Before making the following statement, let me say flatly that FenCon II was mucho fun and I look forward to going back next year. So however you interpret anything after this, remember it’s not a criticism of the con itself.
But let’s face it, sci-fi people do not party like horror folk. Saturday evening, me, Angeline Hawkes-Craig, Chris Fullbright and Chris’s friend Keith went to three parties. The first was okay and may actually result in some work from a guy we met there. When we left that party, our new friend joined us as we went to the “smoking party” downstairs. Here we saw a junior high school teacher silently climaxing as a dude ran some kind of electric wand all over her fully clothed body. The wand had one of those glass balls on the end that has “lightning” in it. When she was finished, many of the men in the room departed … and most of these were guys who likely were not familiar with the vision of a non-CGI woman getting off on anything in their presence. Fellas, if you’re gonna go to your room and pleasure yourself, do it in the shower. Then apply soap. At least one of those dudes was peeling paint of the walls with his BO the next day. After the sex show, we went to a party in the hospitality room … where almost everyone else was dressed like pirates and speaking like same. None of us were drunk enough to find that groove, so we retired to my room for a while.
We need Catwoman to come next year and throw a bash like she did at Horrorfind. (I’ve heard legends about the Yard Dog Press con parties, but they didn’t have one this time. In fact, Selina seemed positively subdued.)
Anyway, it was a fun con. I sold out of copies of Call to the Hunt and am down to three copies of Murdered by Human Wolves. Brad and Susan Sinor were there Saturday and Sunday, so it was great seeing them again. I finally got to meet C. Dean Andersson. And I learned that John Steakley is a really nice guy, making sure I was involved in a panel where I was really outgunned. All the panels were pretty well attended with people who didn’t ask, “Where do you get your ideas?” But, no one showed up for my reading (or several others, I hear).
And I can’t stress too much what a nice guy “Alien Motives” Bill is. I’d heard it, but … he’s a helluva nice guy. If you’re looking for an old speculative fiction book, he’s your man. Good thing he displays those books in slobber-resistant plastic!
I spent money. I bought a scimitar. I justified the purchase on the grounds that Tarod uses such a weapon in The Puppet King, so it was research. Unfortunately, I realized later that I bought a two-handed scimitar and he uses a smaller, one-handed version. See? Flashy steel and low prices makes me forget character details. I bought books — the last thing my bulging shelves need — and T-shirts for me, Kim and Alex.
While exploring the Dallas metroplex around the hotel in search of fast food, Canadian Club and a hairbrush, I learned that yes, there is a place with more churches than Oklahoma City. A person can’t fart in north Dallas with ringing bells in 20 steeples. There were two United Methodist churches right across the street from one another at one intersection. What’s up with that?
Oh, and I encountered racism like I haven’t seen in a long, long, long time. The elderly lady working the gift shop in the hotel was soooo blatantly racist. I’ll give her the fact the black lady and her two daughters who were in the store when I entered were maybe a bit annoying at first, but the white woman’s attitude was the catalyst that drove the black woman to get bitchy. Then the white woman is ringing up the stupid-ass Texas coffee mug I had to settle for because they didn’t have a thermal cup in the store and she’s going on about the black woman and some other “Negro woman” who somehow got a college degree but can’t handle customer service work. My transaction is done, and this black man walks up with a newspaper and cash and she just completely ignores him. I keep glancing over at him while she’s yapping about the black woman who just left. The guy stands there, shifts from foot to foot, looks like he’s about to leave, considers there’s nowhere else to get a newspaper, stays … and finally I just announce I gotta go and leave so the woman will have to take this black guy’s green money. Shit. Aren’t we beyond that?
In other news, I may have my best job lead since getting canned from that university. My boss at the chamber recommended me to an OKC company needing somebody to do marketing and communications. He told her he didn’t want to steal me from her and she assured him I need a full-time job she can’t provide, so that was very nice on both sides. He asked that I fax my resume, so it’ll go this afternoon.
What else? No writing done yesterday or Saturday night. But it’s there … right there on the tips of my fingers. Ulrik is flowing very well now. Oh, and Angie did give me a tip about a publisher for another project.