I’ve been thinking about exploding cows for the past couple of days, and of how I should finally share in some permanent way that long shaggy dog (shaggy cow?) story of mine. I’ve shared it several times to crowded rooms at conventions, but that’s as far as it’s gone.

What has me recalling those unfortunate bovines right now is The Collected Stores of Jack Williamson Volume Eight, which showed up in the mail this week.

When I began flipping through the book, what first caught my eye were the two Science Fiction Age covers printed on the inside front and back covers, which made me smile. Then, looking to see what was written about the stories reprinted from those issues, I got a little choked up, because I discovered that Jack had spoken to me from beyond the grave.

Since Jack died several years ago, I’d assumed that any story notes would have to be written by someone else, but no—Jack had known the contents of this volume so far in advance that he’d been able to write about them in 2005. And this is the final sentence of his passage about having “The Firefly Tree” published in Science Fiction Age:

It was the first of mine that Scott Edelman bought for Science Fiction Age, a great magazine while it lived.

Thank, Jack. That means a lot.

After reading that, I set the book aside for a bit, pleased by Jack’s kudos. When I picked it up again, it was to read Connie Willis’ introduction. I expected to see her love for Jack shining through, but what I didn’t expect to find were exploding cows.

Yes. Exploding cows. My exploding cows.

First Connie mentioned in passing that some of the difficulties those of us who visited Portales faced in getting there were “floods, blizzards, and exploding cows.” But in the next paragraph, discussing those of us who’d made multiple visits to the Jack Williamson Lectureship series, she got more explicit, saying that I personally had returned:

” … in spite of the fact that one time, he not only witnessed a wreck between a train and a truck full of cattle, but ended up on a smoke-filled plane which had to make an emergency landing.”

Which got me to thinking—I’ve told the tale of this adventure before crowds many times at cons, once with Connie on my lap as if she were a little girl being told a bedtime story. So isn’t it time I told it to you?

I think i should. But how? I can’t decide whether to simply write it out as a blog entry here, record a podcast, or create a YouTube video so you can see me as I recount that crazy day. I’m not sure when I’ll get the time to do any of those things, but when I finally do, which do you think it should be?

Let me know.

[BTW –this is my first attempt to post here from my iPad as opposed to my laptop, so if you’re reading this — it worked!]

I normally tweet my dreams, but this one turned out to be too intriguing to condense into 140 characters.

I dreamt I was nominated for a Hugo Award, and had entered an area by the side of the stage where a cocktail party was being held for the nominees. Once inside, I mingled with friends until I came upon one of my old Marvel bosses, the long-dead Archie Goodwin. While chatting with him, and wondering in what category the comic book writer/editor had been nominated, I was strangely unsurprised to see him there alive (in the waking world, he died in 1998), looking much as he had when I’d last known him in the early ’80s.

While wandering the room and continuing to schmooze, I suddenly noticed that I wasn’t wearing the suit I usually would for such an event—I was instead In a tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of jeans shorts.

What I found so interesting about the dream is this—here is where it could all have veered into anxiety dream territory, with me stumbling about, crying “Oh, no,” and wondering how the heck I could get back to my hotel room and change into a suit in time. I could have felt embarrassed over my state, or started to worry about how silly I’d look if I won that night and had to take the stage dressed that way.

Instead, I immediately found it funny.

I told a seated George R.R. Martin that this oversight might be a good omen, that I’d lost the Hugo all four times I’d previously been nominated and showed up wearing a suit, and so perhaps this time, dressed like that, the universe was playing a joke on me and would have me win so I’d have to go up in front of thousands of people that way. That turned the whole dream around, banishing any anxiety that might have arisen, and I found it all hilarious, instantly thinking of how much fun I could have laying it out that way in my acceptance speech.

And as I went around the room sharing this silliness with friends, I woke happy, not just because of that dreamworld realization, but also because of the real-world realization that I’d turned what could have been an anxiety dream inside out. I was glad that, even unconscious, I could look on the bright side of life.

No idea what category I was nominated in, though.

Sunday morning at Ad Astra started off with me writing here about my Saturday at Ad Astra, after which I quickly checked out of my room and headed to my panel on “Why Professionalism Matters,” which was tangentially related to my Friday panel on “Using Conventions to Your Advantage.” Both were primarily concerned with not doing shooting yourself in the foot during faanish and professional interactions.

