I dreamt this morning that I was visiting with Tony Isabella, a comic book writer and editor I first met a very long time ago. To give you some idea as to how long, I’d never have gotten my job at Marvel Comics without him. (There we are below in a Marie Severin caricature originally published in an ancient issue of Marvel’s fan magazine FOOM.)

In the dream, I was hanging with him in a hotel room, where we were accompanied by a couple of PR flacks I’d never met before. We chatted for awhile, catching up, and then Tony playfully said, “Hmmm … I wonder where I’m going to find someone to finish this aliens story I don’t have time to write?” Which was his way of asking whether I would take over a project he couldn’t complete.

I told him it sounded good to me, and then those corporate types jumped in, clarifying with the details. It seems I’d misinterpreted when Tony had spoken of lower-case “aliens,” because this was no tale of random aliens I was needed to tell, but rather some sort of continuation of the film Aliens. For some reason, they also thought it important to mention that there be no music in whatever I wrote, that these aliens did not have that art form. Since it had never occurred to that they would, that didn’t bother me.

The dream ended with Tony and me sitting and talking, just two old friends who haven’t seen each other in an awfully long time filling in the missing years.

In a later dream, I was in a phone conversation with Michael Dirda while he was in Cambridge and I was at home, and I was recommending what bookstores he should visit while there … as if Michael would ever need advice from me on where the best bookstores are!

I dreamt this morning that I was visiting with Pat Cadigan. We were walking through the streets of London, accompanied by a radio interviewer.

Actually, I wasn’t the one being trailed—it was Pat who was being followed around and interviewed as she moved through her day. I just happened to be there chatting with her. She was the focus.

We came upon a street which was terribly crowded. There were long lines running this way and that, making the sidewalk almost impassable. It turned out that the reason for the crowd was that the Queen was doing a book signing. (As if Her Majesty would ever do such a thing!)

I waved an arm at the crowd and told both Pat and her interviewer that the Queen didn’t deserve this—this was the size of the crowd that Pat should be having for her own book signings.

We made our way through the throng, and continued on through the streets of London, touring until I eventually awoke …

Here’s where you’ll be able to find me next month in Montreal at Anticipation, the 67th World Science Fiction Convention.

I don’t know which I’m looking forward to more—the programming or the smoked meat!

The Year in Novels
Thursday, August 6
2:00 p.m.-3:00 pm. (Room P-516D)
with Jo Walton, Kevin J. Maroney
Our panel of experts tell you about the must-reads of the year.

Scanning for Life
Thursday, August 6
3:30 p.m.-5:00 p.m. (Room P-518A)
with Janice Cullum Hodghead (moderator), Mark Olson, Sonya Taaffe
In the fifth edition of Anatomy of Wonder, Neil Barron said that the book would not cover SF poetry because it is “a relatively minor and very specialized field that, in my judgment, has never produced major works.” Is that fair? If not, what are the major canonical works?

How to Respond to a Critique of your Writing
Thursday, August 6
5:00 PM-6:00 p.m. (Room P-511A)
If you’ve never been in a critique setting it’s intimidating. Scott Edelman tells you how not to get “down” when your work is being put down. A veteran of workshops, rejections and Clarion, an editor and writer himself, Scott gives a talk to new writers about how to respond to criticism of their work. This talk is especially recommended for people contemplating a residence workshop or people scheduled for the small session workshops at Worldcon that begin on Friday.

SF in Comics
Thursday, August 6
7:00 p.m.-8:00 p.m. (Room P-522B)
I moderate Anne ANGE Guéro, Tom Stidman, and Claude Lalumière
A discussion of the long marriage of the genre and the medium, from Buck Rogers to Nexus—perhaps with an emphasis on the intersecting contributions of Ray Bradbury. (more…)

I dreamt of my father again last night, the third or fourth time I’ve done so since he died in January. In the dream, he was alive again, and while not young, he was in his late ’50s or early ’60s, as opposed to his mid-’70s, looking sort of like he did in this photo.

I was visiting him in the living room of a house or apartment, only it wasn’t a place where he and my mother had ever lived in real life. I was showing him something online, and the site we were looking at wasn’t appearing on a desktop, laptop, or iPhone—the screen was being projected, taller than a person, on the wall of the room in which we spoke. And as I showed him various sites, he became concerned that I was downloading too many megabytes, that it would be too expensive.

He got up and leaned against the wall, scrolling through the pages by dragging his hands up and down quickly, making them whiz by, saying that this would all be too expensive for his internet provider. He worried about the cost of all the pages I was showing him. I wish I could remember exactly what sites it was I was trying to visit with him, but I can’t.

I expressed shock that his internet provider was so tight with the megabytes, and promised to find him a better one. I woke as we discussed this.

I’m thinking that perhaps I had this dream because of Charlie Brown, and the appreciation I wrote for him yesterday at Sci Fi Wire. While I was writing it, which wasn’t easy, something popped into my head and I thought, “Oh, I’ve got to to tell Dad about that,” then remembered, “Oh … that’s right … I can’t.”

So Dad was already in my mind yesterday more than he is during a typical day, perhaps sparking the dream. Whatever the reason, it was nice to see him again.

