When last we left our intrepid con-goer, he'd left the con late Friday night and headed south to New Braunfels for an early-morning swim meet the next day. I'm happy to report that Monkey Girl had a good showing at the local meet, besting all her previous times and finishing second in two races and third in another, all personal bests for her.
So then I made the drive back up to Austin for the rest of Armadillocon. knowing Steve Utley was there, I grabbed my copies of Lone Star Universe and Beasts of Love for him to sign. Then I hit him up to join No Fear of the Future. I think he'd rock. He didn't accept, but didn't say no, either. So there's hope. The panels that afternoon didn't particularly appeal to me, so I decided to take in a number of readings leading in to my reading. Alexis Glynn Latner, alas, experienced some delays and wasn't able to make her scheduled reading. Neal Barrett Jr. came next, reading a selection of his humor columns that formerly ran in the Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance newsletter. If you haven't heard Neal read, you need to, because he's got some of the best timing of any performer I've ever seen. Then came Mark Finn, who read a riff on Robert E. Howard's "Sailor Steve Costigan" boxing stories that sported a strong SFnal macguffin. I'd have recommended one change to him, for continuity purposes, but since he didn't ask I didn't offer. He wrote it during this years Clockwork Storybook retreat, which I'm sure violates the terms of someone's probation somewhere, but I digress.
It was time for me to read. There was an impressive crowd gathered, but as I took my place at the front of the room, I saw most of the audience get up and follow Finn out into the lobby, where they camped out in front of the door and began conversing on things of great philosophical import, no doubt. Huh. Well, at least I know who my real fans are. So I begin the introduction to my reading, and Finn pops his head back in to close the door! Apparently, my reading was too loud and disturbing his philosophical conversations of great import. Bastard. I'll remember that the next time he needs a ride to Fuddruckers or Wizard World. (Note: Although it pains my deadpan delivery greatly to do this, I must add a metaphorical "winky face" to this graph because experience has taught me that my feigned indignation will taken as gospel less I don't. And even then it's iffy).
So, the reading itself was an experiment on my part. Pressed for time, I decided to read from MEMORY on my laptop, owing to the facts that 1) my forthcoming story "The Whale Below" which I read a portion of at Apollocon is actually fairly difficult to effective present in oral fashion, and B) I hadn't had time to print out a hardcopy, so reading off the laptop was the only real option. Naturally, I hadn't practiced in advance, so I didn't know how Flavius' Scottish brogue or Parric's decidedly erratic speech patterns would convey. Amazingly, MEMORY proved a fairly easy, effective read. The audience laughed at the right places, and even guffawed where I though the jokes were mildly amusing at best. The thousand-word chapters kept the pace flowing, and gave me nice, cliffhanger-esque pauses every so often so I might soothe my throat with a sip of water. I ended up reading the first three chapters, and those gathered were quite irate when I ran out of time at a cliffhanger in the midst of battle. Leaving the audience wanting more is a good feeling! I immediately headed over to the Charity Auction, where I played sidekick to the Hated Mark Finn (remember the winky face from above?). How we pried so much money from those people for such trifles amazes me. As does the pittance we garnered for a Walter Jon Williams tuckerization. Something's screwy in the world.
I wandered into the bar, and had some good speaks with John Scalzi, Chris Roberson, Chris Nakashima-Brown, Paul O. Miles and many other folks I'm blanking on right now. Discussion of world events led to the development of a fiction scenario in which Vladimir Putin (a black belt in Judo), battles Joe R. Lansdale (creator of Shen Chuan) in a pit-fighting tournament with the fate of Georgia at stake--all the Georgias, ours against theirs, winner-take-all. I could just see the creative juices begin oozing out of Nakashima-Brown's pores (it's not a pretty sight, actually) and can't wait to read the real-live story that shall inevitably result.
I think promptly forgot about a private pizza party for the crew that put on the Austin Nebula Awards (which I really wanted to attend) and instead left the hotel to catch the tail end of the Space Squid issue 6 release party. All the good hors dvours were already eaten and most people gone, with the scheduled readings completed. Dejected, I ended up eating mediocre Chinese food around the corner and was the recipient of a one-sided phone conversation from the Wife, who'd just suffered through the most excruciating miserable swimming awards banquet experience of all time. Just so you know, it is possible to mention gold medal Olympian Michael Phelps too many times.
I got back in time to sneak into the second half of the Swashbuckling panel, and Nakashima-Brown called me out in the audience to mention "The Whale Below" and "Being an Account of the Final Voyage of La Riaza" which was fun. Then I had a spot on Rick Klaw's Metaphysics in Comics panel, which was surprisingly well attended despite being scheduled against some powerhouse competition. I trotted out the little-known "Question/Watchmen/Rorschach" crossover Denny O'Neil did back in the late 80s, and everyone seemed suitably impressed. And we discovered we're all pretty much fans of Ambush Bug.
After that, it was time for the parties. I made the rounds, then set up shop with the FenCon people (ironically, the one Texas convention I've yet to attend) since they asked the magic words "What have you brought for us to drink this year?" No beer this time, but I did have several bottles of my prickly pear and jalapeño mead. The prickly pear was a huge hit--people who scoff at mead asked for refills, as did people who are more open minded. Joe Haldeman spent some of his carefully-hoarded carb allocations for a sip, and pronounced it enjoyable despite his diabetic misgivings. The jalapeño was viewed with much more suspicion, but of those who partook--including Patrice Sarath, who only pretended to try some at our last encounter--they were surprised by it's drinkability and balance. There was the issue of blistering heat as well, but they were all Texans for the most part, and took that in stride. Eventually, the booze ran out and my sleep deprivation took its toll, so I called it a night and headed home.
Several things stood out for me, that aren't related above: Patrice Sarath used to live in Iceland. I did not know that. Of all the obscure places to live, that one kicks the most ass; An enthusiastic yet too-short conversation with Brad Denton about backyard astronomy and astrophotography; Fleeting conversations with Rory Harper, which beg follow-up via email; Discovering that I know of a viral YouTube video featuring Jermaine Clement before Chris Roberson is aware of it. Yeah, that made my con, too.
Now Playing: Aerosmith Pandora's Box
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