her heroines, and I can't help but admire anyone, who has overcome severe dyslexia to become an award-winning writer!!! I highly recommend I, Coriander to those of you who love fantasy, fairy-tales and romance and are not particularly averse to looking at the darker aspects of humanity. What a great book! And that cover!!! I want to always have it in sight.

And just a tiny birthday bit snuck into a holiday post. I want to share a gorgeous card Kim, my lovely and talented sister-in-law has made for me. Isn't it perfect? It can easily be an illustration to the Land of Joy and Sorrow. It even has a gorgeous lapis-blue feather. Love it so much!!! I think this coming Christmas the color scheme in my house would flow between different shades of blue: ultramarine, and turquoise, and sapphire, and Indian-ink-blue, and iridescent raven-plumage-blue, and deep-Prussian-blue. It will be a landscape of wintry shadows; the brilliance of color punctured only by the warm glow of many candles. Hmmm....Why not!

And now, something bizarre and creepy-delightful I found while researching...Loooove research; odd, little gems of knowledge always fall in my lap. Like this one. A forgotten Thanksgiving tradition. How wild is that!!!

Photo via the Library of Congress

I never knew this, but it seems that a hundred years ago, Thanksgiving was a lot like...Halloween. Scores of kids and adults alike would dress up and go on 'city crawls,' especially in such sprawling areas as Chicago or New York. Makeshift Thanksgiving parades -- fantasticals -- marched down the streets. Many wore garish masks - 'false faces' or 'dough faces' and patched, tattered costumes in a perverse tribute to poverty, rode horses or bicycles. Mischief and cross-dressing ensued.

Boys posing in their sisters'
old, ragged finery. 
Photo courtesy of the New York Public Library.

The goal was to look as disheveled and wretched as possible. A 1910 book called Little Talks For Little People spelled out the dress code: "Old shoes and clouted upon your feet, and old garments upon you." Children, 'maskers,' dressed as homeless people (a custom stemming from mumming, when men in costumes asked for food and money, often in exchange for music), doused people with confetti and flour, going door to door in ragamuffin packs or begging strangers "anything for Thanksgiving?" Passerby threw them change, spiced jelly gums, tinted hard candy or apples.

 Only by mid 20th century did the masking tradition shift to the more whimsical Halloween.Wild, isn't it?

On the Couch or...in the Coffin

So many writers swear by a special working spot where their creative juices flow effortlessly and abundantly, where their inspiration streams unabashed and the keys of their computers can never match the flying speed of their fingers. Some ensconce themselves in the noisy innards of coffee shops, while others prefer the serene quiet of a farthermost corner of a library (hellooo noise-cancelling headphones!), many require the rigid severity of a neatly organized desk, while many more do their best work lounging in their yet-unmade beds. The common thread marking these very different individuals as a kind of literary kin is their propensity to link their best creative moments to a place. A place which channels the drafts of new ideas, a place which commands the muses. A place too fantastical to truly exist.

I have always thought such stories tall tales in the vein of finding Shangri La, or the end of the rainbow, or the fountain of youth, in other words, all those amazingly blessed places rumored to exist at the crossing of the earth's ley lines, or on the bottom of a wishing well, or in an underground cavern of a crafty, green-bearded leprechaun. Always so conveniently out of reach.

So I resisted the temptation of a perfect writing spot, buckled down and wrote. Surprisingly, I found writing was a discipline that could be trained and honed, much like playing an instrument, riding a bike, or -- yes -- sleeping. I remembered my grandmother's stories of working night shifts as an emergency room surgeon on call. Over the years, she had developed an uncanny ability to sleep whenever and wherever she could and would fall into a deep slumber in a matter of seconds. Day or night. I tried to use her example as a model for my writing. Whenever and wherever. Writing became something that had to be done. A pleasure, but also a task. I wrote on the planes, in the trains, on a France-to-Ireland ferry abling across stomach-churningly choppy waters, while cooking, hiking, shopping and even during a friend's performance of La Traviata.

