I had hoped to provide a detailed write-up of my Friday at Readercon 20, but that proves to be impossible. I was on the go constantly from the moment I woke at 6:00 a.m., not crashing until 1:00 a.m. this morning, which meant that the day was so filled with incident that any report would take so much time to write that I would not get to have a Saturday at Readercon and would fill so many screens that you’d never read it anyway.

Also, to be fully detailed, it would have to be a historical document published after the con, thus violating what I call Edelman’s Schadenfreude Rule of Convention Reporting—it mustn’t be done later, when any journalism would be considered historical, but instead while the con is still going on. Because it’s not enough that those of us here be having a good time, others must know we’re having a good time and be absolutely miserable that they’re not here with us. They have to be tempted to hop in a car, or to catch a plane, and join the party, and be crestfallen when they can’t. Schadenfreude can be a wonderful thing.

And so, I will limit myself to the following list of my 10 favorite things that happened during my Friday at Readercon:

1) Showing off my ego: I took part in the 11:00 a.m. panel “Egocentrism and Creativity,” during which James Patrick Kelly moderated me, Gene Wolfe, Catherynne Valente, Eileen Gunn, and Gene Wolfe. Not only did we not have to hide our lights under bushels, we were encouraged to be as egotistical as possible, and to explain how that facet of our personalities helped us survive. We were asked to share the most egotistical things we’d ever done in our careers, as well as the most egotistical thing we’d done recently. It was a heck of a lot of fun, and I think we killed (he wrote egotistically).

2) Pinning Jeff Ford:: Jeff and I started the tradition a while back of having lunch together at all cons we’re both attending, and we continued that this year. This lunch was different, however, in that I was able to bring him something special—the Nebula certificate and pin I accepted for him while out at this year’s Nebula Awards weekend. I’ll skip the fact that I should have mailed it to him several months ago so that I look diligent instead of lackadaisical. (Oops, too late!) Catching up with Jeff, a fun guy and a brilliant writer, is always a privilege.

3) Bringing myself to tears: I’d managed to read my unpublished short story “What Will Come After” (due to appear in my zombie collection from PS Publishing, which will be launched at the 2010 World Horror Convention in Brighton) once before without crying, last month at the Stoker Awards weekend in Burbank, and thought I’d be able to struggle through it here as well without problems. But the deeply personal story, which includes references to my wife, my parents, and my son, and, well, my own death, too, hit me hard this time, and there were several moments in which I got too choked up to continue. I was able to keep going, though, until the final few sentences, during which I broke down, and had to pause and gather myself before finishing the story in a cracking voice. I hope that some of that will carry over to the reader on the printed page. Members of the audience assured me that it would.

4) Listening to a Pulitzer Prize-winner: I don’t get to witness or chat with Michael Dirda often, so to hear him on the panel “How to Choose What We Read,” which also included Michael Bishop, Victoria Janssen, Rosemary Kirstein, Rick Wilber and Chuck Rothman, who are no slouches themselves, was fascinating. I particularly liked him quoting the ending to his review of Judith Krantz’s novel Dazzle, which went something like this: “Some readers feel bad for the trees felled to print a bad book. In this instance, I even feel bad for the ink and the glue.” He also quoted Oscar Wilde to explain why it isn’t necessary to complete books you don’t really like: “Only an auctioneer can appreciate all forms of art.”

5) Confessing my sins: On the “Hacks Anonymous vs. the Art Police” panel, moderator David Shaw gave Liz Hand, Kit Reed, Cecelia Tan and me dispensation as we shared what we did for money rather than love. Based on his litany of charges, it seems that David felt the worst sin of all was Cecilia’s work for the Yankees! I shared how, when I wrote my unauthorized wrestling biographies, it wasn’t entirely for the money, though as it turned out there would be royalties aplenty. I also did it to feel connected to all the wordsmiths who came before me, like Walter Gibson and Frederick Faust, writers who turned out books over the weekend and short stories over lunch to fill editorial demand, and even to writers still with us, such as Bob Silverberg and Barry Malzberg, who did the same relatively not that long ago. I wrote them for the thrill of feeling being part of that pulp continuum. And speaking of Barry …

6) Basking in Barry Malzberg’s self-deprecation: Barry’s presentation speech as he announced the winner of this year’s Cordwainer Smith Rediscovery Award (A. Merritt—go read) was as hilarious as ever. He went on at length about how the committee searched far and wide to find the person best qualified to give an award to a forgotten writer who was no longer read before finally settling on him, and what it must be like for those writers who just weren’t forgotten enough to have won. He said something like, “Sorry, Mark Clifton, someone actually read one of your books last year, so you’re not forgotten enough just yet. Better luck next year, when hopefully no one will read you!”

7) Meeting new people: Readercon is so much more than connecting with old friends. There are also new friends to make. One of them was Kristine Dikeman (above). We were having so much fun standing around at the Meet the Pros(e) party discussing zombies (she’s working on a novel about them and I can’t stop writing short stories about them) that we plunked ourselves down so we could dissect them at length. We also discussed the Brooklyn Bridge centennial and what a cool guy Rick Bowes is.

8) Dinner with copacetic souls: After my reading, I headed off with Resa Nelson and Mike and Jeri Bishop for a quiet dinner of good food and good conversation away from the hotel, which doesn’t always happen. Mike had been one of Resa’s Clarion teachers in 1985, and I pulled out stories of that year’s class from them. We discussed fireworks, first sales, and how Jeri plans to spend Saturday. (It’s her birthday, and she’ll be heading off to wander Boston with Deb Newton and Joyce Malzberg—re-enacting an episode of Sex and the City I imagine—but if you do manage to see her before she leaves or after she gets back, wish her a Happy Birthday!)

9) Following the reactions of others on Twitter: To the bemusement of some and the annoyance of others, I’ve been twittering my way through the con. But I’m not the only one! It’s been fun hearing what’s been going on off in the places I would have liked to have been but couldn’t be, since the committee insists on holding opposing program tracks in different rooms, rather than on opposite sides of the same room as would seem sensible to me. So I got to learn that “I tell you I didn’t anticipate listening to raunchy gay porn at a sf con” and “Escapism judged by whether you’re smarter than the book or the book is smarter than you” and more.

10) Pleased to be nearly the last man standing: When I finally took a moment to flip through the program book, I came across a complex grid which listed every panelist who’s ever appeared on a Readercon panel, the cons at which they’d done programing, and how many they’d done each year. When I scrolled down the list, which occupied seven pages, I discovered that other than Eric Van, who doesn’t count, because he’s a committee member, and also, well, because he’s an alien from another dimension, I am the only person to have been on programming at all 20 Readercons. I won!

And there was so much more! But I can’t get into that, not if I want to get out of this room for another exciting day.

So please accept my apologies for having failed you all by not having the time to report on my Friday at Readercon! I hope you’ll forgive me.