I’m still too stunned by the news of the death of Charles N. Brown, with whom I and hundreds of others spent time this weekend at Readercon, for coherent thought right now, so any words I have to say about him I’ll share tomorrow. Right now, I’d rather let a few pictures speak.

Charlie and I (along with Jennifer Hall) spent Thanksgiving 2002 in Havana attending a Cuban science fiction convention. Here we are visiting Havana’s Castillo de los Tres Santos Reyes Magnos del Morro and hamming it up during happier times.

(more…)

As I’ve told you far too many times, I’ve attended every Readercon since since the first in 1987. So when I share that this Readercon was … different … you can believe me.

The important difference? Twitter.

Suddenly, there was a second Readercon occurring below the surface of the regular one. Dozens of people (I haven’t done a census, but—50? 60?) issued thousands of tweets at the con, noting what was seen in the hallways and reporting on what was said on stage. But it was more than just journalistic; it was engaged. There was agreement, disagreement, even conversation among Twitterers.

At Readercons past, I always regretted not being able to split into multiple me’s so that I could attend more than one panel at the same time. This year, I could, able to sit in one room and follow what was happening in the room next door. I was at both a meat and a virtual convention. This may not be the future we dreamed about, but it’s certainly exciting in its own way.

I was late to Twitter, only starting early this year, and have so far attended three cons while using it—Balticon, HWA’s Stoker Awards, and now Readercon. I believe that it has forever changed the way I’ll attend conventions.

Last night, in a dinner held by the Readercon committee, I pulled out my iPhone and showed the organizers this underground con, which none of them was aware of. And now I’m going to share it with you.

Here are my 10 favorite tweets from Readercon. (Though I’ll admit I haven’t read every one of the many thousands, so if I missed your brilliant 140-character nugget, please forgive me!)

(more…)

There’s a Saturday and Sunday of Readercon yet to report on, but it ain’t gonna happen tonight. I was on the run from 8:30 a.m. through 11:30 p.m., taking the stage to pontificate, watching others do the same, breaking bread, hanging with friends by the pool, partying, hiking through a deserted parking lot, closing down the bar, and more. I’d love to tell you about it all, but unlike yesterday’s tongue-in-cheek apology, tonight’s apology is a real one. Right now, I have nothing more to give.

So here’s one photograph to stand in for the joy of the past 48 hours of Readercon. Until I recover, it will have to do.

The following photo was taken at a dinner thrown by the committee, a meal which included those who worked so hard over the years, plus the former Guests of Honor who still remained, as well as some of the loyalists.

John Clute, Michael Bishop, Barry Malzberg, Eric Van and Bob Colby are standing, while I’m on my knees along with Paul Di Filippo. You can find the 79 photos I’ve added to flickr so far here.

See how happy we are? Why, that Barry Malzberg fellow is almost smiling!

I mentioned in my previous post that on Friday, I read from my unpublished short story “What Will Come After,” which won’t be out until March 2010 in my zombie collection from PS Publishing. When I give readings, I prefer using stories as yet unpublished, because I figure that gives those who take the trouble to show up for a reading, who I presume are there because they’re already familiar with my work, something guaranteed to be new to them.

Friday night at Readercon’s Meet the Pros(e) party, however, 30 people got to read that story. Or at least the first sentence. That’s because I contributed those opening words to the annual event.

For those who don’t know how Meet the Pros(e) works, each attending professional is asked to provide a sentence from his or her work, and that sentence is then printed on a sheet of Avery mailing labels. All attendees to the party are then given a sheet of wax paper, and set forth to mingle, asking each writer for a label. It’s a great idea, because it gives even the shyest member of the con a reason to walk up to any writer, however imposing, without fear.

Here’s what was printed on my label, the opening sentence of “What Will Come After”:

I am already aware of certain events surrounding my upcoming death — which, if I’m reading the signs correctly, is not that far off — as surely as if they’d already occurred and I am merely remembering them.

I’m afraid I didn’t mingle as much as I should have, getting caught up in too many interesting conversations (as with Eileen Gunn, above) to remember to play the game. But I did collect 17 of them, which I dutifully share with you here: (more…)

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. (more…)

Because it was already 6:00 p.m. by the time the members of our caravan were checking into our rooms, and the first programming items were to begin at 8:00, we immediately dove into dinner. Paul, Deb and I joined Diane Martin, David Shaw, their child Miles (check out the cute trio below), plus Kit and Joe Reed for a wonderful meal.

The conversation was lively—lots of talk of how the first Readercon came to be in 1987, plus nods to fallen comrade Bob Ingria—and the food was great. We’d all complained the year the restaurant was closed (was that two Readercons ago?), but the food has been much better since its reopening. Especially the tower of duck David and I split! (Though, yes, it’s more pricey, too. But the trade-off seems worth it to me, particularly since there’s so much great stuff happening at Readercon that it’s difficult to make a case for venturing out.)

The first panel I attended was “Writers Who Review,” and it featured an all-star line-up—Michael Bishop, Paul Di Filippo, Liz Hand, Barry Malzberg, Howard Waldrop, and Gene Wolfe. I never tire of hearing Barry Malzberg quote from his worst review ever: “Avon calls this a brilliant new novel, thereby making three mistakes in three words.” Michael Dirda asked Gene Wolfe whether he’d ever learned anything from a review, and Wolfe replied: “All I can say is … no.” The audience roared. (more…)