I am not proud or at least too proud to admit either the depth of my loneliness or resulting desperation. The convention was over for the evening and I should have gone right to sleep.
I had to be up in three hours to lecture on “How to Write Magic Act Scripts that Appear to Be Ad-Libs.” Fortunately, the entire lecture was scripted out so I didn’t have to worry about being fresh or spontaneous. I could and would likely do it in my sleep.
But sleep wouldn’t come quickly enough for me.
I laid awake, staring at the bottom my hotel room’s formerly leaky sink. I had already repaired the television cabling to allow the set free travel 180 degrees in both directions within the armoire, repaired the annoying pealing wallpaper along the top of the walls circling my bedroom, wrote a couple of letters to the editor of The Chicago Tribune and The Chicago Sun-Times suggesting they needed more coverage of Magic – especially in light of the convention in town. When I finished working on the sink’s supply lines, I realized I would be bored again. I had to find something to keep my mind busy.
I went back to my bed, fluffed the pillows, stripped the covers and sheets, replaced them after turning them end-for-end. Argh. I was so bored. I thought about walking up and down the halls to knock on doors hoping to find another magician willing to exchange false-shuffles or forces. I had already tried that but no on answered. I know someone heard me because the hotel security escorted me to my room.
I opened the convention guide. It was pretty. I counted the pages earlier and even though the numbering…
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