talkstowolves: I speak with wolves and other wicked creatures. (Default)
Last Monday (by which I mean December 14th, not yesterday), I saw Neil Gaiman in Decatur, Georgia. He was there because the Little Shop of Stories put on one of the best Graveyard Book Halloween parties in the nation (alongside Winnipeg's McNallly Robinson) so he came to do a reading, and a signing, and a bit of Q&A. Not in that order. We were at Presser Hall at Agnes Scott college, and the 500 seats in that auditorium were not nearly enough. The joint forces of Agnes Scott and Little Shop had set up an overflow room with a screen for the event, allowing the number of attendees to swell to approximately 1050 people.

And Neil Gaiman had promised to sign for every one of us, before an early morning flight to Winnipeg the next day. The event began at 6:00 PM. How long until this man is dubbed the Saint of Readers?


Brilliant photo of Neil reading from Odd and the Frost Giants is by brilliant [personal profile] photognome.


It was definitely weird, realizing that I was only, in 2009, in the same room with Neil Gaiman for the first time. I've been reading his works since I was 16 and randomly picked up Good Omens in the bookshop because I was Apocalypse-obsessed and it had a humorous cover. Around the same time, I independently came to be introduced to The Sandman through Death (not quite realizing the chap who co-wrote Good Omens with Terry Pratchett also wrote those Endless graphic novels I was reading) and, a bit later, The Dream Hunters. I came to his blog as everyone did in the beginning, through American Gods, and have been reading his assorted thoughts, quips, and cat-and-dog picture-spam posts since mid-2001. That's about eight and a half years now. Bizarre.

The day dawned in an incredibly dense fog: visibility was less than a mile and flights were severely delayed at Hartsfield for quite some time. For a while there, it was questionable whether Neil's flight would make it in from Orlando. Luckily, it did. Later that night, we also had a thunderstorm roll through. Creepy fog and a wild thunderstorm: what more perfect weather for Neil Gaiman?

My husband and I met up with my friend Teresa about lunch-time in Decatur. Teresa, aka [personal profile] blueinsideout, happens to be a brilliant crocheter and had made a fantastic Nobody Owens in no time at all. He was to be a gift for Neil that night and I was sure he'd love him (I was right: he pronounced the Bod-doll "glorious" and asked Teresa for a hug). After admiring him from his perfect yarn hair (a wild halo, eerily similar to Neil's) down to his precisely-torn pants, we adjourned to the Matador Cantina for Mexican food goodness.

If you're ever in Decatur for lunch, don't go to the Matador Cantina. I'm just saying, the food was mediocre and not worth its price tag. You're paying more for the neighborhood than quality.

Subpar lunch done, we arrived at Agnes Scott in enough time to stand in line for approximately twenty minutes or so. The line wasn't too bad: it only stretched the equivalent length of a block, snaking around the sidewalks in front of Presser Hall. Andy and I managed to snag sets in the center of the auditorium, so that I hardly had to squint at all to see Neil's face. (And I think the majority of my squinting was more due to a slightly out-of-date glasses prescription.)

Even though the seats of the auditorium were a bit cramped and so many people had been waiting for some time, the audience was one of the most polite I've ever been in. It was marvelous: all around me, people were reading books or knitting scarves or even playing on their laptops. Most of us had our smart phones out more than once. My immediate seatmates were reading Terry Pratchett's Hogfather and Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins, while the ladies behind me had a spirited discussion about young adult dragon-raising fiction and the lads in front of me discussed plots to catch Charles Vess' signature (for an illustrated Stardust) next.

Before he came out on stage, Neil signed for some children back stage. It was a nice touch, and later he borrowed from the same group of kids to perform his readings. He snagged a copy of Odd and the Frost Giants from one boy, and then a copy of The Graveyard Book from another. The child-oriented readings remind me of an amusing quip the chair of the Decatur Book Festival - who introduced Neil Gaiman - threw out at us at the beginning of the evening: "You all know you're here for a children's reading, right? Because this group looks nothing like any children's reading I've ever attended." Ha! Neil Gaiman oeuvre is, indeed, mult-faceted.

Neil Gaiman came on with the wildest halo of hair I've yet seen him with, and I was momentarily startled that his locks didn't get a separate introduction. He immediately launched into an amusing explanation of how the Halloween party idea was born, which was basically that he sometimes finds words coming out of his mouth that he didn't intend, while his brain goes "...oops." ("Oops" sounds stupidly charming in his particular British accent, by the way.) After a nice bit of chatter, he read the second and third chapters from Odd and the Frost Giants.