Something said by one of the co-panelists, Howard Tayler, creator of Schlock Mercenary, sparked an anecdote that hadn’t even occurred to me until he started talking about comics, and that is—professionalism matters because it allows not-quite-that-talented, yet professionally behaving creators to find work out of the disasters created by the far-more-talented, yet not as reliable creators. And I shared how I got to pick up such crumbs, getting to write issues of Master of Kung Fu and Omega the Unknown not because I was supremely qualified to do so, but because the editors knew I would deliver on time and cause fewer headaches.

Next up for me was my shared reading with Matthew Johnson. He read “Holdfast,” which had been published in Fantasy magazine, and I read “The Only Wish Ever to Come True,” which had appeared in Talebones. I’ll share videos of those two readings with you soon.

There wasn’t much time between my reading and the next event I wanted to see, an hour shared between Derwin Mak and Robert Shearman. Since I’d been warned by Glenn Grant that the lobby restaurant was slow, I headed to the basement buffet so I could grab something quick. I found Derwin there, and we ate together, catching up until it was time for his reading. (BTW, I was very pleased to learn from him that there’ll be lots of Chinese restaurants within walking distance of the World Fantasy 2012 hotel.)

Then it was off to the shared reading. I recorded Derwin with my Flip, only to have the battery give out halfway through his performance. It was only when Robert Shearman readied himself that I remembered I could also record with my iPhone. I wasn’t happy with how my iPhone had performed when recording a panel,= during the Australia Worldcon, but I thought it might work for a single speaker. And it did.

I absolutely adored Robert’s story, “One Last Love Song.” How much did I love it? So much that I’m sharing it with you even before I’m sharing video of my OWN reading! The story is from his collection Love Songs for the Shy and Cynical, and I’m sure that after you hear him read, you’ll want to buy it. (For some reason, something strange happened to first few seconds of the clip, but don’t worry—that passes before the actual story begins.)

Once the reading ended, I bought a copy of Robert’s book (as you will also do now, of course), and chatted with him as long as I could spare until it was time to get my luggage from the concierge and head to the airport with Eric Flint. Along the way, Eric and I discussed our encounters with the elder gods of science fiction, and I remembered the early conventions at which I got autographs from Arthur C. Clarke and Ted Sturgeon and Poul Anderson and Gordie Dickson—and others—all on the same day.

My final Ad Astra encounter of the day turned out to come in an unexpected place—at the border. When I explained why I’d been in the country, and mentioned science fiction, my customs agent told me all about the closing of Silver Snail Comics. I’d found a fellow fan of sorts, which helped me pass through a little more smoothly.

And that was that for Ad Astra. Which means I can now start thinking about the World Horror Convention, only 2 1/2 weeks away!

While reviewing the complete schedule for Ad Astra which I’ll be attending next weekend in Toronto, I noticed that my panel “Using Conventions To Your Advantage” was opposite one I really wanted to see—”Zombies: The Rise to Popularity.” So I asked whether it was possible to move that first panel so I could attend the second, and the committee was kind enough to not only make the move, but add me on the second panel, too.

As if those of who you attended weren’t going to get enough pontificating out of me already!

Anyway, here’s my revised (and hopefully final) schedule.

Opening Ceremonies
Friday, April 8, 7:00 p.m.

Using Conventions To Your Advantage
Friday, April 8, 8:00 p.m.
Conventions can be important venues for writers to meet editors and publishers. Hear stories from professionals in the field on how-to and how-not-to use your con experience to network.
(with Ian Keeling and Justine Lewkowitz)

Zombies: The Rise to Popularity
Friday, April 8, 9:00 p.m.
What is the appeal of zombies? Will their popularity live on, or will it start to decompose?
with Stephen Jones, Mandy Slater, Karina Sumner Smith, Chris Warrilow

GoH Hour
Saturday, April 10, 11:00 a.m.
(with Kathryn Cramer and Elisabeth Vonarburg)

The Walking Dead
Saturday, April 10, 12:00 p.m.
Discuss the television adaptation of the graphic novel series The Walking Dead.
(with Colleen Hillerup, Ian Keeling and Mandy Slater)

Autograph session
Saturday, April 10, 3:30 p.m.

Why Professionalism Matters
Sunday, April 11, 11 a.m.
Writing is an art, but publishing is a business. How writers and artists should act, and what they need to understand when trying to sell their work.
(with Ziana de Bethune, Adrienne Kress, Matt Moore, Mandy Slater, Howard Tayler and Gregory Wilson)

Reading
Sunday, April 11, 12 p.m.
(with Matthew Johnson)

I look forward to seeing some of you next weekend!

