The 2006 World Fantasy Convention officially ended for me this morning at roughly 7:30 when the last of my out-of-town guests caught a cab for the airport, leaving just me and the family in the house for the first time since last Tuesday. The full week in between represented the best damned WFC I've ever attended. And considering that WFC is the best con there is, the hub around which the entire genre publishing world revolves, that's saying something.

Too much crammed into too short a time for me to recount even a fraction of it here, but a few moral lessons could be derived from the experience.

1) Don't let the editor of a major house pick the movie you'll be viewing. Just don't.
2) If a publisher offers to transport you to a party in a fireman's carry because you're too drunk to walk, just say no.
3) If you need a toastmaster, for any occasion whatsoever, go straight to Brad Denton.
4) And finally, for the love of god, watch out for that bastard Klima and his camera.

I had a terrific time seeing all of my old friends, getting to know new friends better, and meeting more new acquiantances than I could count. The food was great, the drink was plentiful, and the smokers' patio was a thing of beauty. My friends and I lost, and lost big, and I couldn't have asked for a better weekend.

Only 355 days until the next World Fantasy Convention, everybody. Look forward to seeing you all again there.