Resistance is Futile

Spent most of yesterday at Orycon, the local science fiction convention. Up to the 31st edition, and I've been to them all, save one -- we were living in Washington state that year and got snowed in. But I was at the first SF Symposium, before Orycon, so I'm batting .968 ...

Those of you who have been to a science fiction con, no explanation of what goes on is needed; for those of you who haven't been, no explanation is possible ...

Well, okay, I suppose it is possible. Basically, a bunch of folks connected to science fiction and fantasy get together for however long and attend panels, upon which sit various luminaries in the field. There are readings by authors, autographings, costume competitions, filksinging (fannish folksinging, as it were), parties, and a chance to escape from the mundane world for little while.

I generally wind up on the martial arts-guns-how-to-write panels, sometimes do a reading and autograph session, and make myself available for conversations with fans. I try to bump into other writers I know, meet new ones I don't, and now and then, get some business done with editors or agents, when they are around.

This is my chance to leave the introvert state in which I normally operate, put on my public persona, and dance around in lampshade-mode. It is fun, but tiring.

As cons go, Orycon is a good one. Not too large, well-run by the local science fiction fan group, Porsfis -- Portland Science Fiction Society -- and most hospitable to writers. (Some cons focus on gaming or media; Orycon has those, but much of the audience comes because they are readers. At least the older members do. And I noticed that a lot of the fans who have been showing up as long as I have are, well, much older than they used to be. I wonder -- how is it that the nice couple less gray than I who shows up at most of my panels now has great-grandchildren? Or that that baby I saw just last year is now eight years old and half my height?)

Everybody's so different, but I haven't changed ...

I had a chance to talk to some friends, did my panel stints and autographing, and, so far, haven't come down with what I've always called "conorrhea," a vague URI thing halfway between a cold and the flu that seems rampant at such gatherings ...

The biggest problem this year was the date. The new venue -- the Doubletree by Lloyd Center -- was only available the weekend after Thanksgiving, and I expect that kept some folks from attending who might have otherwise.

Still going on today. If you hurry, you can just make it ...