Concurrently

September 4

I forgot to mention Heather's other reading in last night's entry; she did an erotica reading at 9 p.m. on Friday. Not as high-energy as her reading of "Famishing", but still good.

Now, on to Saturday!

(I realize some may find this... well... dull and tedious. But I've always been a big believer in the use of a journal as auxiliary memory, and that's what this is, for me, since I don't really keep a paper journal anymore. If you're bored, skip down, past the line of asterisks, where a somewhat normal journal entry appears.)

We rose and went to the A Certain Magazine panel -- the only panel I was on. It was fun; I was charged some weeks ago with writing a theme song, but that proved impossible for me, as I have no talent with songs (though I attempted to adapt such worthy tunes as "The Brady Bunch" theme song and "The Gilligan's Island" theme song). When it became apparent that I could not successfully write a song, Jonathan Strahan suggested I write a thousand stanza epic poem describing my boss's portentous birth and rise to prominence. While that notion proved unwieldy, it did inspire me to write about a dozen haiku about my boss and the magazine, and I read them aloud at the panel -- they went over well. I'd reprint them here, but there's some small chance they'll appear in the magazine or the (Hugo-award winning!) website, so I'll wait and see if that materializes; if not, I'll post them here. They were mostly pretty funny, some of them sweet... After the panel I talked a bit with people from Del Rey whom I occasionally talk to for work; it was good putting faces to names.

We wandered more in the dealer's room, then went to help set up the A Certain Magazine cocktail party (which sadly overlapped totally with the Strange Horizons party, so I couldn't attend that. Pout). That was rather fun -- Lucius Shepard was the first guest to arrive, and he talked about bribing people in Honduras. Then Robert Silverberg arrived and told us about fans coming up to him continually and offending him by saying they loved all his books -- it was the catholicity of the statement that bothered him; he wanted people to show some discrimination. And after that, well, a great wave of people came. The high point of the party, for me, was sitting on a bed chatting at length with Avi and Scott Edelman and Zed and Heather. Lovely! I got to chat with Terry Brooks, too, and he was incredibly friendly, despite being probably the richest, most-read writer I talked to at the con. (I didn't talk to Pratchett, you see.)

I helped clean up the party afterward, slipping away around 7:30 to join (as Greg so aptly put it) the posse; Greg, Mike Jasper, David Moles, Derek James (who joined our merry band at some point, I forget when, but he was a welcome addition), Heather and I. We sat in the bar for a bit, then repaired to the Flying Pig Pub for one of the con's absolute highlights -- beer and chicken wings!

Y'all, we'd been talking about having those beers and those chicken wings for months, and they were just as good as I'd hoped. And the company was immeasurably better. We talked of all manner of things. Mmm. Wish I could do that, with those people, on a regular basis...

After that we killed some time in the SFF.net suite, where I saw Denise Lee, and met Jim Bailey (editor of Elysian Fiction), and talked to various and sundry others. We finally made our way up to the Tor party, which is the party everyone wants to attend. Our posse mostly sat on a windowsill and on adjacent couches, where it was marginally cooler, though the whole party was festeringly hot. We drank beer and played "spot the author" (and the more difficult "spot the editor" and "spot the agent"). Eventually we fragmented and went our separate ways. I talked for a while to Clarion-mates David Kirtley, Tobias Buckell (Campbell nominee!) and Michael Canfield. Such marvelous people! I got to talk a good bit with Michael, for which I was particularly grateful; he is a man of wit, wisdom, and insight, and a hell of a conversationalist.

(I should be linking to people, but man, I'm too tired; some of them are linked-up via my Links page, and for others, hell, y'all know how to use google).

Also talked to Jed, and new SH articles editor Fred, who's cool, and I met Amber van Dyk. So many others, whose names I don't recall. Eventually Heather and I wandered home, and to bed. Saturday was long.

Sunday we actually went to panels! Wow! First the "State of SF Publishing" panel, which was rather optimistic, and taught me a lot. Also the Singularity panel, which was pretty interesting (though I think listening to Ben Rosenbaum and Avi Bar-Zeev talk about the Singularity beforehand was just as interesting!). Also went to the Improv panel, with Tad Williams and Terry Pratchett and Allison Lownsdale (sp?) and Phil Foglio. Very entertaining, once they got started.

In between there, Heather and I had Sunday brunch at the hotel, because that's what we do at cons. I like traditions. Especially edible ones.

Dinner was Indian food with the posse, then we went to the Hugo ceremony, which was mostly entertaining. Glad to see Ellen Datlow win a Hugo, and Tad Williams was a very entertaining toastmaster, and Neil Gaiman wore a suit! My senior editor thanked me by (first) name (along with the rest of the staff) for helping us win the best semiprozine Hugo, so that was cool -- hope it's not the last time I hear my name on stage during a Hugo ceremony! I didn't realize there were pictures taken of the staff afterward, so I'm not in any of those, drat it.

We went in search of a party, and failed to find it (though we managed to barge in on some strangers at one point), and wound up hanging out in the SFWA suite, drinking beer, talking away the rest of the night. It was bittersweet, people saying farewells, saying good night to Greg van Eekhout and Mike Jasper, knowing I won't see them again until who-knows-when... sigh. And then Heather and I toddled off to bed. (Though not before noticing Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and many other people sitting in "our" corner of the bar -- I felt a moment of proprietary resentment!)

Monday we rose, and wandered in the dealer's room, and I bought a t-shirt... and then we drove home, and saw a movie, and other such things, already described in my last entry.

I probably left some things out -- I didn't manage to take any notes for Sunday, and my notes for Saturday are sketchy. If I met you and didn't mention it, don't think ill of me; I didn't really have a bad interaction the entire weekend, so odds are I enjoyed meeting you.

But that's the gist, the broad outlines, of my first Worldcon. I shall remember it always. And fondly.

Yesterday was pleasant enough; Heather and I had sushi for dinner, and I started reading The Astonished Eye, which I finished today (quite nice; reminiscent of Bradbury). Terry Bisson came by the office (we were having an open house), though I didn't get to talk to him much... his cousin Bill Lightfoot was my folklore professor in college, so we talked about him a bit. Today I worked at work, nothing special (though my boss was giving away uneaten party food, so I got a big jar of nuts and a salami; please, keep your double entendres to yourselves). Went to Berkeley this evening, and had dinner at Au Coquelet. I wrote 1400 words of Rangergirl, good stuff, I think. Finished reading Astonished Eye and began Ramsey Campbell's collection Scared Stiff, which I may review. Hung out with Heather, and ambled in a newly-opened Hallowe'en store; we're trying to figure out what to dress up as this year. We have some ideas, and there was some great stuff in the store -- Mutant skulls! Enormous rats! Big spiders! Whoo! Not all cheap plastic crap, either, some nice substantial stuff that I could leave around my room all year round. I suspect I'll end up purchasing a few things...

And that's all. Good night!

Words written since February 1, 2002: 143,800

Words written since last entry: 1,400

Send me your double entendres.

Tim Pratt
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

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