Tag Archives: context

Context 2008

Still under the influence of multiple cold medications [none of which are doing anything for me], I was home yesterday. The fever went down and the shaking subsided so I figured I’d throw a con report at you [because it's wiser than sending submissions out under the influence of Tylenol Cough & Cold---yes, I gave up on NyQuil].  So here you go. Context, in a haze of medication and with a promise to ramble appropriately [with pictures that may or may not match the text around them]…

THURS: “We’ll wing it.” Being the first one to the hotel, I sat and waited for con-mates Brian, Bob and Jesus to show up.

And waited.

For five hours.

You can overhear a lot in five hours [what would you like to know?]. You can also edit a whole novella [edited Jim, out of my hands!]. So I thank the gods of potty breaks and traffic for allowing me time to feel productive before the con even started.

Thursday was a planned down day, the pre-con relax and breathe if you will, but I still learned a few things. The bartender, Tina, was an eclectic soul who knew magic tricks [I still want to know how the hell she did that to that fork!] and she told her replacement to go home so she could stay and hang with us. We liked Tina. Hotel security, Mike [ok, it was really Darren but he didn't look like a Darren and even answered to Mike by the end of the first night] talked guns and ex-cop life and we liked him too. And then we had Russian cuisine for dinner.

In a strip mall.

Next to a Whiskey Dick’s [which looked like a good rowdy time].

The restaurant used to be Asian cuisine [ahem, Nick, did you see that? I said Asian] and just opened. They should have stayed closed for a while longer.

Forty of us swooped in on Ivan and Nikolai. The decor and silverware were still Asian in design. They only had seven menus, total, really, which meant that we had to memorize our Russian dish of choice and pass the menus along. There weren’t enough glasses. Fruit flies buzzed our eyeballs. The cook was also serving because Ivan couldn’t keep the orders straight and carry enough at a time [can you say under staffed?]. And as most of us were done and paying our bills to leave, one of the Guests of Honor hadn’t gotten their food yet.

We liked Tina. We liked Mike. We didn’t like Russian.

FRI: “Beginnings and endings.” Any day that starts with the noob beating the skilled at Magic, repeatedly, and ends with a long overdue first meeting, is a good day.  After years and years and years of emails and IMs and whatnot, Kealan and I finally met [thanks Mark]. Definitely one of the highlights of the con, and completely unexpected.

Of course, even good days have middles.

Once upon a time I discussed con behavior, let’s consider this vol. 1 issue 2. As briefly covered in the previous Context entry [remember, I turned into a girl, albeit my version]: be yourself. Online, in person, wherever. 24/7. Please. Because if you’re a nice person, we’ll like you for being a nice person. If you’re a wild crazy person, that works too. But don’t try to be something you are not. Don’t try so hard that it’s painfully obvious to everyone around you.  Don’t laugh every time someone says something. Don’t tell other people’s stories if they’re standing right there—let them do it. If you’re not funny, your jokes come across as anything but, and can hurt feelings or cause drama. And everyone knows that the drama caused at conventions goes down in the journals of history and vast memory banks of this genre for EVER. [/rant]

SAT: “The good, the bad and the booth babe.” As is tradition, Apex headmaster, Jason Sizemore, tries to keep a girl at his table with him while selling books. Sometimes it’s an author from his stable, sometimes it’s just a friend, and for several hours this weekend, he got me.  Of course, I was more of a booth bitch than a booth babe, but my hard-sell techniques worked [maybe out of fear, but they worked] and I sold my friends, er… or rather their books. Although telling that rather shy looking boy that for $10 I’d let him talk to Alethea and throw in a free book was “almost” selling her—but he bought it and then never talked to her, so it’s all good in the end.

Saturday is also traditionally the night of room parties. Shroud had a party with author signings and free booze—and the promise of money for nothing, but I’ll cover that later.  Apex had a great party with deadly punch and a quieter crowd [for those that like to hear what's being screamed in their ear]—and some of the best giggling of the con. And then there was the party I didn’t visit. Let me explain my “invite” and then you tell me if you would have gone.

So I’m outside smoking [shocker, I know] with several others when this woman comes out the door with a very angry look on her face. Well, you know me, I’m all about lightening the mood and tried a pick-me-up off the cuff, “Oooh, she has cookies.”  [She did, in a baggie]  Who the HELL knew that was an invitation to get my ass chewed.  She spun around and told me that I could find them in room number XXX and that if I was going to go there would be no smoking, [duh there isn't any inside the hotel] so I had better air out really, really well.  Then she walked away. At forty feet, she spun around and yelled to our group that no alcohol was allowed. No I didn’t hold up my water bottle, but I thought about it.  At eighty feet, she spun back around and yelled at all of us for smoking next to the ashtray and that we were to be twenty feet from the building in this state.  I moved away from the door and offered a loud but pleasant “ok” and let it ride. Then I stepped in front of one of the other smokers and stopped him from yelling something else back. We didn’t go. I can’t imagine why.