Back in 2009, I was once again asked to participate in what I’ve grown to think of as the “speed dating” style of workshopping—three beginning writers and three (supposedly) advanced writers locked together in a room for a couple of hours so the beginners could have their work critiqued.

I always used to do it when asked, but had become disenchanted with it for a couple of reasons, the primary one being that knowing how to calmly accept criticism, even when you disagree with it, is something that (for many) isn’t innate. It has to be learned. And unlike with lengthier workshop situations such as Clarion or Odyssey during which there’s time for trust to be earned, in these quickie critique sessions the writer often doesn’t yet know how to hear, or respond to, the message.

As I explained to Oz Whiston why I was going to pass, I added that I didn’t think anyone who wanted to submit manuscripts should be allowed to take part in the WorldCon critique process until he or she sat through a panel on “How to Respond to a Critique of Your Writing.” I said it half in jest, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized … “Uh-oh.”

That’s right. Oz asked me to go ahead and give that presentation at Anticipation, the 67th World Science Fiction Convention. Which I agreed to do. The room was packed, and the advice seemed well-received, with many audience members tracking me down later during the con to thank me. And that was that.

But lately, I’ve been thinking that some of the info in the presentation might be useful to some beginning writers who weren’t at WorldCon that year. And so I turned my slideshow into an annotated YouTube video.

I’m not entirely sure how something created to be presented to a specific small group of writers who likely hadn’t been professionally critiqued before will play with a wider audience, but since I believe there’s some valuable info here that might be helpful to more than just the people who were in Montreal, here’s a re-creation of that talk.

Though I’ve used every slide, not every spoken tangential aside is in here—after all, I talked for about 45 minutes at WorldCon, whereas in the clip you’re getting a distilled 15 minutes—but I think there’s still enough meat here that I get my point across.

Speaking of points … my wife, in her wisdom, mentioned that rather that creating this clip as a stand-alone presentation on how writers should react to criticism, I’ve instead created a historical document about a presentation I gave previously, and that perhaps it should be reconfigured and couched as, “I’ve been on both sides of this thing for years, and here are some tips on how to cope with rejection” (that is, something valuable for any writing audience) vs. “I gave a presentation a couple of years ago, and for those who missed it, here’s what I said.”

You know … she has a point. And someday, when I have the time, I may revise, expand, and perfect this presentation so it does just that. But for now, I think I’ll let it stand as is. I hope someone out there gets something out of it.

Two weeks from tonight, I’ll be laying my head to rest in Toronto, because from April 8-11 I’ll be attending Ad Astra. I gave you my rough schedule earlier in the week, but now that the committee has finalized things—including giving the date and time for my reading—I figured I should update you.

Here’s where you’ll be able to find me up in the Great White North:

Opening Ceremonies
Friday, April 8, 7:00 p.m.

Using Conventions To Your Advantage
Friday, April 8, 9:00 p.m.
Conventions can be important venues for writers to meet editors and publishers. Hear stories from professionals in the field on how-to and how-not-to use your con experience to network.
(with Ian Keeling and Justine Lewkowitz)

GoH Hour
Saturday, April 10, 11:00 a.m.
(with Kathryn Cramer and Elisabeth Vonarburg)

The Walking Dead
Saturday, April 10, 12:00 p.m.
Discuss the television adaptation of the graphic novel series The Walking Dead.
(with Colleen Hillerup, Ian Keeling and Mandy Slater)

Autograph session
Saturday, April 10, 3:30 p.m.

Why Professionalism Matters
Sunday, April 11, 11 a.m.
Writing is an art, but publishing is a business. How writers and artists should act, and what they need to understand when trying to sell their work.
(with Ziana de Bethune, Adrienne Kress, Matt Moore, Mandy Slater, Howard Tayler and Gregory Wilson)

Reading
Sunday, April 11, 12 p.m.
(with Matthew Johnson)

And if any of you who’ll be there have suggestions or requests for which of my stories I should read during my shared hour Sunday with Matthew Johnson, please let me know!

I’ll be in Toronto April 8-11 to attend Ad Astra. I was Editor Guest of Honor there in 2000, and for its 30th anniversary year, the con is trying to get as many previous GOHs to attend as possible.

