Category Archives: Oot

Published: July 30, 2011

Friendly Reminder: Voting on the Hugos.

Last night I was up late reading (I’ll talk about that in a minute) so today I woke up at the crack of noon.

Blearily, I washed my face and trudged upstairs to check my e-mail. Because I was really behind on my e-mail and the weekend is a good chance for me to catch up.

When I got to the top of the stairs, Sarah was there, staring at me, her hands on her hips, her expression exhasperated and vaugely accusitory. “Well,’ she said, “he’s a boy!”

I’d only been awake for about three minutes, so I just stare at her in confusion. I was pretty sure we’d sorted that out fairly early on.

Then I hear Oot shouting from the bedroom, “I pee in the CORNER!”

Yup. He’s just like his dad. By which I mean he’s got good comedic timing.

Rest assured that later on, after I had showered and was fully awake, I did my fatherly duty and had a talk with Oot. I explained that we pee in the toilet. We also pee in our diapers. That’s good too. We sometimes can pee outside, which is cool, so long as nobody’s watching. And the bathtub is fair game too. But that’s pretty much it in terms of kosher places to pee. Although, come to think of it, the sink is also acceptable in certain rare situations. The corner is almost never a good place to pee, except in rare situations when you might be making some sort abstract political statement or attempting to connect with your roots as a true cynic.

At this point Sarah said that my talk probably wasn’t helping much.

Parenting is kinda hard if you’re an ethical relativist.

Anyway, the real point of this point is to mention that I spent most of the day reading all the short stories, novelettes, and novellas that were nominated for the Hugo awards this year.

For those of you who don’t know: the Hugo awards are kind of a Big Deal in the sci-fi and fantasy community. If you win one, you are offically awesome. Plus they give you a statue that looks like a rocket ship. Which you have to admit is pretty cool.

The Hugos are awarded every year at Worldcon. If you attend the convention, you get to vote on who’s stuff you think is best.

In the past, I’ve been bad about voting on the Hugos. But this year I’m making an effort to change that. I’ve decided I want to be a responsible member of the community, so I’ve been reading all the books and graphic novels and stories so I can cast a smart vote.

Just like any election, more informed votes = better results. So I thought I’d post up a friendly reminder for those of you who are like me. Specifically, for those of you who tend to put things off to the last minute, then occationally forget about them until it’s too late.

So yeah. If you’re heading out to Worldcon this year, and you haven’t voted yet, you might want to get on the stick.

Voting on the Hugos closes tomorrow (Sunday the 31st) at 11:59 PST.

pat

Also posted in awards | By Pat12 Responses
Published: July 17, 2011

A little family update

My thanks to everyone who sent well-wishes and good thoughts my way on Friday. It was a stressful day. We had to take little Oot in for surgery.

I don’t care to talk about the details, but it wasn’t anything life-threatening. It was just one of those things that we needed to do if we were going to be responsible parents.

Still, it involved putting my baby under heavy anesthesia and having someone cut him. It’s really hard to express how unacceptable I found this. You know how sometimes you can shrug something off and be cool about it? Yeah. I was the other thing. Whatever the farthest edge of the spectrum is from cool, that’s where I was, emotionally.

I tell you. I never knew what it was like to be afraid until I was a parent.

Anyway, rest assured that he’s happy and healthy. He’s taking it easy, reading books and playing with duplo.

When I asked him how he felt today, he said, “Iyhava owie belly.”

“You have an owie on your belly?” I asked.

“Owie *inna* belly,” he corrected me. He does this with only a little reproach in his voice, as if he knows that I can’t help being stupid.

This is something that’s been happening a lot over the last couple weeks. He’s been shocking me with how fine-tuned his conversation is becoming.

For example, on Friday when we were in the hospital, after he’d come out from under his anesthetic I asked him if he wanted some juice.

“Okay,” he said blearily.

I know how thirsty you can be when you come out of surgery, so I hurried to his bag and rummaged around quickly. I couldn’t lay hands on a juicebox, but I found his sippy cup full of water and flipped up the top so the straw came out.

I handed it to him, and he took hold of it kinda unsteadily. Then he got the straw into his mouth. Suck. Suck.

He swallowed and looked up at me. “Dat’s wadder inair,” he said.

At first I thought he was just making an observation. He’s a good talker these days, but still, a lot of our conversation is limited to making observations about the world, or asking and answering simple questions.

