What I found was a thriving community of writers who supported and generally liked each other. I wasn’t on any panel or scheduled to do any reading—my novel, after all, was just going on submission. But whatever hierarchy I had experienced in the academic world was not to be found here, and people that I had known for less than thirty minutes took me around and introduced to me other writers and fantasy fans. I touch base with them whenever I can, either at a con or through Twitter or Facebook. It is an actively growing community that I am so proud to be a part of. But more than this, I found some of the shards of carnival still existed within these lovely conventions. For at night, fantastic creatures came alive and walked the hotel lobbies and ballrooms; aliens and humanoids graciously let me take their picture. I have rarely seen such

There is a joy at these conventions that I can’t place my finger on, a magic that is deep and beautiful and runs throughout the hotel for the duration of our stay. On my first night at a con in Austin (Armadillocon), I went up to the con suite, and there, sitting in a chair, was the most beautiful, uncanny creature I have ever seen. I immediately named her Babs, and asked whose she was, how did she get there? No one seemed to know, but there she stayed, in that chair, knitting with her strangely human hands and pointed gaze. She was endearing and creepy, and I could not stop touching her because she just seemed so real. And that is, perhaps, the magic that happens here—that the line between the real and unreal become blurred, that for a moment the fantastic leaps out from the book, and look, we are standing right beside it.