Complete programming details are still being ironed out, but here’s what I know so far:

Using Conventions To Your Advantage
Friday, April 8, 9:00 p.m.
Conventions can be important venues for writers to meet editors and publishers. Hear stories from professionals in the field on how-to and how-not-to use your con experience to network.
(with Ian Keeling and Justine Lewkowitz)

The Walking Dead
Saturday, April 10, Noon
Discuss the television adaptation of the graphic novel series The Walking Dead.
(with Colleen Hillerup, Ian Keeling and Mandy Slater)

Why Professionalism Matters
Sun, April 11, 11 a.m.
Writing is an art, but publishing is a business. How writers and artists should act, and what they need to understand when trying to sell their work.
(with Ziana de Bethune, Adrienne Kress, Matt Moore, Mandy Slater, Howard Tayler and Gregory Wilson)

I’ll also be doing a reading, date and time still to be decided.

If you’ll be there, I look forward to seeing you. And if you won’t be there … why not?

I interviewed Isaac Asimov on November 7, 1972—Election Day—for my high school alternative newspaper, Kong. When I ran across the tape last year, I discovered to my horror that three years later, I’d recorded over the first 31 minutes of that tape with a second interview, this one with Steve Gerber. So all that remains of my Asimov interview are these concluding five minutes.

Please don’t hate me … but you’re free to hate the impetuous 19-year-old me who reused the tape!

The photo embedded on the video below shows us in Doubleday’s Park Avenue offices. Isaac is wearing his traditional bolo necktie. Unfortunately, I can be seen wearing a puka shell necklace, which I guess I thought was cool back when I was 17.

We discuss the sexual aspects of The Gods Themselves, the number of typewriters he owns, his advice for breaking into the business, and more.

I’m the one who asks the first complete question about the collection The Early Asimov, and it’s Asimov, of course, who answers. The third voice is that of high school classmate Eric Shalit.

Last night, looking to rest my brain after a heavily wired day, I pulled out my bound volume of the July-October 1898 issues of Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly. About as far as you could get from science fiction, right? You’d think so. But mixed in with articles on “The Irish People at Home” and “The Jews of the United States” was an advertisement in which Jules Verne tells us that “Vin Mariani prolongs life, it is wonderful.”

And the father of science fiction isn’t the only notable to urge us to take a sip of “the popular tonic” that is proclaimed to be “nourishing, strengthening, refreshing.” Also recommending the drink are the man who exonerated Dreyfuss (Emile Zola), the author of The Three Musketeers (Alexandre Dumas), the composer of “Ave Maria” (Charles Gounod), and the designer of the Statue of Liberty (Bartholdi)!

Why, so amazing is this beverage that it’s recommended “For Overworked Men, Delicate Women, Sickly Children.”

Since I’d never heard of this miracle elixir before, I decided to learn a bit about Vin Mariani, which turned out to have been created in 1863 and (as I should have expected) was “made from Bordeaux wine treated with coca leaves.”

In fact, at first it contained 6 milligrams of cocaine per fluid ounce of wine, but when exported to the U.S., that was raised to 7.2 milligrams per ounce.

No wonder it is “recommended by all who try it”!

I read the Roger Ebert interview in the new Esquire and was moved. I watched Oprah today and was moved even more. Seeing him speechless, but with eyes still bright, was heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. When asked how he was doing, he said he was terrific, and I believed him. Life, for him, even with all he’s been through, is still worth living.

I’ve always felt a connection with Ebert. The rest of the world may only know him as a Pulitzer Prize-winning critic, the movie reviewer with the biggest thumb in the business, but you and I know that deep inside, he’s one of us—a hardcore science-fiction fan.

He founded the science-fiction club in his high school. He read Astounding. He published a mimeographed fanzine. And he loved fandom. So when I interviewed him for Sci-Fi Entertainment back in 1997, I wasn’t speaking to some bigshot, but to just another fan, Rog Ebert.

Since Ebert’s condition has become more public the past few weeks, and everybody’s been showing their love for him, I thought I’d do the same. Here’s that interview from the July 1997 issue of Sci-Fi Entertainment. We only got to meet in the flesh once, two years later, at a NY screening for The Phantom Menace. I sat in the row behind him, and as I watched it, I couldn’t help but occasionally watch him watching it.

He loved it. More than me, because I certainly wouldn’t have given it 3 1/2 stars the way he did. But that was the science-fiction fanboy in him talking. It was there then. I’m sure it’s there still.

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