During the later Q&A, he answered questions posed by people through the Little Shop's blog and which he hadn't had a chance to look at before coming on stage. He was asked about the origins of Coraline and The Graveyard Book, the answers to which I've heard more than once. (You can read about them, in brief, at this article on the Decatur event.) Someone asked him about his process of writing women, to which he replied that he writes women like he writes anyone else: as people, because they are. (He also mocked some comic book writers, saying he's read a great many titles where he's just stymied that the writers never seem to have met a real woman, even though they doubtlessly were given birth by one.) He was asked how social sites such as Twitter and Facebook have affected the writing life, to which he said he liked the immediacy of his readers in this Twitter world. He was also asked, randomly, what he thought of the works of T.S. Eliot. I don't know either.

The final question he took was, "Could you please tell us the meaning of life?"
His reply: "Eh, no. There are three rules here: never disclose the meaning of life, never name people's pets, and almost never name bands. It's just inviting trouble, otherwise."

After the second reading (the Nehemiah Trot advice scene from The Graveyard Book), the signing began, which was naturally long and tedious. The proceedings suffered from some poor organizational tactics on the part of the Little Shop staff, but most everyone was polite and patient during the wait. In fact, the only trouble I saw all evening was the woman who cut in front of Andy and me in line. We chose not to say anything to her, though. I ignored her rudeness in favor of discussing Warren Ellis and Grant Morrison and the like with the energetic fellow in front of her.

He began signing for people sometime just before 8 PM; it was nearly 11 before Andy and I made it to the table. After thanking him for supporting the Interstitial Arts Foundation and a good measure of embarrassing effusion, I walked away with two personalized books (my hardback, illustrated Stardust and anniversary edition of Good Omens) and a quick snapshot.

He didn't finish signing for people until after 1:00 AM, upon which point he only got a few hours of rest before having to hare off to Winnipeg. He signed at least one item for all 1050 people and, most often, two items. In the first three hours, the man only took one break. He is, seriously, an incredibly dedicated and gracious man. I really respect his consummate professionalism in relating to his fans.

I'm glad that I heard him speak, and I'm happy to have stood in line for him to sign some of my best-loved books. However, I don't think I'd ever do the signing business again: it's just too much madness, and I don't need all my Gaiman books signed. Still, I would definitely like to hear him speak and read again, and I definitely recommend attending such an event for any appreciator of his works.

Also, mad sincere thanks to the Little Shop of Stories, the staff at Agnes Scott, the Decatur Book Festival involved parties, and, of course, Elyse Marshall and those who made this happen at HarperCollins.
talkstowolves: Fairy tales inform us for life.  (fairy tales take me far from here)
Last Year's Tanabata entry, featuring a short retelling of the fairy tale behind the day.

This morning, I awoke entirely too early: just after 7 AM. However, this is what one must do in order to realize dreams! I dressed carefully and thematically: brown slacks and merlot camisole, star threader earrings and "Lotus Soup, Step 3: Burning the Moon" (the second a necklace, both pieces by [livejournal.com profile] elisem).

After rousing my brothers, meeting Andy, and double- (and triple- and quadruple-) checking that everything was in readiness, we embarked on our trip for Atlanta. As I drove along the Interstate, I observed the sky with a saddened eye. The entire horizon was overcast, thick gray clouds layering across the firmament. Drops of rain occasionally fell like tears. Things were not looking good for our dear star-lovers, Shokujo and Kengyu. Their bridge of wings could never form in such oppressive weather.

We reached Timeless Tattoo shortly after 12. Even though they'd opened less than twenty minutes before, they already had two to three people being tattooed and another two to three people waiting to be seen. Without hesitation, I bellied up to the counter and started trying to make eye contact with someone. (Also, I discreetly began examining all the tattooists in the front, trying to ID Rob.)

Finally, the nice blonde behind the counter asked me why I was there. I laughed at myself as I said, "Well... I'd like a tattoo." She yelled for Rob, and I called along, "Rob's the one I want!"

Rob was seemingly waiting for me (which I would hope so, after sending him three e-mails). Although there were so many people waiting to be seen, he hadn't taken anyone on yet. I brought out Stephanie's artwork and offered my thoughts on the execution (mainly that yes, that's the size I wanted and maybe the white parts should be my flesh instead of pigment. I'm just that white). He whisked my design away and set to making a transfer. I waited at the counter. Shelton and Douglas perused the flash art. Andy stood next to me and we observed what other people were in for: the daughter (late teens?) in with her mom, getting a Harry Potter tattoo. (She was getting HP, in the same font as the movie titles, where the P forks into lightning on the tail. Also, the P had a little Golden Snitch dancing above it.) There was another girl complaining about another shop not wanting to put a certain tattoo on her foot, and the artist telling her he could modify it for her foot.