I still heard echoes of those tales. But, despite being a fantasy geek, I never gave them any thought. Never believed in them. (There's a limit to gullibility even for someone who writes about sentient feathers.) That is, until I discovered a magical spring of creative prowess right in the center of my own living room (now lovingly referred to by my family members as the writing couch). That writing couch, you guys, it's a thing of pure poetry. I kid you not.

It's uncanny, how such mundane a thing as a piece of furniture -- and not a new or imposing one at that -- can make you sink into your inner world, only to emerge with a wealth of ideas. As soon as I plop down on the now much-deflated cushions, the ideas surge. They stampede! Inelegantly, but eagerly. My shabby writing couch works the kind of miracles my good and proper desk could never manage on its (and mine) best days. I suspect that it may, in fact, be standing on the very crossing of the ley lines and rainbow tails or spilling over into a mystical land of whispering muses and wish-granting leprechauns. Whatever magic hides behind its cushions, it works. Of course, it does so in its own, capricious way; the ideas never follow my writerly will, preferring to flutter down the tangling, meandering routes of their own choosing. Which is okay. I am patient and can wait until our paths converge in a synergy of creativity and purpose. I can wait as long as it takes. Or, at least, as long as there's coffee in my cup and sugar in my system. (Or, definitely, as long as a toothy, weary leprechaun grudgingly keeps tossing patinaed wishing coins in the well of my inspiration.)

Sometimes when I find myself jotting ideas on the go, thinking of my lonesome writing couch, I wonder why does a place have such an impact on the writing process. Because the connection cannot be denied. The late poet Robert Creeley once said, "The necessary environment is that which secures the artist in the way that lets him be in the world in a most fruitful manner." Creeley himself required a "very kind of secure quiet," or, as he put it, "I usually have some music playing, a kind of drone that I like, as relaxation." In a sense, a place becomes a key, able to unlock the writer's inner world. The irony of this is that the place ceases to matter, as soon as the writer walks across the threshold to his imagination.

Of course, not every author found inspiration while sitting at a desk, on a couch or in a chair. Many renowned story-tellers chose the most unconventional places as perches for their literary pursuits. Here are some of the more unexpected ones (from an article by Celia Blue Johnson):

Vladimir Nabokov wrote Lolita on notecards while traveling on butterfly-collecting trips in the U.S.

D.H. Lawrence preferred to write outdoors, beneath the shade of a tree. He found a trunk to lean against wherever he went, from pine trees in New Mexico to great firs in Germany’s Black Forest. Discussing his predilection, Lawrence noted, “The trees are like living company.”

Gertrude Stein discovered that the driver’s seat of her Model T Ford was a perfect place to write. Shopping expeditions around Paris were particularly productive for the writer. While her partner, Alice B. Toklas, ran errands, Stein would stay in their parked car and work.

Agatha Christie had two important demands for the renovation of her mansion. She informed her architect, “I want a big bath, and I need a ledge because I like to eat apples.” Christie constructed her plots in a large Victorian tub, one bite at a time.

Sir Walter Scott crafted “Marmion,” his bestselling epic poem, on horseback, in the undulating hills near Edinburgh, Scotland. Though one might assume a leisurely pace is necessary for creative concentration atop a horse, Scott preferred to contemplate the lines of the poem at a faster clip. “I had many a grand gallop among these braes when I was thinking of ‘Marmion’,” he recalled.

Dame Edith Sitwell had a ritual of lying down before she set pen to paper. Rather than reclining on a bed or a couch, though, she chose to climb into an open coffin. In those morbidly tight quarters, the eccentric poet found inspiration for her work.

Marcel Proust spent his nights writing in bed. However, the busy Parisian street outside his apartment window began to take its toll on his nocturnal routine: Noise drifted up to his room while he was trying to sleep during the day. Proust’s solution was to line the walls with cork, and it worked. 

