Some Lessons Need To Be Learned Repeatedly. Apparently.
Traveling from Toronto to Albany, New York for Albacon, I was reminded that border security guards are not my target audience. Some day, no doubt, I will tell this story in full. Some day.
Traveling Hopefully
To get to my plane, I had to walk down a corridor, around a corner, down another corridor, down a flight of stairs, down another corridor, around another corner, down yet another corridor, out of the building entirely and across tarmac. At each turn, the corridor got smaller; the point where I left the building felt like being born all over again!
The plane was a Beech 1900D that looked like something out of the 1940s. I kept expecting to see Rick Speechifying about hills of beans to Ilsa in the fog. On the hour and 20 minute trip, I kept hearing "As Time Goes By," which was funny the first 17 times, but after that was just my brain playing cruel tricks on me. Again.
A Rose By Any Other Name Would Still Prick Your Finger
Before I got there, I kept thinking of the science fiction convention as "Albacore" instead of "Albacon." Sure, I will miss tuna when we fish them to extinction; still, that's no excuse...
Two Countries Divided By My Sense Of Humour
At the writers' social the night before the con officially started, somebody at my table insisted that there was no difference between the Democrats and the Republicans, a complaint I heard from many people that weekend. I responded with my standard line: Democrats may be weak and corrupt, but Republicans are evil.
Well! You could have heard the crickets all the way back in Toronto!
Fortunately, the uncomfortable silence was broken by The Wombat (not his legal name - more a statement of mammalian brotherhood), who embarked on a story about driving across the country. I have never been so grateful to a marsupial-identified person in my life!
Enter The Wombat
Bill Freedman, author of Land That I Love, and liquid companion. Not The Wombat.
Stella - also not The Wombat. But, she brought the doughnuts AND wore the coolest costumes.
A room full of people who are not The Wombat. Still, nice to see such a turnout for a panel I was on. I'm sure the fact that it was moderated by the Writer Guest of Honour had nothing to do with it...
Okay, am I even TRYING to find a photo of The Wombat?
Can you spot The Wombat? HINT: he's not hiding under the carpet.
Do You Suffer From Old Fogey Syndrome?
It's not a function of age so much as it is a certain disposition of mind: old fogeyism. In fact, you may be an old fogey and not even realize it! When you are on a panel at a science fiction convention, do you find yourself saying any of the following:
"I remember when social media was two tin cans and a wire!"
"I'm not crazy about the term 'sci fi.' Science fiction. SF. Speculative fiction. That goofy genre with aliens and ray guns. Whatever it is James Cameron does. These are all acceptable descriptions of the field. But, please, sci fi? Sci fi just sounds juvenile!"
"Oh, yeah. I remember when my first story was published by [INSERT NAME OF PROMINENT SCIENCE FICTION PUBLICATION HERE]. Nobody could really define what hard SF was, but [INSERT FIRST NAME OF EDITOR OF SAID PROMINENT SCIENCE FICTION PUBLICATION HERE] knew it when he saw it, and I guess he saw it in me. And, that, kids, is why you should stay off drugs."
"I'm so busy writing, I don't have time to brush my teeth, let alone post messages on Twitter! Sure, my friends may not be crazy about it, but that's just the kind of sacrifice I'm willing to make for my art!"
"Science fiction is dead. Okay, other than on film. Lots of science fiction movies are being produced. Other than that, though, science fiction is dead. Well, and television. There sure is a lot of science fiction on television. Other than that, tho - oh, and the Internet. You can find a tremendous amount of original science fiction on the Internet. But, forgetting film and television and the Internet, science fiction really is dead!"
If you catch yourself saying one or more of these things on a panel, you are likely an old fogey. Consult your children or, if you do not have any, any children who may be in your audience. In a worst case scenario (where you say three or more of the above phrases at a single con), spend at least two hours watching anime in the video room. This has been shown to decrease old fogeyism in Japanese science fiction con-goers by as much as 23 per cent.
Hey - it's a start.
Ah Have Ahlways Relahd On The Kahndness Of Strangahs
While I was away from my table on a panel, two of my books were sold. It wasn't exactly magic; Roberta, who had a table next to mine, held the money for me until I came back. Still, I can claim that my books practically sell themselves! Not that I would want to put that to the test at a future con...
Remember, Boys: It's Not The Size Of Your Con That Counts...
Albacon was an intimate science fiction convention. And, when I say "intimate," I am, of course, using a euphemism for "small." Still, it had character. It was personable. All things considered, it was...well groomed.
Okay, I'm being silly. Albacon was a lot of fun. And, if the con helped even one person forget the political shenanigans in New York's State Senate for at least a little while, then it was totally worth it!
