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Day 1 and 2 of WFC 2022
Nov. 4th, 2022 08:44 pmThe last time I was in New Orleans, it was in 1987. This is my first time being able to appreciate the city as an adult. For all that my first World Fantasy Convention jangles my nerves, I realised I was really happy to be here upon landing. It's a place I always wanted to visit again and within five minutes I realised I wanted to visit it again outside of a (for me) work convention context. This became particularly clear as we got on the highway and passed by our first cemetery with the city's famous above-ground tombs. I had really hoped I would have time to visit Lafayette #2 on this trip (Lafayette #1 is currently closed to tours due to refurbishment), but the WFC's schedule will take up all our time. Therefore! Someday I will come back and drag Seth around being a history nerd tourist, with refreshment stops for beignets.
When I was last here, my parents remember seeing the crowds of screaming girls around the Hyatt Regency waiting for Prince, who at the time was on his Purple Rain tour. Yes, Mum, it's the same hotel. The Hyatt Regency is actually a labyrinthine space inside what looks like a generic contemporary hotel building of at least a few decades. The rooms are located above several twisting floors of ballrooms, restaurants and suspicious corridors with no visible end, all serviced by their own elevators. Getting to the rooms requires navigating a separate system of bubble lifts beyond that social space, with a keypad system that is both simple and confusing to almost anyone. And then you rise up to some 20+ floors of long corridors overlooking that vast set of ballrooms and eateries, eerily quiet hallways with comfortingly muted lighting where your room is one door of many. It reminded me of public housing flats, with hundreds of human spaces crammed into a courtyard-facing block, filled with life but closed off from the rest of life as well. The room, by the way, is nice. You can tell this hotel's weathered some time without any real encumberance to its comfort and functionality.
We missed our chance to register on the first day because our flight came in late, so we went to the sports bar and had what we both agree is some of the best red beans and rice and seafood gumbo either of us has ever had. Creamy red beans cooked to a rich, velvety stew with long-grained rice in the middle. The seafood gumbo (shrimp and crawfish) had a sublime shellfish broth that is only achieved when your kitchen has that many sea bug shells to concentrate into a primordial sea bug essence. It was tossed with generous amounts of shrimp and crawfish, ensuring that one contributes to making the world a less buggy place.
Late as we were, we did get to see the Con's opening address by Ursula Vernon. Here, we learned that vampire tours in New Orleans can be terrible and worth undertaking for research but only passably tolerable when done drunk. Why vampires (I blame Anne Rice) when you can tour the perfectly lovely local cemeteries, my brain asks? (Here, I began feeling sad again I wasn't going to see Lafayette this time around.) I hoped I could get Ursula Vernon to sign a copy of one of her hamster books. Really, I would have loved to have her sign my Warhamster print, but that is framed and hung above my desk at home.
Our first night's attempt at sleep was rather terrible. The hotel's pillows are the down types I hate because they immediately flatten into nothingness. This is the bane of every hotel I have ever been in, so I think geese just hate me because I find them tasty. I wanted to attend the panel on international views of fantasy outside of the US at 10AM, but conceded I needed a full hour to roll out of bed. We were told by the organisers that the donut shop around the block is apparently very good. Okay, these aren't beignets but I heard they had Bavarian creams with custard filling, and I like custard even more than I do donuts so I will let this happen. Well, I walked in and misread the Bavarian creams as "banana cream", thereby deluding myself into believing they didn't carry them that day, ordered a lemon-filled and a half dozen donut holes instead, and instantly regretted missing said custard. One of the benefits of the lockdown was our lack of access to donuts. Months of donut starvation meant the donuts we had tasted like pure sugar with a hint of yeast. Oh, yes. These people sell yeast donuts, not the abominable cake donut. I was still tasting phantom traces of glaze at dinner time after several glasses of water. Maybe I will go back for the Bavarian cream just to be completionist. Maybe we won't need any more donuts for the next three months.
We finally got registered for the WFC when we returned to the hotel. I had asked my publisher to help ship copies of my book over to the conference for my signing and reading. The very kind organisers got that box and I spent a long time explaining to the nice ladies at the registration desk with my overly soft voice through a mask that I would like to retrieve said box. One of the nice ladies called her spouse, who was also a volunteer, and we eventually found the box after some legwork. I was extremely grateful and already felt bad for troubling other people.