Now, what is your magical writing place?  

Not a part of the list, just a fun fact: Margaret and H.A. Rey built bicycles from spare parts to escape from a Nazi invasion in Paris while carrying the manuscript for Curious George.

Illusions of Fate

 

Illusions of Fate by Kiersten White (a part of my Comic-Con horde) is one of those rare, special books you wish you could live in every single day. Yes, it is really that good. Better, even.

I met Kiersten at a Wonder-Con book signing last spring and fell in love with her enchanting, atmospheric In the Shadows, co-created with Jim DiBartolo. Needless to say, when I got my hands on the galley of the Illusions, I inhaled it in one seating. My only complaint about the book was its length. Too short. Too, too short. I would've loved to keep reading. And reading. And reading some more. Because this book is pure MAGIC. Charming, witty, heart-breaking, romantic. It reminded me of Diana Wynne Jones' Howl's Moving Castle -- an old and true favorite -- with a shade of Jane Eyre, or, perhaps, Pride and Prejudice. The story has it all: a clever, strong, independent heroine; a dashing, tormented hero; a quirky, endearing sidekick (love you, Sir Bird); a creepy and cruel villain, and magic -- lots and lots of curious, strange, thrilling magic. 

On top of everything else, Kiersten has a gift for giving her readers a striking visual experience; as I was reading the book, my fingers itched to illustrate the scenes -- the ball at the lush hothouse of a Conservatory; the sparkling, vivacious symphony; the gloomy, misty park besieged by crows. Each scene set a unique mood, adding color and character to the original, vibrant world of magic, secrets and danger. And the shadows. Swoon. How I wish we could have this happen in real life. 

The story begins with Jessamine, who has left her native tropical island of Melei to attend school in a dreary, proper Albion (reminiscent of Victorian England.) With her dark hair and complexion Jessa doesn't fit in among the pale "civilized"Albions and has to deal with prejudice and harassment, still, she is determined to make the best of the situation. She excels at her studies and works hard as a maid at a ritzy hotel to pay for her school. When a chance meeting with gorgeous Lord Finley draws her into Albion's secret world of privilege, magic and danger, Jessamine refuses to play by the rules of others and sets out to discover as much as she can about the forbidden art of spells. Soon, she is caught up in an ongoing feud between Finn and the powerful Lord Downpike, who wants to uncover the secret of Finn's magic, a feud that threatens to destroy not only Albion, but also Melei. Jessamine must use every bit of her wits to stop her enemies and save everyone she loves before it's too late.

Jessamine, Jessa, is easily one one my favorite YA heroines: she's determined, spirited, witty, intelligent, feisty and brave. She is secure in her own skin, stands firmly by her beliefs (and her friends), refuses to play a damsel in distress, and, all in all, kicks some major magic ass. 

Finn is the perfect hero: selfless, kind, sweet, courageous, loyal. He treats Jessa with respect, understands her, supports her and appreciates not only her exotic beauty, but her intelligence and her personality as well. He cares for Jessa and is deeply protective of her, but never controlling or possessive. More importantly, he lets her make her own choices. Their dynamic is wonderful; Kiersten takes time to develop their relationship, and I love seeing their flirtatious banter turn into a raw and honest expression of real feelings. 

And, of course, let's not forget Eleanor, the girl's all sorts of awesome. She's a gem of a character -- wonderfully scheming and funny and gossipy and surprisingly bad-ass.

Favorite scene:

“You made it to do with her, though, didn’t you?” Eleanor looks pointedly at the ground where my shadow pools at my feet. “Can I see it? Wiggle around or something. I’ve never actually seen someone shadowed before! It’s so romantic!”

“It is nothing of the sort! It’s…” I glance at Finn, who is avoiding my eyes. “ He was just spying, and…” Romantic? Preposterous. But suddenly I am desperate to understand. “What does it mean? He wouldn’t explain it to me.”