Finally, it was time. I went back to the first room on the left. Before Rob could put the transfer on, I told him something I'd just thought. Happily, the star tattoo was in keeping with the theme I've started on my back: I mentioned that I'd also like the tattoos arranged in such a way as to create a visual line, leading the eye. He agreed. After a bit of verbal sparring on where it should be placed to accomplish that, he asked me to allow him to place it and then we could wrangle over it some more if I still didn't agree. So he did. He applied the transfer, handed me a hand mirror, and then we all stared at it in the full length mirror. And we all agreed that he was spot on.

That tattooing itself was curious. It hurt, but not unbearably so. The filling in hurt more than the outlining. I didn't meditate on the pain as much this time because there was no language barrier between me and my artist and I wasn't alone otherwise. We talked about Transformers, about Dawn, about the iPhone, about Steve Jobs and Pixar and tattoos (of paragraphs, of Tibetan prayers, of wings). Apparently Megan Fox (the chick from Transformers) has the following sentence tattooed down her ribcage: "There once was a little girl who never knew love until a boy broke her HEART." (I learn from the Internet that that's something she wrote herself. At least she has something from King Lear tattooed on her back: "We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.") Yeah.

Rob was a little abrasive or, rather, opinionated in that jarring way. He didn't entirely get along with Dawn, the artist of my first tattoo. However, he was also amusing and charismatic. Did I mention talented? Between him and Stephanie (and me, the progenitor), an amazing bit of work has been created.

The tattoo took maybe an hour to complete, even with breaks thrown in. Andy watched him outline it and took a few pictures. Then Shelton came in and watched as he began to fill it in, mentioning that he was thinking of getting a tattoo soon. When he left, Douglas came in and took a couple more pictures. He sat with me the longest, watching him fill in the rest of the tattoo. We talked about Douglas' tattoo ideas, which include a koi fish and the Rod of Aesculapius.

When Rob finished, he led me around the studio. (Which, come to think of it, Dawn also did. That must be why Rob said he remembered my tattoo from when Dawn finished it five years ago.) Each fellow tattooist scrutinized his work and uttered variations on "nice" and "cool." However, I have to say the words that thrilled me the most came from Cap Szumski (owner of the shop and master tattooist). He said, "Very nice." And went on to say I'd need to get my first tattoo touched up now and think about something for the other side (all of which I'd already thought).

Even more than this, however, was how pleased I was when I looked in the mirror: the work is amazing. I think the first word out of my mouth was "Wow," followed quickly by "awesome." I didn't want to stop looking at the ink. My face was flushed, my skin was tingling, my head wasn't entirely in sync with the rest of me. True otherspace moment.

I couldn't afford to tip Rob and felt like I left a bit abruptly after he finished his work. However, we did shake hands and he gave me my little pack (with antibacterial ointment and a lollipop! along with his business card), so our transaction really was completed. I'm just a lingering goodbye-type person, which is silly for someone I hardly know. So! We left. And I skipped stopping by either Starship, Inserection, or Poster Hut in the interest of getting us all food.

Sadly, food (at R. Thomas Deluxe Grill) didn't turn out that great. It was too expensive and rather below average. Still, it filled our bellies. Afterward, we made our way to the Mall of Georgia (with much cursing at traffic). I managed to finagle a trip to Borders out of a mis-turn and Douglas' need to urinate, which I mark down as a win in my book. In the beautiful Borders, I abused my credit card a tiny bit more and purchased another anthology: Shadows Over Baker Street, ed. by Michael Reaves and John Pelan. (Yes, that's the anthology of crossover stories between Sherlock Holmes and the Lovecraftian mythos. After reading "A Study in Emerald," I couldn't help myself.)

After Borders, we went over to the proper side of the street. We visited the Games Workshop store in the mall (our primary focus), missed the iPod vending machine (our secondary focus), and secured Cinnabons (not even a tertiary focus, just a perk). We were on the road by 4:30 Central time and home before 8.

Now I am tired. I feel a bit odd, out of sync. The weather never did clear up: in fact, it's been raining up until a moment ago. However, earlier, before the rain, I went outside to get "Palimpsest" (by [livejournal.com profile] yuki_onna) out of the car. The warm night enveloped me, a breeze tangling my hair and the leaves of the trees above. I looked up at the cloud-streaked sky, straining my eyes against the deeper black showing through. Finally, finally, I saw a star.

Happy 07/07/07, everyone! The poor Weaver Girl and Herder Boy may not have met today, but I wrought their promise into my flesh. (For, yes, that is part of the meaning of my tattoo: fulfillment after trial, hope, separation, movement, the power of fairy tales, the beauty of stars, moving together but apart in light... all this and more.) Hopefully, this is enough.

Now with 100% more pictures!

Rob talks about shading and I agree with him.
We're probably talking about female tattooists here.
The outline and shading are done.
After realizing I was right about not needing white pigment, Rob pronounces it done.

And now for a side-by-side comparison:



All of these pics, along with concept sketches, can be found in my Tanabata 2007 Tattoo gallery.

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