It was then time to explore the dealer's room. I nearly got myself three different quirky cat shirts within five minutes of walking in. I somehow talked myself out of that purchase. Next door was a full table of books that seemed to be writing by all the guests and nominees these year. That was the first time I encountered my book for sale in the wild. It was cool. I didn't want to be that person and take a picture of it though. I mean, it seemed kind of rude to do. My eyes immediately went to the Ursula Vernon Hamster Princess books, the necessary medium for that autograph I still wanted. I also picked up Cattitude, a wee illustrated creature about how cats don't give a fuck and neither should you. Very nearly, I got that guide on making cats adorable hats made out of shedded cat hair. This is a very esoteric and specific subject and I respect someone for writing a book about it. Logically speaking, it's a natural transition from making felted animals. And having cat hair on everything. Someone will get this as a Christmas present, perhaps. The book, not the hat. I am insufficiently levelled in crafting to make this myself. I'm also fundamentally too lazy to brush my cat.
Seth attended a couple of panels in the afternoon. I went to one later in the evening about using social structures as a character. The panel was running a little over, so I didn't ask the question I wanted to, which was recommendations for each panelist's favourite book where social structures were subverted yet kept hidden between the lines to avoid censorship. This came up because one of the panelists escaped from Romania as a teenager and another had family escaping eastern Europe during a pogrom. It would also have been a substantially selfish question as those are exactly the kind of fiction books I love.
Both of us were interested in a panel on Old Appalachian ghost stories that was right after that, but we had to cancel the plan to get dinner. There wouldn't have been enough time to sit down, order and go back up to the room to retrieve things for my signing later. This turned out to be a great idea because both of us got so stuffed at dinner it hurt. Turns out, shared plates here in New Orleans feed four people and are unrelated to the small plates with six gyoza or eight ounces of karaage back home. I was also mildly salmon pink from a nice Sazerac.
Among other things, it turned out I seriously misread the email blast about how to arrange for a place at the Mass Autograph Signing event. People were ideally meant to register online for seat placement or at the registration table. If you didn't do that, you got whatever seat was left over. The way I read it, I was supposed to show up at 7PM on the day itself and sign up, which was utterly wrong. I was fine with that because I did not expect to be a popular attraction and it was my mistake. (My serious goal was if I signed even two books I at least took a step forward.) Well, we crawled back downstairs a few minutes after the Mass Autograph Signing room began opening to guests, I spoke to the coordinator about what to do and chose an empty seat in a corner. It was a quiet corner, again, I wasn't expecting miracles. The first lady who turned up was the dealer who carried my book that I saw in the morning. She said I should come by and sign my books at her table the next day, which I thought was sweet, and that I should also take a photo of said book among others, which was super nice. A lady from England came in and asked me to sign her autograph book. She wasn't buying books because her space for it was limited. Eventually, a couple drifted by and asked if I took credit card, to which I said no. (I inconveniently forgot at that very moment I have a business PayPal account ostensibly to receive payments from my day job which functions perfectly fine for physical goods.) They did ask if it was sold at a dealer's table, which I was able to respond to in the affirmative. I also forgot to mention that I was signing the copies there tomorrow because I am really bad at promoting myself.
For about 30 minutes afterwards, it was quiet. Seth came by to help get me some water and offer moral support, also helped look for where Ursula Vernon's table was. Yet another nice lady (yes, I noticed the convention is filled with them) came over, introduced herself as one of the judges this year and thanked me for writing my book. That left me a little flabbergasted, but I think I was sufficiently grateful. She got a copy of my book, the first that night! And helpfully reminded me I had PayPal when she asked if I had it. Guys, I remember when trade shows took cash only. Seth came by for the last time to remind me I have a cute spouse and returned to the room because he was in pain. Planes are inherently bad for that tall dude. I said I would stay until 10PM at latest and go up earlier if it was still too quiet.
I'm really happy this convention is fully masked. As a person who already is very bad at smiling, no one can see me grimace, only a pair of eyes. I will take this moment to note as someone who frequently writes about this topic critically, I do understand the value of anonymity that face coverings offer. I get it feels safer. If you're in an environment that is inherently dangerous to you—and this is true for women everywhere—showing as little of yourself as you can gives a sense of self-defense. I write critically about this topic nonetheless because I think it is a band aid to a bigger problem that won't fix itself. Yes, here though, I admit it helped me.