“Open your mouth, Eleanor, and I will cut out your tongue and use it as fertilizer for my personal herb garden.”

“But she should know!” Eleanor whines, pulling my back to the couch across from Finn. “It’s adorable.” 

Stronger, with More Hands...

I would've never pegged comic conventions for places to hear some of my favorite writers speak about their work to an audience of wildly costumed, raptly listening fans. To me, all the fantasy/YA panels, book signings and publishers booths at the recent San Diego Comic-Con were a complete revelation -- why hadn't I heard of such magical things taking place here before? And the book signings, my goodness, the book signings...The one thought running through my mind was -- hands. I needed more hands. Or, at the very least, a sturdier bag. But mostly -- more hands. Because the books were stacked up high, in colorful, author-coordinated towers, the scent of their still fresh typographical ink beckoning me like a heady, familiar savor lured a starving wanderer. So many new books. So many good books. So many unread books.

Getting the shiny, slick galleys (a copy of a book that has yet to go through the final stage of edits) was the unexpected treat: Kiersten White's The Illusions of Fate (I will gush about this particular book in a later post), Marie Lu's The Young Elites, Arwen Elys Dayton's Seeker. So very generous of the publishers to promote their authors with such fantastic giveaways. The galleys found a caring home, and I discovered new writers to love. Well played, publishers. Well played.

My discovery of books made me temporarily forget about everything else: the world faded to a swooshing background noise, the coffee crisis in my cup became a distant concern, the colors of the Thor costume on the fellow in front of me dimmed. Because books. They took precedent above all else. There were book signings with George R.R. Martin (you had to stand in line to enter your name in a drawing just to win the right to stand in a signing line!), with my beloved Robin Hobb, with always fabulous Laini Taylor, with the talented and hilarious Jim DiBartolo, with Lev Grossman, Allen Zadoff, Leigh Bardugo, Rachel Caine, Marie Lu, Arwen Elys Dayton, Marissa Meyer, Ann Aguirre, Kimberly Derting, Kiersten White, Tobias Buckbell and many, many others. It was a lush, book lovers Eden snuck into the chaotic comic book world. Who knew?

The second thought of the day was -- stronger. I needed to be stronger. Troy needed to be stronger. Stronger, and with more hands. Because those books and galleys, they were not feather-light. At the end of the day, my arms felt like aching wet ropes, twisted into intricate knots. Still, this hurt was well worth the pleasure of tucking myself into an armchair with so many new reads that very same evening.

Marie Lu and Rachel Caine

And the panels...My goodness. The panels! The panels were simply AMAZING! I went to Vengeance and Villains and got to hear Rachel Caine, Marie Lu, Arwen Elys Dayton, Ann Aguirre, Kimberly Derting, Kiersten White, Allen Zadoff and Tobias Buckbell discuss their favorite bad guys. Respect to Kiersten White for naming Peter Pan. That selfish flying brat used to annoy me as a child, making me root for the misunderstood, hook-handed pirate (and how can you not root for the pirate?). Yep, to me, Peter Pan was the ultimate bad guy: uncaring, callous, pompous, without any regrets or much of a conscience. It is ironic how the failed good guys often make the best villains! Conversely, the failed antagonists can morph into the perfect tragic heroes.

The panelists also agreed that well-written female villains were perhaps the most terrifying creatures in existence: to see women as destroyers instead of mothers, nurturers, friends would send shivers down the hardest, most stoic spines.  

The signing lines begin behind this fierce couple, see them?

I almost missed the End of Series...or Not? panel featuring Lynn Flewelling (Nightrunner series), Lev Grossman (The Magicians series), Laini Taylor (The Daughter of Smoke & Bone Trilogy), Jon Maberry (the Rot and Ruin series), Ben Winters (The Last Policeman Trilogy), Kresley Cole (Immortals After Dark Series), and Leigh Bardugo (The Grisha Trilogy), and was one of the last people to sneak into the crowded room. So worth the wait!

