I blame Rob Ziegler.
The first thing you should know is that I normally don’t drink much.
And yet, I was at World Fantasy Convention, standing in the … uh, some party … maybe Tor‘s? I dunno, I was a little drunk.
Anyway, Rob was hard-timing me about the YA novel I was supposed to finish months ago and I was thinking about NaNoWriMo and I (reportedly, I was a little drunk) said, “If I don’t finish this book by December 1st, I’ll buy you something.”
Somehow, something became a bottle of Lagavulin.
Apparently I agreed, since I later found an email to myself, “i owe rob one bottle of lagavulin if i don’t finsh stupid book by dec.”
Lagavulin, in case you’re not classy, turns out to be EIGHTY DOLLAR SCOTCH WHISKEY.
If I were smart, I would’ve told Rob that drunk email contracts aren’t binding and it wasn’t fair anyway because I thought Lagavulin was some sort of fruity wine.
Instead, I complained to Bill Shunn the next morning (perfectly sober) and Bill took ruthless advantage of my hangover. “Oh, well, you can by me a bottle of Ardbeg Uigeadail if you fail.”
And I (perfectly sober) said, “Fine, I’ll do that, Bill Shunn!”
I’m pretty sure he smirked.
I’ve been informed that Ardbeg Uigeadail is not in fact cheap drinking chocolate but is ALSO AN EIGHTY DOLLAR BOTTLE OF SCOTCH.
The details are fuzzy, but sometime in the next hour I offered Eden Robins a bottle of A’bunadh ($72)
This was the point where I realized I had a problem and needed help. Interventions were staged before I could offer Bradley Beaulieu a bottle of Old Pulteney.
Still, I find myself encumbered with at least $250 worth of alcohol bets.
But, screw it. I’ll just finish the book, right? We’re talking about 45,000 to 60,000 words in the next month. That’s basically NaNoWriMo anyway. Peice of cake.
Of course I’ll be whining about this all month. Updates to follow.
Oh, I’ve also suggested to Rob, Bill and Eden that if I DO succeed in finishing this book in the next month, maybe the three of them should buy me some really good wine.
Brad, you can have some of mine. 🙂
*IF* I fail. The idea of which is, of course, ridiculous.
Damn! I almost made it. Where was I?
Clearly *not* talking me into buying you expensive scotch!
Look, while you're at it, you can put me down for a bottle of Laphroaig 18 yr old, there's a good chap.
Gethin A. Lynes