The air got better after our first day (Friday) at Sasquan. In fact, at times the smoky smell was worse in the hotels than outside. Regarding Friday night’s costume contest, I neglected to mention the woman in the full Klingon outfit, replete with bat’leth. That in itself isn’t very noteworthy, until you understand that the outfit was completely knitted -- even the bat’leth. Fans. I’m telling ya...
Lady Cranefly sat on a Tai Chi panel with Steve Barnes, who practices Wu style Tai Chi. At one point she called me up front to demonstrate Sun style’s repulse monkey on a volunteer from the audience. That’s the most active thing I did at the whole convention.
I kept running into people who knew me, but I didn’t remember them. It’s just been too long since I’ve been in these circles. The absolute stunner of a moment was when Lady Cranefly and I ran into M J Eng (<!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M._J._Engh">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M._J._Engh</a><!-- m -->), who, seeing my name-tag, immediately announced that I had written one of her favorite stories of all time. She told me that she was happy to have finally met me because it gave her opportunity to tell me that I had misused one word in the story -- “obtuse” -- which she granted a lot of people misuse. The story in question, “The Disambiguation of Captain Shroud,” was published back in 1988, which is very likely when she read it. So she’d been carrying around this little note in her head for 27 years, and was finally able to deliver it. Writers. I’m telling ya... Now I need to reread the story and locate (and redline) “obtuse.”
We ran into Gordon Van Gelder, who as the past editor of Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine has bought more of my stories than anyone else. Gordon lamented all the undeserved attention a certain group was receiving at this WorldCon, and how he wished people would just stop talking about it. I agreed with him that life was too short to be focusing on small minds needing to grow up. He brought up my past submission, “Quicksand Village,” which he’d really liked up to a certain scene (essentially matching Greg’s critique), and how he’d wanted me to revisit the idea as a series of stories. I’d made the attempt per his letter, I told him, but suffered a failure of the imagination in trying to pull it off -- though I’m still trying.
We also talked to C. C. Finlay, the new editor of Fantasy and Science Fiction. I told him I’d be sending him something within the month.
Lady Cranefly and I talked with long-time friend Kevin J Anderson and his wife Rebecca. Kevin is best known for his collaborations with Brian Herbert (son of Frank) on countless Dune sequels, but he has countless other books and series out as well. He is a remarkable writing machine, and could only give us a couple minutes, as he is constantly rushing about for meetings or being interrupted by business associates. So we mostly talked to Rebecca. In parting, referring to the Hugos, Rebecca called morosely to us, “If Kevin should happen to win, please try to applaud.” And therein lies the problem with Kevin. Though a great guy, he writes the type of stuff that the Sad/Rabid Puppies approve of, so they pushed his work onto several ballots. Essentially, he’s become collateral damage in this whole unpleasant debacle.
The big event Saturday night was the Hugo awards presentation. I had very little interest in attending this, as it promised to be a train-wreck with each side gloating over its perceived victory. Nonetheless, I tagged along. We chose to watch on a big screen in a remote convention room rather than attend the actual venue, because they were requiring people to wait in line and get assigned seating. Assigned seating? None of us liked the idea. I even joked that the Sad Puppies would never do something that pompous and militant.
The big screen and sound system were great, and the event turned out to be a whole lot better than I’d expected. There’s always the speeches by the winners, which can be long and tedious and boring and, really, who gives a rat’s ass about who you want to thank, just do that on your own fucking time, you know? That sort of thing (and yes, my attitude is showing). Making that aspect even worse, sometimes multiple people went up to accept an award, and each talked. The high point came when six people took the stage. Jesus Christ! Still, no one abused their (our) time too badly.
As for the elephant in the room, no one mentioned it directly, though there were occasional allusions to a fuzzy problematic unnamable entity. Still, one could tell that the whole presentation was geared towards bitch-slapping the Sad/Rabid Puppies. For example, the presenters were David Gerrold (gay) and Tananarive Due (black woman (the wife of Steve Barnes)), with a big assist from Nina Horvath (Trans-Atlantic Fan Fund Delegate from Austria). It was all about diversity and inclusion, even among the Hugo awards actually awarded. Best Novel went to Cixin Liu (announced by astronaut Dr. Kidell Lindgren on the International Space Station), while the John W Campbell Award for Best New Writer (not an actual Hugo but highly regarded) went to Wesley Chu. The Chinese are coming!
Then there were the no awards. David Gerrold and Tananarive Due sometimes fought over who would get stuck opening the envelope to announce a result, as these were perceived as handgrenades just waiting to happen. They were genuinely shocked at times by the pleasantry of having a winner. On the occasions of a no award, they just announced that result in as neutral a manner as possible and moved on.
I would have handled the no awards differently. After announcing one, I would have said, “And now, taking the stage to not accept the no award, is the dancing jellyfish!” Whereupon the lights would dim and the jellyfish I liked so much at the costume competition would take the stage and spin around with lights blinking to cheery music for a couple minutes. That would have made the no awards much more fun.
All told, there were five “no award”s in categories deemed tainted by the Sad/Rabid Puppies. This equals the total number of no awards given in all past years of the Hugo. By the way, SFWA (Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America) held a business meeting during the convention to change the rules to avoid this situation in the future. Lady Cranefly and I missed it. We heard that the meeting ran way over. We don’t know yet what was decided. But any rule change will not take effect for two years, so next year could be another circus.
Two speeches at the Hugos are worth listening to. One came early, by the ineffable Robert Silverberg. The other came at the midpoint, by Connie Willis. Though they’re both showing their age, Silverberg and Willis just keep getting better. Lady Cranefly says their speeches are online somewhere, but I’m not finding them. When I track them down, I’ll make an addendum. They really are worth seeing/hearing.
After the convention, Lady Cranefly and I drove LC’s niece home to Tacoma. That was another trip across Washington, with more smoke and another Dhalgren sun. When we crossed the Columbia River, we were treated to a spectacular blood-red reflection in the rough waters. This drive took 5 hours. We crashed at the niece’s place, then left the next morning for the 13-hour drive home.
Note to self: No more long drives for a long while.
On the drive home, we stopped at the Yreka Bakery. Actually we didn’t. That’s a joke, and a palindrome.
