Orycon Wrap-Up
Home again. I know a lot of blog posts lately have started out with that line, but it’s so true. I am not a travel person. I like being at home, writing. It’s what I’m most comfortable with. And the crippling shyness doesn’t help with smooth traveling. On the other hand, I was told several times this weekend that people wouldn’t guess I am shy, which means my Front of Bubbly Extroversion is working.
I am glad to go back to being me.
But first, before we get into Orycon proper, a little more Bollywood for you. This is where they REALLY found AC Slater from Saved By The Bell. (They had to surgically alter him a tad for YA TV, though.) Still, the cowboy boots, Hawaiian shirts, and bad leisure suits? CHECK! The “show me on your costar where the Bad Director touched you? CHECK! It is familiar and strange at the same time, just like all of Bollywood. I have often wondered if producers in LA stole the idea of MTV from Bollywood song spots.
Heh. Cool, ain’t it?
Orycon was really fun, despite the shyness and exhaustion. I enjoyed all my panels, even if the “Can ethics and scientific experimentation coexist?” panel needed order restored a few times. And the “mock trial of James T Kirk for crimes against the Federation” where I got to say “Space hoochies!” several times.
One of the most interesting thing about panels is that it takes the panelists paying attention to the moderator before the audience will. And there is always one or two (or four) people (whether in the audience or in the panel itself) who don’t want to give others equal time. These are usually the people who will not ask questions, mostly; they will give statements as if they are panelists. Not that a certain amount of heckling and/or commenting from the audience isn’t welcome; but there is a type of combative force to certain commenters that turn them into troublemakers. It’s a variant of the hard sell.
Still, that is just the nature of panels. If it bothers one, one should probably stay away from convention panels.
Just like, if one finds oneself trying to explain one’s book to one’s critique partners, well, something has gone terribly wrong. The words, “But you don’t understand my BOOOOOOOOK!” should be a clear indication that one needs to go soak one’s head. Thoroughly.
But I’m off track. The convention was a lot of fun. I saw a lot of lovely costumes, including a Darth Maul without facial tats on the “Bad SF/Fantasy Films” panel. I was approached by a few fans. And, breaking a law of conventions, Todd McCaffrey and I actually got some time to sit down and talk to each other, though our bad panel karma is still holding. For some reason, even if we are at a convention we are usually on opposite sides of the hotel, ships passing in the night.
Still, I can see the end of the curse in sight, as we actually got to see each other three whole times this convention, and even had breakfast–where I dumped bacon in coffee, forgot my wallet, and mixed up pheromones and phonemes. (So I can SMELL my pronunciation!) Much fun was had by all.
Special thanks to the UnSullen One and to Red Argyle (pseudonyms both, you know who you are) for keeping me fed, on track, and mostly on time to everything.) And special thanks to all the Readers who told me they like my books. Each time I hear it, it’s wonderful. A writer lives for that sort of thing. *grin*
I got home with my back out of joint and my brain turned to mush. A little bit of stretching and back-cracking meant I fell in bed early and had strange dreams, but it was worth it. Now that I’ve had some sleep and processing time, I can consider it a successful convention. I hope it was as grand for everyone.
