Speculative Reminiscences: Weekly Recap for 2/9/2014

I’m off to ArmadilloCon tomorrow, and looking forward to it. Questions about going to conventions often come up in the F&SF class, so I thought I’d answer the main one and then talk about what I do to prep for one.

Here’s the question that keeps coming up: Is going to conventions vital for F&SF writers?

And the answer is no, of course not. Don’t go to conventions unless you are genuinely deriving pleasure of some sort from them. If you’re going to go and just sit in a corner and be miserable, then don’t waste your money.

I do like cons. I’d probably go to at least a few even if I wasn’t just writing. I find them a great place to see old friends and make new ones, hear interesting discussions, and even do a little networking. To make the most of them, I may set up meetings with folks I want to see in order to make sure there’s time for it. If I’m on panels, I make sure I’m ready to talk about whatever the topic is. If I’m reading, I rehearse the piece well beforehand and make sure I know how long it takes to read.

But part of my prep is also making sure I look professional as well. The only time I’ll go off to get my nails done is before a con (or some other work outing) and I always make sure my hair is recently cut, that I’ve got clean and reasonably matching outfits, suitable footwear, and all the rest. But that’s as much for internal as external factors – I know if I’m feeling well-assembled, I’ll be more confident overall.

I’d be curious to hear what other folks do to prepare for conventions, or if you’ve got tips for hotel existence. I’ve learned to make sure I’ve got a change of clothes in my carry-on if I check a bag, that ballet flats make great light-weight footwear for cons, and to make sure I’ve got all my charging cords. How about you?

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This story’s still deciding whether it’s a comedy or a tragedy. I suspect a little of both.

When he realized how upset his wife was, George wondered if he might have miscalculated. Normally a quiet and loving partner, she was unpacking the dishwasher with a great deal of clattering and muttering.

“It’s not as though you even ever dated her!” she said, slamming a series of mugs into the cupboard.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he replied, watching as she swept up the basket of cutlery and began throwing it into a drawer to jangle against his nerves. “I’ve left you everything. All I did was will her a copy!”

She turned, resting her hands on her hips. “You’re leaving her a copy of your personality. Essentially yourself.”

“No,” he said. “I’m leaving that to you. You’ll have me on tape, you’ll be able to transfer me into some mechanical form to keep you company. I just thought Janice might like one too.”

“Why?” Mary’s glare said she had her own suspicions.

George refused to dignify them with a reply. He’d been faithful to her all his life. A good husband. He could be allowed his own eccentricities, and If leaving a copy of himself, a digital copy created from a barrage of tests and brain scans and gathered data, to an old friend was one of those eccentricities, then he didn’t really see where Mary had the right to say much about it. She could leave her own copy or copies to her own friends.