CONduit XVII: Day One

It's tough doing a convention when you've already got the convention-yuck. I've been sick all week, and took care not to shake hands ("Knuckles only, peeps, knuckles only") lest I pass whatever I'm getting over on to unsuspecting fen. I toughed it out. Cold medicine, Penguin mints, and Vitamin I. The panels went well, and I actually had sufficient energy to run the "Math Behind Self-Publishing" panel by myself (critical, since it was supposed to be a one-man show). Some of you have asked that I post the details of that panel here. Since I took no notes, spoke off the top of my head, and scribbled numbers on a white-board, I'm afraid I can't reconstruct it just now. Among the conclusions we arrived at: "crunch every number possible, including how much space the books take up and how much they weigh," and "boy howdy does it ever help to have a captive audience to sell these things to." I sold a few books at the show, but I also had to pay for parking and food. Sandra looked at the numbers I brought back (crunch every number possible, then hand the crunchy bits to your beloved) and announced that we were ahead for the day by a fairly paltry $45. My conclusion -- table space at the back of Artists' Alley is worth every dime I paid for it (read: you get what you pay for.) Location, location, location. Tomorrow I may hijack a table in the main hall...
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