I first heard about the Fantastic Fiction reading series at KGB bar in Manhattan from my friend Angus, who posted a few times on social media about the wonderful authors he saw there. How glamorous it sounded! New York City! The subversive cold-war name of the place, drinks and fiction! I was as jealous as a sick kid at home on prom night.
And lets be real – I dreamed of READING, not just going. I love giving readings. I’m a ham at heart. Readings give me a chance to glow in a spotlight, to act, to soak up that glorious ATTENTION. But I was not of the caliber of writers Ellen Datlow lined up for her series, and anyway I don’t live in NYC, it would require an expensive and rare trip to get there.
But then, you see, I did go to NYC a couple times, for literary events. The Asimov’s 40th Anniversary Party, the Analog 90th Anniversary Conference … hoping that my long bus ride and frugality would land me Attention From Important Science Fiction People. I could get a bus ticket for $50, and my friend Angus let me sleep on his futon! I could go to NYC at those rates!
So, sipping drinks at Worldcon, I let loose to another writer-friend, Andrew, that I had always wanted to do KGB. He’d mentioned an event there, and I said, “That’s on my bucket list.”
He snorted, “You could just ask.” And the very next day sent me the email of the organizer, Matthew Kressel.
And I asked, sending along the link to “We Built This City” as a sample of my writing. He said they’d have a look, and then a week later asked if February 8th worked for me?
I WAS IN. BUCKET LIST!!
Now I just had to: 1. Not Catch Covid, 2. Get my ass to New York
I immediately contacted dear Angus, chanting a silent prayer to my robot overlords that he would be available to house me and I wouldn’t have to cough up hotel money. His response was quick, “Melissa and I would be delighted to have you!” Next stop: Greyhound’s website to comparison-shop ticket prices.
(My friend Nyla has since told me I’m incorrect in assuming the bus is always the cheapest way to go. Next time I’ll also check airfare and trains.)
February took FOREVER to get here, and January was chock full of in-person events at which to be anxious about contracting sickness – to wit, The CWRU Sci-Fi marathon and the Global Game Jam. I felt I couldn’t skip either, as I am an organizer for one and supporter of the other. I masked and washed my hands raw and frequently dreamed I had missed out on New York.
Some people don’t like big cities. I am not those people. I freaking ADORE New York. I have loved every trip I’ve made there, in rain, in snow, in the crushing humidity of summer. LOVE. I love gawking at the people, the architecture, the much-maligned fauna, the tapestry of sounds and smells both horrific and tantalizing. I love the tacky and the classy, the signage, the graffiti. In the immortal words of Foghat, I am a fool for the city.
Brian dropped me at the Greyhound Station on Chester at 7pm Tuesday, February 7th. I always liked the very 1930s Streamline building with its neon sign, but as we approached I saw it was only partially lit, saying “Greyho”. Not a good sign. Indeed, the station seemed to have not weathered Covid well, it was in worse repair than I’d ever seen it, and abandoned – no cafe, no cafe tables, no customer service personnel, no signs but a TV monitor that only listed two bus routes arriving much later- not the one I was taking. I ended up chatting with a cheerful young man on his way to Pittsburgh, having come in from Tennessee. “Is Cleveland all this depressing and broken? I feel like I’m in a prison!”
“I swear to you, Playhouse Square is a block away, full of marquee lights.”
(I sent a stern message to Greyhound – they are ruining our rep letting this station moulder!)
I regret to report the Pittsburgh Greyhound station was way, way nicer, with plentiful outlets and actual HOT FOOD.
The bus was also one of the oldest and rattiest I’ve ever ridden in. Every deceleration it felt like it was about to trip over its front wheels, and the driver clearly had to wrestle to keep it in its lane, frequently hitting the rumble strips.
Still, I arrived at the Port Authority only an hour later than expected, and gleefully raced off to get a Metro card and hop on the first subway train out of there. I didn’t even check which train or where it was going. I had time before I was expected at Angus’s, and my plan was “Get away from Bus Station, get caffein, place to sit while I look up route to Angus, get donut.” I knew no matter what neighborhood I ended up in, there would be donuts.
I ended up in posh mid town, on Lexington. I got a very expensive donut and coffee, but there was free wifi and no one was using the bar stools along the front of the coffee shop.
The Donut was a cream-filled brioche donut dusted with sugar and it was AMAZEBALLS.
As I moaned in confectionary completion, I checked my Christmas card list for Angus’s address and found … a P.O. Box. DOH! “Okay, okay, I can find him… what was that bridge he lived near? It began with a W?” A few increasingly panicked googles for New York Bridges that didn’t look right later, I remembered that there was a park along the river across from his building that had brass sea lions. So I googled “What New York City Park has brass sea lions?” And lo! There it was, next to the Williamsburg Bridge! I could catch the A,C, or E from the subway stop I’d just left and transfer to the F or M to get there.
So that’s what I did. I was sure I’d recognize the area around the subway stop from staying at Angus’s twice before and would instantly know what street to turn down. There had been that school, and those shops, and that park bench…
LOL.
Dismayed at the utterly unfamiliar neighborhood, I turned randomly left and right, looking for something familiar. Then I started following the signs for the bridge, and things got more and more unfamiliar. I wore down my phone battery looking at maps and google street view while sending messages to Angus on Discord and Chat.
It took me an embarrassingly long time to remember that phones come with this neat little “app” that has a picture of a handset as its icon… and I called Angus, who guided me to his home. (Though I did get lost again trying to walk around a construction area.)
And now I realize this is going to be a very long blog post, so I’ll cut it off there, safely ensconced at Angus’s apartment where I got to wash the bus and subway off and take a WONDERFUL nap. Next up: The Reading Itself!
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