Then I realized that wasn’t what he was saying at all. I played it through my head again and caught the emphasis. “That’s wadder inair!” His tone was thick with disappointment. “Wannet JUICE,” he said, sounding hurt and more than a little betrayed.

And you know what? That’s fair. I’d promised juice and delivered water. That’s a shitty thing to do to a guy who’s just been through surgery. I hurried to get a juice box and appologized.

Still, I’m kinda stunned that he’s already at the level where he can communicate reproach. If he’s doing this at 21 months, I can’t even imagine where he’ll be in another year.

That’s all for now folks. Keep a close eye on the blog for the next couple days. I’m going to be posting up a bunch of things before I leave for ComicCon.

pat

Also posted in day in the life, recommendations | By Pat61 Responses
Published: July 14, 2011

Meeting Terry Pratchett

So as I mentioned yesterday, while I was at NADWcon this weekend, I got the chance to get a book signed by Terry Pratchett.

The thought of getting a book signed is an odd one to me. In these last several months, it’s possible that I’ve signed thousands of books. Many thousands. I’ve signed books to families, to kids, to grandparents. I’ve signed books in warehouses, libraries, bookstores, and colleges….

But honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever approached someone to get their autograph. Not in a formal setting. And certainly not anyone of Terry Pratchett’s status. Not someone I’ve been reading since I stumbled onto a copy of Sourcery in Shopko in 1989….

By the time Monday rolled around, I’d been at the convention for three solid days. And truth be told, I was kinda hoping that I might run into Terry at some point in that time. Maybe we’d be in the elevator together. Maybe we’d meet in the hallway on the way to a panel. Maybe someone would introduce us and I’d get a chance to say a few words….

But it didn’t happen. I wasn’t surprised or disappointed. I know how these things work. It’s a big con, and Terry’s the star of the show. They have to work hard to protect the Guest of Honor at events like this or they’re mobbed by fans. If they aren’t careful, a guest like Terry will have a hard time finding a moment’s peace to eat. I’ve seen some titan-level writers who have trouble simply walking down a hallway at a con without a handful of people asking for an autograph or a picture.

So I didn’t stalk Pratchett. I didn’t arrange an introduction, or just happen to bump into him somewhere. Even when I found out that his room was right next to mine in the hotel, I didn’t do anything like leave a copy of The Princess and Mr. Whiffle outside his door. I didn’t want to be that guy.

The signings were carefully controlled, too. They have to be. Terry has written more than 50 books, and everyone there would like nothing more than to get a bunch signed. If they let everyone get as many books signed as they’d like, Terry would have spent the entire length of the four-day convention signing books.

I’m not being hyperbolic here. It’s the literal truth. He could easily have spent 70 hours signing books if the convention didn’t work hard to control the situation.

This is something I understand only now that I’ve been on my first signing tour.

Take me, for example. I’m a newbie author. I have two books out (compared to Pratchett’s 50+). I’ve been published for four years (compared Pratchett’s 40.)

To put this in different terms, I am currently hovering around 2300 Gaiman-Day units of cool, which isn’t bad.

But Pratchett probably ranks in at more than 60,000. I mean, when you write so well they actually knight you, you’re kind of a big deal.

Despite my relatively newbie nature, when I showed up in Houston back in March, I signed books for 9 hours straight. Given that I’m about 2% of a Pratchett, you can see how quickly one of his signings could spiral into madness if it wasn’t carefully controlled.

My point is, I knew Pratchett wasn’t going to be signing books all higgledy piggledy at the con. Even if he signed a single book for every person there, it would take him 12 hours. Because of that, I knew I probably wasn’t going to have a chance to get anything signed.

That said, I was pleasantly surprised when the guest liaison for the convention told me that if I wanted, he might be able to pull a few little strings for me. Maybe enough for me to get a book signed. Maybe.

I was honest, and said I’d be grateful for the chance. If I could get a book signed, I’d be able to use it for the charity I run every year.

He said that if the book was for charity, we could almost certainly make it happen.

So I bought a copy of Nation from Dreamhaven in the dealer’s room, and on Monday, I wandered to the hall where Terry was signing. He was mostly autographing stuff items that had been sold at the charity auction the day before. I’d had to miss the auction because I was doing some paneling. But it was probably for the best, as I’d already spent more money than I should on swag.

