Worldcon: II

I stopped by the information desk to find one of my panels, and a guy there offered to escort me since he was attending it anyway. I then remembered that I'd had no coffee that morning, so I ran upstairs to get some, leaving the guy at the desk.

The coffee seemed to be out, but a helpful guy tipped the dispenser (not something that would have occurred to me before drinking some) so I could fill my cup. As I was putting in cream and sugar, I noticed that the helpful guy was Harlan Ellison. At that point, he noticed me too. "Hey, kid," he said. "You're not old enough to have written anything. I have things stuck in my teeth that are older than you!"

"Does your dentist know about that?" I asked, having at that point taken a slug of my thank-God-it's-legal addictive substance of choice.

"My shirt is older than you," he continued, and poked me in the belly button.

"Hey!" I grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. He looked rather startled.

"Gotta get to my panel," I said, and fled with my coffee.

When I met up with the guy from the info desk, I said, "Guess who I just had an encounter with?"

"Harlan Ellison?"

"How'd you know?"

"Well, I knew Harlan was there," he explained. "And knowing him, who else would it be?"

Worldcon: II

I stopped by the information desk to find one of my panels, and a guy there offered to escort me since he was attending it anyway. I then remembered that I'd had no coffee that morning, so I ran upstairs to get some, leaving the guy at the desk.

The coffee seemed to be out, but a helpful guy tipped the dispenser (not something that would have occurred to me before drinking some) so I could fill my cup. As I was putting in cream and sugar, I noticed that the helpful guy was Harlan Ellison. At that point, he noticed me too. "Hey, kid," he said. "You're not old enough to have written anything. I have things stuck in my teeth that are older than you!"

"Does your dentist know about that?" I asked, having at that point taken a slug of my thank-God-it's-legal addictive substance of choice.

"My shirt is older than you," he continued, and poked me in the belly button.

"Hey!" I grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. He looked rather startled.

"Gotta get to my panel," I said, and fled with my coffee.

When I met up with the guy from the info desk, I said, "Guess who I just had an encounter with?"

"Harlan Ellison?"

"How'd you know?"

"Well, I knew Harlan was there," he explained. "And knowing him, who else would it be?"

(no subject)

There is a thing, at Worldcon, where you can sign up to spend an hour drinking coffee and chatting with the author of your choice. I was convinced no one would show up for mine, but Elizabeth Bear (matociquala), Sarah Monette (truepenny), aireon, and chibicharybdis kindly arrived to provide moral support. And then some more people whose LJ handles I have forgotten how to spell arrived, so it was all good.

The only things I remember from mine were that, as a writer of serialized and/or dramatic media, I am more interested in interaction with and participation from the audience than the novelists (or me, when I'm a novelist) are. And that the life of a writer is hard, particularly when you are forced to write synopses. One always tries for deathless prose, but sometimes you can only manage undead prose.

The next day I, sartorias, matociquala, and more LJ people I can't spell arrived for truepenny's Kaffeeklatch, Bear all decked about in the Campbell Award tiara. Then the fatal flaw of the seating arrangement became manifest: we were next to a stage. Where a wedding was being held. A fannish wedding. A fannish, Scottish wedding. At various points while we were trying to hold an intimate discussion, a bagpiper in full kilt and cap marched by playing very loudly, followed by an even louder bagpiper, followed by a chorus of huzzahs.

Bear sang, "Bring me a sheep, dear mother, no, not my little brother, England's a bugger, but Scotland's depraved."

Later, someone carrying a large cross walked past, presumably to Calvary.

Seriously, though, next year they need to put the Kaffeeklatsches somewhere quiet, not next to a large stage featuring live entertainment and gigantic speakers.

truepenny spoke very fascinatingly and amusingly about Mildmay's dialect (based largely on her childhood in Tennessee) and the Viking wolf smut novel she wrote with Bear, Companion to Wolves. They pointed to each other and exclaimed in chorus, "She wrote the gang-bangs!"