SUN: “Raping babies, Captain Tripps and Money for Nothing.” One thing I can say about Context is that the panels were different. As Mamatas stated in his blog, they weren’t the same old thing for the horror crowd and it was refreshing. Specifically, since I mentioned him, his comments on the “Horror and Real Life” panel, regarding the habit of horror to offer a moral that is nothing more than common sense [such as, "don't rape babies"] were both insightful and funny. The rest of the panelists were also insightful and funny. It was a very good panel. You should have been there.

Repeatedly through the weekend, I had to smile and admit that I had nothing with me to sell except my soul. I would then hand over a business card and remind them that my book was coming out next year. Apparently, I had more than my soul—I had my personality. Remember Saturday night? The Shroud party? Well, when I walked in the door I saw Brian Hatcher and did my normal “hey I know you” [read as: I smacked him and yelled at him... I don't even remember what I said].  Michael Knost, standing next to Hatcher, laughed and told me he’d pay me to yell at Hatcher again. Hatcher responded with, “I’ll pay you to yell at me.”  Well. I’m a starving artist writer. If I can get paid for being for my normal, overly abrasive self, hell yeah I’ll do it! I laughed it off at the time, but when I ran into Hatcher later on I yelled at him [again, don't even remember what I said], then held out my hand and declared, “That’ll be five bucks.” He actually pulled out his wallet! But then made a face, “I only have a twenty.”  I responded with, “Ok, I’ll do it three more times.” And I did. Throughout the evening and the next morning.  When I last saw him, in the parking lot when everyone was starting to leave, I held out my hand as I yelled and he actually gave me the twenty!  I made money for yelling at someone… who knew?! This could be a lucrative side job if the girl clothes don’t soften me.

And finally, I went, I saw, I laughed and hugged and talked shop and silliness both. I worked and I played. And in the end I came away with plenty of good vibes, several comments on my appearance and behavior, and some crazy head cold that invaded the hotel, landed in several of us upon departure and has kept us down ever since. Was it worth it to get Captain Tripps? Absolutely.

Am I going to do a shout out to everyone there? No way. Between the cold meds and amount of people, I’ll miss someone and I’d hate that. It was great to see everyone and I hope you all have a wonderful winter… I’m done for the year, see you all during con season 2009!

Out of Context

A funny thing happened on the way to Context… I turned into a girl. Oh close your mouths, it’s not as scary as you think.  It was a conscious decision that’s been a while in the making. Girl clothes, an actual hair style [16 inches were sheared for that feat], a pocket full of business cards and away I went. The lesson to be learned, and shared if anyone is listening, be true to your personality. You know the saying, “You can lead a horse to water…”  Well, I may have dressed like a girl but that doesn’t mean I stopped hip checking people or swearing or being included in the guy’s locker room talk. But that’s me, regardless of what I’m wearing, and that was the point of the experiment. Maurice and I discussed it beforehand and after. Bob and Brian said I cleaned up nicely. All in all, the experiment went well. You can change how you look, but as long as you don’t change who you are, you’ll be fine. After all, personality is what makes you different from everyone else. Nicer clothes than my normal horror t-shirts and shorts just helps the professional appearance.

On the way out of the convention, I caught Captain Tripps.  So forgive the convention reports through the haze of Nyquil.  Alethea and Mark [Dezm] were in charge of photos, and I had the notebook [of course, right?]. Pictures will be forthcoming—follow Alethea or me on Facebook for those.  As far as my report, give me a day or two to get some drugs in my system and germs out and I’ll break it down. For now, I’ll leave you with tidbits from the notebook [which you will not understand and may misinterpret if you weren't there, thus making the title of this post PERFECT... thank you, Lee]

Giving the cold war a whole new definition
“We’ll wing it.”
Limes!
News girls
“Some pig.”
Down, smile, cock
“You drank it with the wrong part of your tongue.”
“It was like Clickers 2!”
“Shooka shooka is where it’s at…”
“About as gentle as a chainsaw.”
“Nerd say what?”
Fishnets
Wearing a couch
Tarantino
Harry Potter
“Don’t rape babies.”
Sleeping vendors
Making $20 for being mean…

It was absolutely wonderful to get to see everyone. New faces, old faces and overdue faces.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go sneeze out my gall bladder and cough up my pancreas. I’ll be back when the doctors declare me fit for public consumption…

Random Updates

Someone actually found my website after googling “sagging tattoos”… I’m betting they weren’t looking for this blog, but my mom is probably giggling at this information.

Another poor soul found my website after googling “he put on her beautiful bra”… again, the post they found was probably not what they were looking for, but I hope they had a good giggle. [And no, I do not want to know why they were googling that phrase.]

My son is single again. For those just joining us, he had a surprise girlfriend for a whole weekend after his first Junior High dance. Apparently, she denied the entire exchange ever took place sometime the following Tuesday and the information trickled down to the first floor by the end of the day. I’m happy to report he was far more relieved than he was upset.