The first question was whether the writers pre-planned their series to be finite or not? Did they destroy the world or leave the story open-ended? Everyone had a different take on this. Lynn (who has one seven and one three book series) said that it was always painful to end a series, but her gut told her when it was time. Lev shared that he wanted to write about the magicians' life after their eduction. For instance, what was magic for if no one was threatening the world? Once, this goal was accomplished, he stopped. Laini is an intuitive writer. She had no idea how her trilogy was going to end until she wrote it. (By the way, it is unbelievably good. The Dreams of Gods and Monsters is everything you hoped it would be...tripled. A truly solid third book.) Kresley has a fifteen book series and is still going strong. She promised to write as long as people were willing to read. And Leigh enjoyed shorter stories, which could be tricky, as they imposed limits.

The second question asked what kept the readers engaged? Leigh said that authors had two choices for their character: a character who had everything and you took it from them, or a character who had nothing and you took even more. (And keep in mind that the story always trumps world-building.) Kresley liked to introduce secondary characters like a villain or godmother and switch up expectations. In Ben’s first book in the series, the character was young in a lot of ways and had to grow up. What made people stick was that the characters were still growing. Jon mentioned how we always entered a story with a limited world view. For example, his main character in the Rot and Ruin books was angry all the time, and why he was mad was part of his limited world view. But once exposed to a larger world view, it changed his life. World view wasn’t entirely the character’s fault, but as there was more exposure the view adjusted. Laini said she liked a tight narrative where certain questions were answered. Also, if the writing was beautiful, the reader wanted to sink into it.

Lev wrote The Magicians as a stand-alone, because he wasn’t convinced it would be published. But he had to send his characters back into that world. He wanted to know what happened next. Lynn said she also wrote a stand-alone that became two books, and then her editor asked her if she wanted it to be more. She invested so much, and there was more to tell. She writes for herself, as writing is hard, so she needs to love it.

The panel was amazing. Totally worth the wait.

Comic-Con appropriate footwear.

Getting into the Rulers of the Realm was even trickier. My secret to surviving the long, non-nonsense lines? Flats, or -- to be more precise -- flip flops. But even had I been wearing stilettos, I wouldn't have missed this discussion of epic fantasy between George R.R. Martin (Game of Thrones), Patrick Rothfuss (The Kingkiller Chronicle), Diana Gabaldon (Outlander), Joe Abercrombie (Half a King), and Lev Grossman (Magicians Trilogy). Lively Ali T. Kokman of Barnes & Noble MCed. Being a fantasy girl through and through, I found the panel riveting.

Ali kicked off the discussion by asking the writers to describe the ways they tackled world-building in their novels. Joe admitted that he "made stuff up" and suggested you do lots of research or -- in other words -- read. For instance, he read historical non-fiction to lend his works authenticity. Diana agreed with the importance of research, adding that there was still "plenty to steal from real history." George R.R. Martin admitted to borrowing from history and throwing out what he didn't need or want. Lev preferred to deconstruct, or as he put it "defile" reality, and Patrick shared how sometimes he believed he had made things up, only to be questioned by fans, who found historical precedents. "I’m clever, I take credit for accidents." Nice!

After that, Ali wondered what, aside from research, assisted with writing? Joe's answer was -- maps. Yay, Joe. This really resonated with me. I'm a huge fan of fantasy maps because they really help you anchor your readers in your world, give them a real sense of place. Of course, fantasy maps can be tricky. George R.R. Martin called to exercise extra caution when dreaming up the lay of your land -- one day your publisher might decide to create a detailed map and then you would have to face all the disparities between your maps and the events you described in your book. And filling in the blanks could be a real challenge; turned out the author had a real hard time naming...mountains. He also said, "If you want to know where fantasy maps come from, take the map at the front of your favorite fantasy novel, and turn it upside down. Westeros began as upside-down Ireland. You can see the fingers of Dingle. Robin Hobb’s Six Duchies? Upside-down Alaska."