Bear said that the Hugo award, of which she had a replica pinned on her jacket, was the most phallic rocket ship ever. I was dubious, as all rockets are phallic. She unpinned it and handed it to me.

"Wow," I said. "I have something just like this in a drawer in my bedroom. But mine's bigger."

I think that was when it was mentioned that a knitted uterus was auctioned off at the Tiptree Awards, along with a kangaroo scrotum and boxes of chocolate. Sherwood suggested that they combine the two and auction off a chocolate scrotum. At that point Ellen Kushner arrived, and hid either a blush or a smirk behind a most fetching fan.

Best Kaffeeklatsch ever.

(no subject)

There is a thing, at Worldcon, where you can sign up to spend an hour drinking coffee and chatting with the author of your choice. I was convinced no one would show up for mine, but Elizabeth Bear (matociquala), Sarah Monette (truepenny), aireon, and chibicharybdis kindly arrived to provide moral support. And then some more people whose LJ handles I have forgotten how to spell arrived, so it was all good.

The only things I remember from mine were that, as a writer of serialized and/or dramatic media, I am more interested in interaction with and participation from the audience than the novelists (or me, when I'm a novelist) are. And that the life of a writer is hard, particularly when you are forced to write synopses. One always tries for deathless prose, but sometimes you can only manage undead prose.

The next day I, sartorias, matociquala, and more LJ people I can't spell arrived for truepenny's Kaffeeklatch, Bear all decked about in the Campbell Award tiara. Then the fatal flaw of the seating arrangement became manifest: we were next to a stage. Where a wedding was being held. A fannish wedding. A fannish, Scottish wedding. At various points while we were trying to hold an intimate discussion, a bagpiper in full kilt and cap marched by playing very loudly, followed by an even louder bagpiper, followed by a chorus of huzzahs.

Bear sang, "Bring me a sheep, dear mother, no, not my little brother, England's a bugger, but Scotland's depraved."

Later, someone carrying a large cross walked past, presumably to Calvary.

Seriously, though, next year they need to put the Kaffeeklatsches somewhere quiet, not next to a large stage featuring live entertainment and gigantic speakers.

truepenny spoke very fascinatingly and amusingly about Mildmay's dialect (based largely on her childhood in Tennessee) and the Viking wolf smut novel she wrote with Bear, Companion to Wolves. They pointed to each other and exclaimed in chorus, "She wrote the gang-bangs!"

Bear said that the Hugo award, of which she had a replica pinned on her jacket, was the most phallic rocket ship ever. I was dubious, as all rockets are phallic. She unpinned it and handed it to me.

"Wow," I said. "I have something just like this in a drawer in my bedroom. But mine's bigger."

I think that was when it was mentioned that a knitted uterus was auctioned off at the Tiptree Awards, along with a kangaroo scrotum and boxes of chocolate. Sherwood suggested that they combine the two and auction off a chocolate scrotum. At that point Ellen Kushner arrived, and hid either a blush or a smirk behind a most fetching fan.

Best Kaffeeklatsch ever.

The Fearless Adventurers!

So, I am coming up with an idea for a story in the tradition of Danny Dunn, Nancy Drew, The Three Investigators, The Mad Scientists' Club, Famous Five, Secret Seven, etc, etc, etc. This team will be girls only.

I noticed certain archetypal groupings-- the blonde, the brunette, the redhead; the leader, the athlete, the brain; fat, skinny, muscular; the jock, the princess, the outcast-- and am trying to decide which set of archetypes I want to play with.

[Poll #808936]

The Fearless Adventurers!

So, I am coming up with an idea for a story in the tradition of Danny Dunn, Nancy Drew, The Three Investigators, The Mad Scientists' Club, Famous Five, Secret Seven, etc, etc, etc. This team will be girls only.

I noticed certain archetypal groupings-- the blonde, the brunette, the redhead; the leader, the athlete, the brain; fat, skinny, muscular; the jock, the princess, the outcast-- and am trying to decide which set of archetypes I want to play with.

[Poll #808936]