The puppy definitely has the girl-child’s mindset. Something warranted his interest the other night. He spat out a quick bark, his first real dog bark actually, and jumped up from the floor to run to the kitchen and then back to the living room. Without even considering me, or hubby, or any other humans that should be alerted, he popped off two strange half barks up the stairs, as if he were a Disney dog communicating across the yards.  In reply, Moose came down the stairs [with a look much like the hubby had when he claimed, "Didn't we just do this?"] and went to the kitchen to check out whatever it was the puppy didn’t like. That’s right…the puppy got the big dog to check out the scary smell, noise or man in the basement. How sad? How funny!

In my writing world:
* I have several chapters to proof for someone else on the plane.
* I am still fighting the end of The Neighborhood and am debating killing all the characters just to show them who’s in charge.
* I am packed, checked and double-checked—with camera and notebook [oh no!]—and can’t wait to get to Context for some much needed down time, pro time, and late night talks about everything from whip cream to singed back hair.  Read as: I’m outta here… follow my weekend by following my twitter.

Have a lovely week/weekend!

Double Caramel Latté, no foam, extra caramel

In other words… Coffee Talk! However, I’m not taking from the cheater pack this week. I’m actually going to talk about coffee.

I leave this afternoon for the Ma & Pa Bed and Breakfast so that I can catch a plane at the butt-crack of dawn tomorrow morning and make my way to the Context hotel. As it pertains to this post, I’m looking forward to the trip because airports have Starbucks and Caribou and other coffee shops for the groggy traveler. Here, at the edge of the universe, we do not have such luxuries. We have “do it yourself, Bob” homemade coffee or that which passes as caffeinated sludge from one of the gas stations. Yeah for good coffee! Boo for the ridiculous prices.  But hey, I only get it when I’m traveling, so I’ll pay it and enjoy my little guilty pleasure.

Meanwhile, is there even a question in here?! But of course there is! What is your favorite coffee shop [chain, local, whatever]? And what crazy [or not] order do you boggle the mind with, bitch [because you never end a sentence with a preposition, *ahem* mom!]?

My answer? Ok, today I suck. Because I’m all about finding a good coffee shop and I’m all about getting fun caramel flavored whatevers, but not this time. There will be no coffee on this trip.  This time of year I’ll be making a beeline for the nearest Starbucks and getting the Caramel Apple Cider, Extra Caramel. There is nothing quite like really good hot apple cider inside a cup that is literally coated in caramel…

Fans Wanted

I used to joke about doing a want ad style blog, essentially sending out an open call for stalkers. See, I have this book coming out [and more after that] and have some short stories and poems available, and I need to pimp my self, sell my soul, and otherwise get word out there so that people are buying me, reading me, etc.  However, as nice as a stalker or two would be, I’d much prefer a fan.

This blog entry started to wander while I was writing it, and after peeking at it, Maurice thought that I should talk about the fact that I’m going to have fans. That I should explore the weirdness of no longer being just a customer when I order books [they now come with "congrats on the book sale, can't wait to read it!"], or that people will want my autograph. But I’m not ready for that discussion. Let’s get a few fans under the belt and then start freaking out because they’re fans…

Mike Oliveri posted an interesting blog that included a link to an article regarding fan bases, or rather on the formula of “1000 true fans.” While that would be nice, and I hope to someday claim to have ardent fans and much-loved psychos willing to buy my to-do lists and pre-order my grocery receipts, right now I’d be happy with a solid fan base.

Building a fan base is something that every writer works on, maintains, plans, plots, etc. Whether we’re at the bottom of the totem pole or chiseling a new head at the top of it, we need that base to buy this book—which in turn helps us sell the next book. Those with fans strive to keep them and add to the herd, but how does one go about building a fan base in the first place? Sure, it starts with family and friends, and their comments to family and friends, and links on their blogs and webpages and comments on message boards.  At some point, though, we move past the comfort zone and into dark territory—advertising, talking about ourselves, pimping, banners, trailers, readings, signings, spamming with a smile [aka smeat], etc.

I don’t have much to sign right now [but if you've got something, bring it to Context this week and I'll gladly scrawl across it]. I’m terrified that some day I’ll have to do a live reading and wonder how much tequila will be required to speak in front of people, or worry that I won’t need any because there will only be three people there and I can tell you right now which three. Banners and trailers and advertising and all that jazz will come later, I imagine next year’s book release will begin that hoopla. Right now? Right now I have managed to learn how to talk about my work when asked, without sounding like an idiot or clamming up completely. And of course, I’m currently taking applications for fans. So here you go…

WANTED: Fans. Must buy me, read me, love me, buy more. Commenting about my writing [whether it be blog posts or fiction] on your blog or message board is appreciated [remember to link back]. Ardent fans are encouraged to track my character crossovers, appearances, releases, etc. Presents are always welcome, but not necessary—just let me know before you send anything that used to either be alive or inside you, so I can set up that P.O. Box. And of course, feel free to check one of the boxes on the bottom of the form if you’re interested in being a future fan club leader [sorry, the position of "Big Joe" has already been taken by JFB].

Any takers? Anyone? *tap tap* Anyone?