(Slept well, by the way. The party people cut it out last night. Peace and quiet was had, and appreciated.)
Popped out for a quick breakfast at the restaurant across the hotel driveway, came bootling back to the hotel, had my second Festival workshop (YA writing for adults, this time) with five enthusiastic participants. Talked a bit, got a lot of nods and and a few looks of dawning enlightenment, went well, Sold a couple of books, afterwards. Stopped by for lunch, and a panel on "Where does truth lie" (which was a WONDERFUL punny double-entendre title which I could not pass up...) The panel was very nice, and there was quite a bit of audience participation, and we eventually agreed to assume that there was no single simple truth and that it may be different for everybody. Which was probably both more and less helpful than anticipated, but a great deal of fun.
Took a bit of me-time in the afternoon, played with the WIP for a little while, and then wandered down for the group dinner at about 5:20. Off we all went to Alta Cafe, and I had a very nice three-course set-menu dinner (potato and leek soup, caprese salad, Angus beef with potatoes and wild mushrooms) and lots of nice dinner conversation. This was followed by a "performance art" event in the pub across the street (at least it was trying for a Brit pub, not QUITE getting there, as I and a visiting Scotsman who was also on the festival faculty were observing to each other). The event was... interesting... let's say it involved a song about meal moths, amongst other things, and a song devoted to the burglar who stole the singer's laptop (and ALL her backup USB drives, to compound the crime!) a few months previous. When the visiting artist took her bows, the rest of the evening to be devoted to an "open mike" night where people could step up and deliver their own thang at the stage, a handful of us took the opportunity to take our leave and walked back to the hotel through a cold and incipiently frosty night with a great golden moon in the sky and Jupiter hanging right there next to it in the crisp clear sky.
Home, and it's getting close to 11, and I've a day to plan tomorrow. So, then, to bed.
Come, frost, I'll be dreaming of you.
Last day in Whistler tomorrow.