The guest liaison motioned me over and told me it was cool if I got something signed. It really didn’t have to be for the charity, either, he said. I could just get something for myself.

Suddenly I was really conflicted. I’d brought a copy of Where’s My Cow? to the convention, because whenever we travel with Oot, we need to bring about a dozen books to keep him happy. (He’s like his dad that way.)

I’ve been reading Where’s My Cow? to Oot since before he could talk. It’s a great book, and the ending makes me a little weepy, because I’ve turned into a total soppy git ever since I became a dad.

Oot knows what noises the animals make, even the  Hippopotamus. He really likes the page with Coffin’ Henry on it, too, and asks to see it again and again.

He also enthusiastically says, “Buggrit!” Which is a little troubling to Sarah, but pleases me to no end.

So when the guest liaison says I can get any book signed, I realize I have Where is My Cow? in my backpack. I could get Pratchett to sign the book to Oot….

It’s a hard moment, but I decide to get Nation signed for Worldbuilders instead. Because personal isn’t the same as important. The signed book will be a nice draw for Worldbuilders if we throw it into the general mix of prizes. And if we auction it, I’m guessing it will bring in at least a couple hundred bucks. That’s enough for a couple of goats….

I consider trying to get both signed, of course. Because I’m only human. Terry is a nice guy, and accommodating, so I’m guessing if I pulled a second book out of my bag when I was at the table he’d go for it….

But I shake off the thought fairly quickly. I am not a special snowflake. I don’t deserve to get two books signed when everybody else gets one. If everyone tried to pull that shit, Terry would have an extra 2000 books to sign.

The guest liaison brings me up to the table and introduces me, explaining that I’m fellow author and that I’ve hit the New York Times with both my books. That’s nice of him. It lets me stand a little taller.

Terry looks up at me and says, “I’m guessing you’re fantasy, not science fiction.”

I grin and nod. “We do have a certain look, don’t we?”

I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that I don’t feel terribly tongue-tied or shaky or awkward.

[Author’s note: Sarah just brought Oot in after his shower. He grinned at me and, “Bugit! … Hand and shrimp! Fow Ron!” (This will only make sense if you’ve read a lot of Discworld or Where’s My Cow?)]

I hand over the copy of Nation and say, “This book was absolutely gorgeous. It might be the best book I’ve ever read.”

“I got a lot of letters from children,” Terry says. “They were upset because it didn’t have a happy ending.”

He opens the book and signs his name. His signature is way loopier than mine.

Terry keeps talking as he signs, “But I always reply, ‘It has a ending. It has the right ending.”

“It has the perfect ending,” I say. “It was beautiful. It absolutely broke my heart.”

And that was it. I moved away and made room for the rest of the folk who had things for him to sign.

Would I have liked to talk longer? Maybe chat about writing and the art of ending? Of course. Who wouldn’t?

But there’s only so much time. And honestly, I was happy to wrap things up before I accidentally made an ass of myself.

Besides, though Pratchett didn’t know it, he’s said about the best thing possible to me. I worry about the ending of my story sometimes. I worry that people won’t like it. Most of my readers are hoping for a particular type of ending. They e-mail me with their theories and their hopes. They want X to hook up with Y. They want Z to get his comeuppance. They want such and such story tied up in a certain way….

I know it comes from a place of love. But it makes me nervous.

After talking to Terry, I’m less nervous. I can’t give each of you your own personalize ending, containing everything you specifically wanted out of the story. That’s impossible.

But I can give you the right ending. A perfect ending.

That’s all for now. If you have a spare moment, send a good thought this way tomorrow.

I don’t want to give any specifics, but tomorrow is going to be a little rough for us. If everything goes well it won’t be a big deal. But still, if you have a spare thought, Oot and Sarah and I could use it, just for luck.

Later,

pat

Also posted in conventions, meeting famous people, signing books, Tales from the Con, Things I didn't know about publishing | By Pat101 Responses
Published: July 13, 2011

My First Discworld Convention

So this weekend I went to NADWcon: The North American Discworld convention.

I know what you’re thinking. Technically there shouldn’t be a “W” in that acronym. But without it, they’d have to call the convention NADcon, and that would attract the entirely wrong sort of attendee.