At around this time, a very old friend of mine, C.C. Finlay, did turn up. I owed this guy a hug twenty years ago and I finally got to give him that hug. That was great. We started catching up. It was really good to talk to him in person. Made my night actually. I signed two more books before the room closed. One of them knew Charlie and stopped by because he was there, which was sweet. The other copy went to the nice people who helped me find my box of books in storage earlier. I was nervous about the signing the whole day. I mean, I'm still nervous about my panel on Saturday and my reading on Sunday. But today turned out to be really nice. I am deeply grateful to be here and the people around me.
Tomorrow though, I pretend to be a knowledgeable individual about the elements of horror writing.
When I was last here, my parents remember seeing the crowds of screaming girls around the Hyatt Regency waiting for Prince, who at the time was on his Purple Rain tour. Yes, Mum, it's the same hotel. The Hyatt Regency is actually a labyrinthine space inside what looks like a generic contemporary hotel building of at least a few decades. The rooms are located above several twisting floors of ballrooms, restaurants and suspicious corridors with no visible end, all serviced by their own elevators. Getting to the rooms requires navigating a separate system of bubble lifts beyond that social space, with a keypad system that is both simple and confusing to almost anyone. And then you rise up to some 20+ floors of long corridors overlooking that vast set of ballrooms and eateries, eerily quiet hallways with comfortingly muted lighting where your room is one door of many. It reminded me of public housing flats, with hundreds of human spaces crammed into a courtyard-facing block, filled with life but closed off from the rest of life as well. The room, by the way, is nice. You can tell this hotel's weathered some time without any real encumberance to its comfort and functionality.
We missed our chance to register on the first day because our flight came in late, so we went to the sports bar and had what we both agree is some of the best red beans and rice and seafood gumbo either of us has ever had. Creamy red beans cooked to a rich, velvety stew with long-grained rice in the middle. The seafood gumbo (shrimp and crawfish) had a sublime shellfish broth that is only achieved when your kitchen has that many sea bug shells to concentrate into a primordial sea bug essence. It was tossed with generous amounts of shrimp and crawfish, ensuring that one contributes to making the world a less buggy place.
Late as we were, we did get to see the Con's opening address by Ursula Vernon. Here, we learned that vampire tours in New Orleans can be terrible and worth undertaking for research but only passably tolerable when done drunk. Why vampires (I blame Anne Rice) when you can tour the perfectly lovely local cemeteries, my brain asks? (Here, I began feeling sad again I wasn't going to see Lafayette this time around.) I hoped I could get Ursula Vernon to sign a copy of one of her hamster books. Really, I would have loved to have her sign my Warhamster print, but that is framed and hung above my desk at home.
Our first night's attempt at sleep was rather terrible. The hotel's pillows are the down types I hate because they immediately flatten into nothingness. This is the bane of every hotel I have ever been in, so I think geese just hate me because I find them tasty. I wanted to attend the panel on international views of fantasy outside of the US at 10AM, but conceded I needed a full hour to roll out of bed. We were told by the organisers that the donut shop around the block is apparently very good. Okay, these aren't beignets but I heard they had Bavarian creams with custard filling, and I like custard even more than I do donuts so I will let this happen. Well, I walked in and misread the Bavarian creams as "banana cream", thereby deluding myself into believing they didn't carry them that day, ordered a lemon-filled and a half dozen donut holes instead, and instantly regretted missing said custard. One of the benefits of the lockdown was our lack of access to donuts. Months of donut starvation meant the donuts we had tasted like pure sugar with a hint of yeast. Oh, yes. These people sell yeast donuts, not the abominable cake donut. I was still tasting phantom traces of glaze at dinner time after several glasses of water. Maybe I will go back for the Bavarian cream just to be completionist. Maybe we won't need any more donuts for the next three months.
We finally got registered for the WFC when we returned to the hotel. I had asked my publisher to help ship copies of my book over to the conference for my signing and reading. The very kind organisers got that box and I spent a long time explaining to the nice ladies at the registration desk with my overly soft voice through a mask that I would like to retrieve said box. One of the nice ladies called her spouse, who was also a volunteer, and we eventually found the box after some legwork. I was extremely grateful and already felt bad for troubling other people.
It was then time to explore the dealer's room. I nearly got myself three different quirky cat shirts within five minutes of walking in. I somehow talked myself out of that purchase. Next door was a full table of books that seemed to be writing by all the guests and nominees these year. That was the first time I encountered my book for sale in the wild. It was cool. I didn't want to be that person and take a picture of it though. I mean, it seemed kind of rude to do. My eyes immediately went to the Ursula Vernon Hamster Princess books, the necessary medium for that autograph I still wanted. I also picked up Cattitude, a wee illustrated creature about how cats don't give a fuck and neither should you. Very nearly, I got that guide on making cats adorable hats made out of shedded cat hair. This is a very esoteric and specific subject and I respect someone for writing a book about it. Logically speaking, it's a natural transition from making felted animals. And having cat hair on everything. Someone will get this as a Christmas present, perhaps. The book, not the hat. I am insufficiently levelled in crafting to make this myself. I'm also fundamentally too lazy to brush my cat.