Patrick brought up an interesting point -- a writer should decide whether it is even necessary to create a map for his/her book, especially if they don’t particularly care for maps. Providing maps to the readers is a fantasy convention, true, but it is a convention only because Tolkien did it in The Hobbit -- and he did it because it was part of his story. Patrick also believed that many fantasy writers felt that they had to invent new languages, once again because of the Tolkien influence. "But Tolkien didn’t do it for tradition; he did it because he was a language geek! If you’re a geek for something, and if that’s herbology, or the nature of the night sky, or plate tectonics, revel in your geekery, roll around in it, and make that a part of your world." Don't do something because you feel like you’re supposed to, "I don’t really feel like that’s the best way to enjoy yourself and make a vibrant world." (By the way, Patrick's brand of geekery is currency.) To sum up this part of the discussion: Write about your passions and the rest will follow.  

For the third question Ali asked who was their first reader? "Myself," Diana responded, adding that she also trusted her husband's opinions. Joe echoed her answer, and Lev said that his wife read for him, because "she's way smarter than he is", but that he "is tougher on himself." Martin urged the writers to not simply write to trends (you'd lose yourself), but instead tell the story they really want to tell. His message was loud and clear: always write for yourself first. I cannot agree more. As for the beta readers, Patrick had the most, their number somewhere in the hundreds (he is obsessive about getting feedback from intelligent people), while Joe could only deal with two betas at a time. And Diana stressed the importance of getting feedback from the experts -- for instance, if your character loses a leg, find out as much as you can about the process of amputation.

Next, Ali wanted to know the toughest thing to get through when writing a novel? "Inertia," Diana answered. "The longer you go without writing, the harder it is to start again."She suggested to keep writing even when stuck. A great, wise advice. "That long period between the first sentence and the last," added Joe, urging fellow writers not to be too hard on themselves through the "suck." Another great advice. "Sucks" happen. They also pass, creating space for long, free stretches of writing.

At the end, the audience got to ask a few questions, among them:

How do you explore the unhealthy and healthy relationships in your books?

"Make a lot of mistakes in your life." Patrick suggested. "The earlier you make them, the more useful they will be and the more forgivable from your peers -- and the police." He explained how mistakes give one motivation to evolve. Lev described fantasy writing as "raw," the writing of it involving "sides of yourself that aren’t your favorite...you can’t lie in fantasy, because everyone will know." Diana agreed that honesty is the key to a successful life (as is finding the right person.) Joe said he’d gotten two great pieces of writing advice: one from his mother, "be honest, be truthful"; "the other one, which I try to live by is -- every morning, get dressed. It can be a problem for writers." Martin challenged this, "I wrote many of my best works in a red flannel bathrobe!" "That counts!" Joe assured him.

The panel was long and lively and ended in such an interesting place that the audience, judging by how long it took people to get up from their seats, was very reluctant to leave.

Elsewhere in the center, Brenna Yavonoff signed copies of her latest book Fiendish at the Penguin booth, Marissa Meyer hung out at Macmillan that publishes Cinder, San Diego Public Library had a booth promoting library cards (libraries rock! I'm a huge fan/ardent believer in library-book-hunting) and around every corner another surprise lay in store for the lovers of books. It was like stumbling onto an Easter egg hunt, only way, way cooler.

All in all, I was surprised and thrilled to see so many authors, book sellers and publishers present at a comic con event. Next to booths of comic books, action figures and various super hero paraphernalia they held their own and drew in legions of fans -- colorful, enthusiastic, bookish, awesome.

Wow, this turned into a long, long post. But my simple going-to-look-at-the-comic-books trip turned into something much larger and greater, and I wanted to give it at least a tenth of the attention it deserved.