Yeah, I'm late with the Armadillocon report, pt. 2

Saturday morning dawned all too early, and it took quite a bit of convincing to roust Monkey Girl out of bed (nothing against Armadillocon--this is a recurring theme at our house). We were rewarded with a cool, comfortable ride to Austin, which is a thing to be cherished, as my AC in the car was still out. Once we arrived at the hotel, we were happy to see no fire trucks parked out front. Flooding (which I've since been informed was the result of a broken 1-inch line and not some idiot hanging heavy stuff from a fire sprinkler) was not in the cards this day. Monkey Girl quickly found a fellow in an elaborate steampunk battle armor costume for me to take her photo with, then was off to pursue her schedule of events.

My first panel was at 11 a.m., "Alternate History: The Way Things Weren't," with Steven Utley, Howard Waldrop, Peni Griffin, Bob Mahoney and Josh Rountree. With a lineup like that, how could it not be a great panel? We talked a whole heck of a lot about history--the regular kind--and how hindsight is so apt at spotting pivot points where things could very, very easily gone a different way. Research is a rabbit hole one can fall down and never emerge from. We also touched on the fact that bad alternate history exists pretty much only as a cockeyed "Where's Waldo?" exercise with famous figures. I don't think I embarrassed myself too badly, and it was a lively discussion.

My next panel came at 4 p.m., "Learning from Others' Mistakes: Writing Errors to Avoid," which proved great fun. I moderated. Bill Spencer, Kathleen Cheney, Urania Fung, Scott Lynch and Jamie Lee Moyer pulled more than their weight in the discussion. I kicked things off by confessing that as a 17-year-old, I sent my recently completed epic fantasy novel (based heavily on D&D) to Stanley Schmidt at Analog for serialization. Yeah, nobody else 'fessed up to anything that cringe-inducing. Mostly we talked about stupid writer tricks, and how not to interact with editors. Nothing earth-shaking, but the audience seemed entertained, so I call it a win.

I fear I missed a whole lot of cool panels this year, and didn't make a single reading. Mid-afternoon, I got a call from home that the air conditioner had gone out. How's that for crummy luck? Not only was my car a sweatbox, but my house was rapidly becoming one as well. This became something of a distraction for me the rest of the day, so to anyone I had a conversation with--if I didn't seem like I was all there, you have my apologies. I took Monkey Girl over to How Do You Roll for sushi dinner, then came back in time for her to hit the art auction and me to wander through the dealers' room a bit (art show was fantastic this year, with lots of talent on display). I did catch the "Pictures at an Exhibition" session, in which pro artists such as John Picacio gave a guided tour through the art show and discussed the styles, influences and techniques used in the various works on display. It was interesting, but as the art show is merely sectioned off from the dealers' room, the noise grew overwhelming after a bit and I ended up stepping away simply because I couldn't hear anything said.

A highlight of the evening was a screening of Joe Lansdale's low-budget horror film, Christmas with the Dead, scripted by his son, Keith, based on a story of Joe's, with daughter Kasey Lansdale as one of the zombies. It's a little rough, as you might expect from a low-budget indy film, and there were a few pacing issues, but overall it was a great deal of fun. It's certainly better than almost any Roger Corman-produced film, or anything you can find on the skiffy channel. There's some sly, subversive humor in the film, some trademark Lansdale strangeness, and a good number of gross-out bits to satisfy the zombie fans. I can see this becoming a cult classic, especially around the holidays. It's not Bubba Ho-Tep, but then again, what is?

We wrapped it up soon after that. There were several room parties, including a joint one thrown by ApolloCon, FenCon and ConDFW--great folks, all of them--but for some reason hardly anyone showed. I mean, it wasn't exactly crickets chirping, but it wasn't far from it. This is the second year in a row where Armadillocon had no Friday night parties at all, which is troubling enough, but to have the Saturday parties underwhelm--and I'm not speaking of heavy drinking, but rather of the continuous ebb and flow of fans and interesting, varied and stimulating conversations--that I am rightfully concerned. hopefully, next year will correct this negative trajectory.

So, Monkey Girl and I packed up and headed home before the wee hours got too wee. She made a killing at the art show, leveraging her limited funds into a veritable plethora of fine art pieces worth far more than the paltry sums she paid for them. Now all she lacks is wall space for the illustrations. She also found a partner in crime close to her own age that also likes Doctor Who and is active on Deviant Art. Yeah, a monster is created. For my part, the convention ended on a downer. The AC issues at home ended any hope of returning for Sunday's wrap up, and I had soooo many people I still hadn't gotten a chance to talk with. And, of course, I wanted to hear Howard Waldrop's traditional con-ending reading. Maybe next year, hmm?

I have to admit my amusement of Neal Barrett, Jr., being utterly befuddled by my Galaxy Note phone when he borrowed it to make a call. Not to worry, I helped him out. But still. Does that make me a bad person?

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