Home from Mo*Con

…But this is not the Mo*Con report.  That will come later, after sleep.  Meanwhile, I give you my homecoming, in three parts.

Part One: Normally, when someone approaches me with small talk on a plane ride, there’s a well used set of answers that are short and sweet, designed to keep the conversation brief so that I can sleep [because yes, I want to be asleep when we go down in a flaming ball of glory].  They didn’t work this time, and I’m okay with that.  Better than okay.  Today’s final leg introduced me to Peter Jackson [not that Peter Jackson, and according to him, just having the same name doesn’t seem to get him any perks].  He was a very nice man that shared the exit row with me and was voted team captain—after all, someone has to be in charge of opening the door in case of emergency, because I’ll be sleeping, remember?

Peter asked me where I’d been… Indianapolis.
For what… a convention.  And normally, the conversation would be done there.  But Peter wanted more.
Are you in Sales?… No, writing. [Note the answers are still short and I’m still hoping for one final cat nap.]
Oh, journalism?… No, fiction.
And his eyes lit up and my nap was a lost wish that I was willing to throw away.

We chatted for the rest of the flight about my book, short fiction, where he could find them, etc., as he continued to show a genuine interest and ask questions. Somehow, through it all, I never flinched, never tried to crawl inside my own skin, and actually had a touch of confidence.  For that I thank the ‘couch crew’—you know who you are. In the end, I handed my card [did you even know I had those?] to my first stranger [hey, another first!].  Before we shook hands and said good-bye, I flipped the card over and gave Peter another author’s name and book title that I thought he’d enjoy—a pay it backward, if you will. Overall, it was a very cool experience and one that was timed perfectly for my mental state.

Part Two: My mother was waiting at home for Hitler to call—and no, I’m not making these names up [wait until I tell you how Jesus called me during church!].  The real estate agent my parents are working through to help find my brother an apartment for college has the last name Hitler, and I give him serious credit for keeping it.  But moving on, Dad came alone and greeted me with a ton of questions about the con—how it went, and who I talked to, and how the panel was—and we had a lovely, long conversation about the con and writing and the business and my next book.  I mentioned in an earlier post that Dad was proud.  Now he’s interactive proud, and I love every second of it!

Part Three: Because two cool things in one day is apparently my limit, I finish off the homecoming with a touch of snark.  When we finally got back to my parents’ house [I love construction detours!], I went in, hugged my mom and was prepared to tell her a quick run down before grabbing my keys and heading out for the hour drive home so I could finally call my trip over.  She gave me a big squeeze, stepped back, and with a smile on her face and glimmer in her eyes, asked, “So, were you mean to anyone?” Seriously, if you ever wondered where I get that streak from, look no further. I love my snarky mom =))

… and now for some much needed sleep!

[Is that enough of an entry for you, Mo?]

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