Truth is, the last thing I needed in my schedule right now was another convention. It’s not that I don’t enjoy cons, I do. I love hanging out with other geeks, being on panels, doing readings and signing books. It’s a good time.

But conventions tend to be expensive, exhausting, and time-consuming. Any two of those are hard to deal with, but all three together can be a crushing combination. Especially now that little Oot is in the picture. He’s sentient enough to miss me, and I feel guilty leaving him for days at a time.

Luckily, this con was in Madison, which is pretty much my backyard. I can drive there in less than two hours, and Sarah and Oot can come along with relatively little hassle.

But the real reason I was willing to go to this convention was the fact that Terry Pratchett was attending.

I’ve talked about Pratchett’s books on the blog before. Most specifically, his book Nation, and the Tiffany Aching series.

I haven’t bothered mentioning him much more than that for the simple reason that I assume you’ve already read his stuff. If you read my books, you read fantasy. And if you read fantasy, you know about Terry Pratchett. Q.E.D.

Anyway. Suffice to say that I’m a Pratchett fan. I’ve been reading him for more than 20 years, and the thought of getting to see him in person was too much to pass up.

The convention was a different experience for me. I’m used to cons where all different types of geeks get together and revel in their nerdery. You’ll see someone dressed up as Harry Dresden chatting with a hot vulcan girl. You’ll see a catgirl playing Catan with a kid wearing a Dalek outfit.

But at this con, the focus was all Pratchett, and 98% of that focus was Discworld.

That means no catgirls. Many feegles.

I did a tiny signing and a tiny reading. I wasn’t really an official part of the convention because I don’t have anything to do with Pratchett (other than liking him a bunch.) But that itself was nice in a way, as it meant I could spend time with my family.

Cool things:

  • There was a guy there who did crazy-cool balloon animals. I’m not talking about a hat or a poodle or shit like that. I’m talking about Death Riding A Motorcycle.

Or Granny Weatherwax:

He also did a cool dragon for Oot:

This picture doesn’t do the dragon justice. You’ll have to take my word for the fact that it’s awesome, and it looks like it’s breathing fire.

  • I got to hear Terry talk about writing and tell stories.

A lot of the biggest panels were ones featuring Terry himself. Including one about his work on The Long Earth with Steven Baxter.

  • Swag.

I bought a copy of Thud! and some coins and stamps from Discworld. It’s cool to see things like stamps from a fictional world. They’re an odd combination of souvenir and artifact. I’d love to make some coins set in the Four Corners world….

  • Neil Gaiman.

Neil made a surprise appearance at the con where he and Terry spent a couple of hours talking about Good Omens on a panel. It was cool watching them tell embarrassing stories about each other. They knew each other back in the day, back before they strode the earth like titans.

Oot slept through the panel, which was nice, as that meant Sarah and I both got to listen to it, as opposed to having to tag-team and take turns watching him.

He woke up at the very end, just as Gaiman was presenting Pratchett with an award. After looking around bleerily for a moment, he correctly sensed the mood of the room and burst out with a preemptive “Yay!”

It was a sentiment pretty much everyone shared.

It was a good time overall. Oot made some kid-aged friends and got to climb stairs, so he was happy. Sarah got to go to a con and bum around State Street a bit, so she had a good time, too.

But for me, the high point of the weekend was on the last day of the con, when I got Terry Pratchett’s autograph.

More about that tomorrow,

pat

Also posted in conventions, Sarah, Tales from the Con | By Pat33 Responses
Published: June 20, 2011

Father’s Day

It was a good weekend. On Saturday Sarah, Oot, and I drove down to Madison to celebrate Father’s Day. We hung out with my Dad, my aunt, my sister, and her boyfriend.

It may not seem like many people to you, but I don’t have much family. For my side of the family, this is a pretty big gathering.

My dad grilled and my sister and her boyfriend cooked. I removed the lids on the various types of side dishes that I’d lovingly bought from the store. We ate brats and pasta salad and hung out on the deck. We tried to fly a kite and utterly failed.

Oot was in fine form, and charmed everyone with his ability to cram food clumsily into his craw, speak broken English, and walk around without hardly falling over at all. Seriously. He’s like a little rockstar.

It was a great day. My father summed it up best when he said, “Good weather, good food, nudity, and kite flying. What more could you want in a party?”

Today (Sunday) was more low-key. I slept late, and when I got up I learned that Sarah had been coaching Oot to say, “Happy Father’s Day!” He did this with great enthusiasm. Over and over. All day.

