Instagram didn’t launch until 2010—but why should that stop me from Instagramming L.A.con IV, the 2006 Worldcon which took place in Anaheim?

And so … here are seven snapshots of who were were a decade ago.

Bob Silverberg

At breakfast in a shirt I can’t quite believe I ever owned. (more…)

When I woke this morning, I found 185 new spam comments intended to go live on my blog which had instead thankfully been caught by my spam folder. That was an unusually large amount of spam to appear over one night.

And what was even more unusual was this—these weren’t just any spam comments, the standard random nonsense filled with embedded links to purveyors of payday loans, male enhancement drugs, and UGG boots. No, these were spam comments that could almost pass a Turing Test … filled with embedded links to purveyors of payday loans, male enhancement drugs and UGG boots.

To see just how close this spam appeared to real comments, check out these two computer-generated comments that were caught before they could appear on separate posts of mine which mentioned Connie Willis:

I’m confused. I bhougt doomsday book’ a few yrs ago; discovered it was part of an unfinished trilogy so decided to wait and not read it. i then bhougt To say nothing of the dog’ and again waited. the inside back cover strongly implied the final part was all clear’. now it seems all clear’ is the second part to blackout’. could someone please explain what belongs to what and if there is then still a third book to come or ???much appreciatedJeff

I’ve been a big Connie Willis fan for years, but there were several asepcts of Blackout/All Clear that I found confusing and dissatisfying. First, why does Mike think he has to fake his death to help Polly and Merope get out? It was not explained, and I can’t think of a good reason. (Maybe I’m just thick.) Second, where and when did Stephen Lang meet Polly prior to 1944? He’s about to tell her when he’s interrupted, and the topic is never revisited, even though enough time is spent on it to make it seem important. Third, who is the unnamed character who appears in the tube station at the end of Blackout? Colin? But I thought he couldn’t get through to that time. Any help clearing up these points would be most welcome.

And look how on target this one seemed that never made it through to litter a post I’d made about the Stoker Awards: (more…)

As soon as it was announced yesterday that Connie Willis had been named the next SFWA Grand Master, the Internet exploded with a wide range of chatter, ranging from “It’s about time!” to “Wow, I suddenly feel very old” to “Already?”

That was to be expected. Science fiction fandom doesn’t speak in one voice on anything.

But what I didn’t expect was to find some science fiction fans who had no idea who she was.

Here’s just one example, from Reddit:

Wow… Never heard of her, but she’s never written a series; it’s all short stories and individual novels, by the look of her wikipage.

How very unusual… And unmarketable, which is presumably why I’ve never heard of her.

Will look her stuff up, though.

How interesting to think that to some readers, if you’re writing short stories, or if your novels are not part of a series, you’re invisible—even if you’ve won seven Nebula Awards and eleven Hugo Awards.

I’m not judging the commenter, I’m just … surprised.

Damon Knight used to say that science fiction was the thing we pointed at when we said “science fiction,” but these days, science fiction is so fragmented that Damon would throw his back out trying to point in a thousand directions simultaneously.

And I keep forgetting that.

I had a dream this morning in which I was wandering an unidentified convention, though it had to be a Worldcon somewhere due to the size of the crowds. I passed a room in which people were glued to a marathon of episodes from the Swamp Thing TV show, and then came upon the con suite, which contained lots of neon and included its own pizza oven.

I began to snap pictures of the attendees there. Most of them where unfamiliar faces, but I was being a completist about it. When I went to photograph at the table at which Connie Willis sat, I heard a disconcerting popping sound, and looked at my camera, only to see that the flash was sticking out like the bouncing head from a sprung jack-in-the-box. Oh, great, I thought, the con is just beginning, and here I am without a working camera.

Then, from out of nowhere, who should pop up but Bob Howe, who proceeds to pull out many small tools (it looks to me as if he travels with a lock-picking kit), examine the camera, and tell me exactly what to do to fix it.

What I’d like to know is—just when and why did my subconscious decide that was its symbol of competency?

First, a confession: I tend to treat local conventions Balticon and Capclave as one-day cons. (Even though each is about two hours away, I still consider them local.) Unlike with Readercon or a WorldCon, at which I tend to eat, sleep, and breathe the con, for those first two I generally ask the programming committee to squeeze all of my panels into a single day, schedule meals for that one day, hang out from around 10:00 a.m. until 10:00 p.m., and skip any late-night partying. So what follows is basically my personal 12-hour mini-convention, as opposed to any attempt to explore what the four-day Balticon was really like.

After my encounter in the parking lot with David Louis Edelman, I began by wandering the dealers room, as always. I chatted with (among others) David Hartwell about the smell of old fanzines, Michael Walsh about the new Howard Waldrop collection he’ll be putting out through Old Earth Books, Stephen Segal about Wildside Press, and Roberta Rogow about Philcon’s move to New Jersey. (No more dim sum in Philly’s Chinatown. Sniff!)

I was supposed to have lunch with Karen Newton, Charlie Newton, Sandy Stewart, and Risa Stewart, all of whom I know from the local writing workshop I was a part of until Science Fiction Age magazine took over my life about 15 years ago. But Sandy was feeling under the weather, which meant that the Stewarts bailed on Balticon, and so Karen and Charlie and I wandered over to Jesse Wong’s Kitchen on our own. (I hope that you’re feeling better, Sandy!) As we ate from the Thai, Chinese and Japanese buffet, the three of us talked of—what else—our writing. (more…)

I dreamed last night that I was in the large waiting room of a train station sitting with my father. I had no idea why we were there or where we were going. I didn’t know whether both of us or just one of us would be traveling, and if only one of us, which one.

As we waited and chatted (I can remember nothing of our conversation), I looked across the room and through the crowd saw Connie Willis standing and talking with three or four other women of a similar age and type. I got up from my Dad and walked over to her to say hello.

As Connie and I talked, I pointed my Dad out to her. I waved at him, but he couldn’t seem to make me out from across the room, and so he didn’t wave back.

I woke before the dream progressed any further.