Seth attended a couple of panels in the afternoon. I went to one later in the evening about using social structures as a character. The panel was running a little over, so I didn't ask the question I wanted to, which was recommendations for each panelist's favourite book where social structures were subverted yet kept hidden between the lines to avoid censorship. This came up because one of the panelists escaped from Romania as a teenager and another had family escaping eastern Europe during a pogrom. It would also have been a substantially selfish question as those are exactly the kind of fiction books I love.
Both of us were interested in a panel on Old Appalachian ghost stories that was right after that, but we had to cancel the plan to get dinner. There wouldn't have been enough time to sit down, order and go back up to the room to retrieve things for my signing later. This turned out to be a great idea because both of us got so stuffed at dinner it hurt. Turns out, shared plates here in New Orleans feed four people and are unrelated to the small plates with six gyoza or eight ounces of karaage back home. I was also mildly salmon pink from a nice Sazerac.
Among other things, it turned out I seriously misread the email blast about how to arrange for a place at the Mass Autograph Signing event. People were ideally meant to register online for seat placement or at the registration table. If you didn't do that, you got whatever seat was left over. The way I read it, I was supposed to show up at 7PM on the day itself and sign up, which was utterly wrong. I was fine with that because I did not expect to be a popular attraction and it was my mistake. (My serious goal was if I signed even two books I at least took a step forward.) Well, we crawled back downstairs a few minutes after the Mass Autograph Signing room began opening to guests, I spoke to the coordinator about what to do and chose an empty seat in a corner. It was a quiet corner, again, I wasn't expecting miracles. The first lady who turned up was the dealer who carried my book that I saw in the morning. She said I should come by and sign my books at her table the next day, which I thought was sweet, and that I should also take a photo of said book among others, which was super nice. A lady from England came in and asked me to sign her autograph book. She wasn't buying books because her space for it was limited. Eventually, a couple drifted by and asked if I took credit card, to which I said no. (I inconveniently forgot at that very moment I have a business PayPal account ostensibly to receive payments from my day job which functions perfectly fine for physical goods.) They did ask if it was sold at a dealer's table, which I was able to respond to in the affirmative. I also forgot to mention that I was signing the copies there tomorrow because I am really bad at promoting myself.
For about 30 minutes afterwards, it was quiet. Seth came by to help get me some water and offer moral support, also helped look for where Ursula Vernon's table was. Yet another nice lady (yes, I noticed the convention is filled with them) came over, introduced herself as one of the judges this year and thanked me for writing my book. That left me a little flabbergasted, but I think I was sufficiently grateful. She got a copy of my book, the first that night! And helpfully reminded me I had PayPal when she asked if I had it. Guys, I remember when trade shows took cash only. Seth came by for the last time to remind me I have a cute spouse and returned to the room because he was in pain. Planes are inherently bad for that tall dude. I said I would stay until 10PM at latest and go up earlier if it was still too quiet.
I'm really happy this convention is fully masked. As a person who already is very bad at smiling, no one can see me grimace, only a pair of eyes. I will take this moment to note as someone who frequently writes about this topic critically, I do understand the value of anonymity that face coverings offer. I get it feels safer. If you're in an environment that is inherently dangerous to you—and this is true for women everywhere—showing as little of yourself as you can gives a sense of self-defense. I write critically about this topic nonetheless because I think it is a band aid to a bigger problem that won't fix itself. Yes, here though, I admit it helped me.
At around this time, a very old friend of mine, C.C. Finlay, did turn up. I owed this guy a hug twenty years ago and I finally got to give him that hug. That was great. We started catching up. It was really good to talk to him in person. Made my night actually. I signed two more books before the room closed. One of them knew Charlie and stopped by because he was there, which was sweet. The other copy went to the nice people who helped me find my box of books in storage earlier. I was nervous about the signing the whole day. I mean, I'm still nervous about my panel on Saturday and my reading on Sunday. But today turned out to be really nice. I am deeply grateful to be here and the people around me.
Tomorrow though, I pretend to be a knowledgeable individual about the elements of horror writing.