But you know what? It never got old.

In fact, when we got back from dinner tonight, I grabbed a little video of it.

You know what? I think this is the first video that I’ve ever uploaded. Look at me striding boldly into the year 2007.

After this touching moment, Oot began to say, “Humdyfal!” over and over. It only took me about 30 seconds to figure him out. You have to do a lot of interpreting with kids this young. They’re not really good with words, yet.

He was saying, “Humpty Fall.” He wanted to hear about Humpty Dumpty.

So I picked up one of his nearby toys. If I call it a plush toy you’ll get the wrong impression. It’s a turtle packed tight with some kind of beans. It’s the size of a round loaf of bread. It’s about as plush as a sandbag and it weighs more than hardcover of my second book.

I put it on my knee and said, “Humpty Dumpty sat on the….”

“Wall!” Oot finished.

“Humpty Dumpty had a great….” I pushed the turtle off my knee and it hit the ground hard. It sounded like someone dropping a heavy workboot onto the floor.

“Fall!” Oot shouted excitedly.

Then he picked up the turtle with both hands and affectionately smashed it into my nuts.

I made the sort of noise you make when you’re trying not to roar and scare the hell out of your kid. Sarah laughed. Then looked guilty about laughing. Then laughed again.

“Fall!” Oot said.

I removed the turtle and put a protective hand over my groin. It took a moment, but eventually I figured out what he was trying to say. You have to do a lot of interpretation with someone this young. There’s a lot of reading in between the lines.

After about a minute or so, I realized Oot was making it clear that he respected the vasty strength of my generative organs. He was trying to indicate that he understood where he’d come from, that he knew exactly whose godlike loins had helped bring him into this world. He was trying to say….

“Happy Father’s Day!” he said, throwing his hands into the air.

Yes. Exactly that.

Happy Father’s Day.

pat

Also posted in videos | By Pat54 Responses
Published: May 5, 2011

The beginings of story…

First, an announcement. I’m going to be doing a little reading/signing in Waupaca tomorrow. Friday the 6th.

Details on the tour page or on the Facebook event here.

Second, a story.

It’s a story about stories, actually. That hopefully shouldn’t come as a huge surprise to anyone here….

These days, little Oot has all sorts of words. The days of his vocabulary being a handful of words, most of which sound like “duck,” are long past.

What amazes me is how quickly some things are developing.

Today he wanted to make a pillow fort. So we made a pillow fort. Because pillow forts are awesome.

(Box forts are also awesome.)

After the fort was done, he walked across the bed, picked up a book, and brought it back to me.

Oot loves books. Sarah reads to him all the time. I read to him a lot, too, but Sarah beats me out in sheer hours, as she spends all day with him, while on a good day, I’ll only have three or four.

So he brings me a book, but it wasn’t a picture book. It’s the book that Sarah’s currently reading, my copy of Brandon Sanderson’s The Hero of Ages.

He holds the book out to me and says, “Daddie.”

This means many things. His inflection tells me that he knows its my book. But it also means he wants me to read it to him as well. He can say a lot with just one word, and I’ve become very good at interpreting in this last year.

He sits in my lap, and we put the book in front of us. (We only had three pillows, you see, so I was the back wall of the fort.)

I open the book up to the middle and point at the text. “Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Oot,” I say. “He was very nice. One day, he wanted to go for a walk. So he went outside with his momma, and he got in the wagon.”

I know he doesn’t understand all of it. But he can catch the gist. He can use a lot of these words himself. I think it sounds kinda like this to him:

“Xxxx xxxx x xxxx, xxxxx xxx x little xxx named Oot. He xxx xxxx nice. One xxx, he wanted xx go xxx x walk. Xx he xxxx outside xxxx his momma, xxx xxxx xxx in the wagon.”

I would bet serious money this is what it sounds like to him. Because these last couple of weeks, this is exactly what he talks like.

He says: “Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya daddie,” and points at a picture of me on the fridge. He’s obviously saying something about the picture of me, but he doesn’t know that the rest of the words should be. “Ya ya ya ya ya book. Ya ya ya ya ya eyaphant. (elephant)”

Anyway, I’m making up a little story for Oot. After every couple sentences I turn a page, because that’s what happens when you read a book. I know the game. We’ve done this before.

But this time things are different.

“…and he got in the wagon,” I say.

“Dog!” Oot interjects. “Bark.”

It takes me a second to figure out what he’s talking about. We keep his wagon in the garage, and sometimes the next door neighbor’s dog is out there.

“And Oot saw a dog,” I say. “And the dog barked and barked. Then momma put Oot in the wagon and pulled it.”

“Stand!” Everything he says has an exclamation point at the end of it. It’s said with such certainty. These words aren’t exclamations as much as they’re declamations. Assume that what I’m using is a declamation point at the end of his sentences.

I continue: “Then Oot tried to stand up in the wagon, but his momma said, ‘Oh no. Be careful.’ So Oot sat down in the wagon again and his momma pulled it.”

He seems satisfied with this. I turn a page.

“On their walk, they saw a tree, and a rock…”

“Geddit!” he says. “Trowit!” he moves his arm excitedly, like he’s throwing. “Air!”

“And Oot took the rock and threw it through the air.”

“Bird! Fly! Up!”

“And they saw a bird flying high up in the sky.” I pause. “Is a bird big or little?”

“Eeedie beetie,” he says in a high voice, holding out two fingers pinched close together. (itty-bitty)

“What does the bird say?”

“Teet.”

“Does a bird say, ‘Toot?'”

He shakes his head. “No.”

This makes me sad. Birds used to say, “toot.” I really liked that. It was cute as hell…

I turn the page. “Oot and momma go and have some dinner. They have soup and carrots….”

“Candy!” he says. This word is perfectly enunciated, though a little long on the “a” sound. “Caaandy.”

“First they eat soup,” I say. Doing my best to maintain rule of law, even in the story. “First chicken and pickle. Then candy.”

“Choccat!”

I didn’t know he knew that word. He must have learned it over Easter.

“Yes,” I concede, “then they had chocolate. Then they came home.” I close the book. “The end.”

This is how deeply rooted stories are, folks. We crave them before we can walk, and we start telling them before we can talk.

That’s all for now, be good to each other.

pat

Also posted in appearances, Sarah, Stories about stories. | By Pat72 Responses
Published: March 26, 2011

Fanmail and Hummus

I have just now managed to get through the last of my e-mail backlog that built up while I was on tour. Who ever knew that it would take so long to work my way through a mere 2000 messages.

Next on my list is going through the 600 or so pieces of fanmail that have built up while I was gone. These are mostly e-mail too, though I do have a couple dozen old-fashioned envelopey messages too.

I used to respond personally to every message. But those days are long gone. I just don’t have the time anymore. But I do read them all. I don’t have anyone filter or pre-sort them for me.

On the home front, I’m having a good time hanging out with my baby. Little Oot is 18 months now, and he’s picking up words like crazy. When I came home on the 7th, after a week of touring, I found out that he had learned how to say “Monkey.” I was impressed, but also kinda sad that I hadn’t been the one to teach him this word. Because… y’know… monkey.

I’d been home for about 10 minutes when Sarah said, “What did we eat for the first time today?”

Oot gave her a look that wasn’t exactly blank, but let her know that he needed a little more help.

“Did we eat hummus?” Sarah prompted.

“Hummus,” Oot said. He said the word with a particular intensity. It wasn’t: “Hummus!” Not an exclamation. But it really wasn’t just “hummus,” either. It said it with emphasis. “Hummus.”

He pronounced it “haahmis.” With a tiny bit of a lisp on the s. It was, quite possibly, the cutest thing I’d ever heard.

“Haahmis….” he said again. “Haahmis.” A two-second pause. “Haahmis.” Another pause. “Hummus nummus,” he said. Expressing the opinion that hummus was, in fact, delicious. (Yummy = Nummy. Nummy ~ Nummus.)

I quickly had to revise my cuteness scale. “Hummus Nummus” was now top of the cuteness chart.

He then proceeded to say nothing but “hummus” for the next ten minutes.

And you know what? It never stopped being cute. Why? Because my baby is fucking adorable.

(Click to encutenate.)

In other news, (for those of you who have been asking) I’ve made my first tentative steps into playing Dragon Age II. I’ve only played 6-7 hours or so, and thus far my feelings are mixed.

More soon, including news of a few more signings, and stories from the tour.

pat

Also posted in fanmail, Interviews, Sarah | By Pat73 Responses

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