Conspicuous Acts of Cultural Consumption

Where I talk about books, movies, television, art, pro-wrestling and other forms of culture and pop-culture

10 Days to Genrecon, and I’d Like to Ask a Favour…

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GenreCon2015BannerAT SOME POINT IN THE NEXT TEN DAYS, I’M GOING TO LEAVE THE IRON ON

I know this is happening ’cause we’re on the official countdown until GenreCon is a thing, and experience says I will leave the iron on at some point. I have run five previous cons in my life, and I’m currently five for five when it comes to leaving scalding hot household appliances running for long periods of time.

Twice now, it’s been for a period of four or more days. Twice now, I’ve had to go out and drop fifty bucks on an iron in the weeks after the convention.

This is a thing that happens, is what I’m saying. In the days leading up to a convention, I am…distracted. Doing things. Organising flights and hotel rooms for guests. Talking to the caterers. Putting together program briefings. Staring at the budget spreadsheet, looking at the magical number.

And, since you’ve read this far, I want to talk about the magical number.

THE REALITIES OF RUNNING A CONFERENCE IN THE NON-PROFIT SECTOR

I’ll be blunt: GenreCon is not a sure thing. It’s a cool thing – a very, very cool thing indeed – and the feedback from writers across the board seems to suggest that it’s also a very useful things, but neither of these things ensures there will be another one. This is the nature of being run by a non-profit.

The thing that ensures that there will be another GenreCon is the magic number – the point where we have enough attendees generating enough income to not only offset the cost of running the conference, but to justify GenreCon’s existence to QWC’s board of directors who are in the tricky position of being, essentially, the folks who volunteer their time and the folks who are ultimately responsible for the organisations finances in the eyes of the law.

Generally speaking, about half of these folks change every year. To keep a thing like GenreCon running, you need to be able to point out the merits of running it to a new crew of people – some of whom may not care for genre at all – every 24 to 36 months.

That’s what the Magic Number represents: the point where I can give the registration details, budget, and other elements to my boss, and she can go to the board and say look, for real, supporting this is a no-brainer. We absolutely have to do it again. 

THE FAVOUR I ASK OF YOU

This year’s conference hasn’t hit the magic number. The response has been good – we can probably make a case for running the con again in 2017 and the board will get behind it – but it’s not a given. It’s not a no-brainer.

The registrations for this years conference close on October 25, so we can get the catering finalised, which means there’s just five days to hit the magic number if it’s going to happen. So, here’s my request: if you’ve been to a GenreCon, and you’ve enjoyed it, write a blog post about why you’re coming back for this year’s conference (or wishing you could come back), and direct people to the GenreCon Registration page.

Or grab a peep who really should be coming, and isn’t, and point them at the program.

Basically, tell folks who might be interested what they’re missing out on. I say this fully cognizant of the fact that we’ve been blessed with extraordinary word-of-mouth leading in to this years conference (thank you all, for that), and that the $295 price tag is a lot to drop on a last-minute purchase, but even an extra handful of registrations that we wouldn’t have gotten otherwise will make a difference.

And it needs to be other people saying, this thing, this is worth it, ’cause I’m the guy who puts it all together. My authority on this matter comes tainted by the knowledge that there is a self-interested aspect to my speaking about the con (also, by the fact that I rarely actually see anything about the program, spending most of the conference running around like a headless chicken, trying to trouble-shoot things).

You, on the other hand, the people who have gone to the conference before and laid down cash, you are dripping with the authority to recommend it as a worthwhile expenditure for up-and-coming writers. That we’ve gotten this far, three times now, is testament to how well that works.

If you’re inclined to do me a solid, I’d appreciate it. Because, on the off chance this is the year I leave an iron on and things actually catch fire, I’d like to make sure all the distraction and burn-repairs and purchasing of a replacement iron is worth it.

Genres That Should Exist, But Don’t: Heyer-Punk

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I was walking to work this morning and it occurred to me that Heyer-Punk is a genre that should totally exist. And not Steampunk flavoured books with a Georgette Heyer influence – those, I expect, already exist in some form or another. No, I’m thinking a genre that harkens back to the punk-suffix’s origins and blends Heyer and Gibsonesque cyberpunk to maximum effect.

I’m thinking stories about the young heir of The Rivenhall Corporation, Chuck, forced to care for his wayward siblings ahead of his time. He’s engaged engaged to a cold cyborg countess, Genie Wraxton, and his younger brother is trying to organise some bizarre corporate buyout and his younger sister is throwing away her life with some drug-addled rock star.

Then a young social-engineer named Sophie shows up and changes everyone through the careful application of her coding skills, extracting his younger sister from an unwise romance by manipulating the media, and wins Chuck’s heart through the deployment of freshly genetically re-engineered ducklings that bring the species back from extinction.

This thing should totally exist and it does not play to my strengths as a writer at all, so someone get on all that and make it happen, eh?

When I disappear…

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I was going to start this post with something completely different, but then the latest issue of Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet arrived on my e-reader, and the opening paragraph of Alyc Helms‘ The Blood Carousel is too good to not share it:

They say any child brave enough to ride the carousel can win her parents back from death, but every child must bring her own mount to pay the ticketman. Unicorns would please him best, but to catch one you need innocence, and innocence cannot find the carousel.

Glorious, glorious story full of foxes and magic and not-quite-childhood bullies who live next door. I could think of a good half-dozen friends, who would probably love it, and it makes me glad I finally got around to resubscribing after losing track of when my subscription lapsed a few years back. Worth seeking out if you’re a fan of folklore-influenced fantasy.

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So…yes. When I disappear, mysteriously and on short notice, send people to my house and look under the avalanche of unread books. There’s pretty good odds that’s what has done me in.

When I moved in to my apartment fourteen months ago, I knew there wasn’t enough room for the books. I’ve spent the last year aggressively culling, sending books to good homes, and its still barely made a dent. There remains an awful lot of books left in teetering piles, and boxes shoved under beds and stacked in quiet corners.

Some books, quite honestly, are in danger of toppling through windows one day. Come summer, when i open windows, I’m going to find copies of The Changeling and Moorcock’s Wizardry  and Wild Romance embedded in the hood of a neighbours car after they made a desperate escape attempt.

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Day six. No hot water. Waiting for parts to come in, which will take twenty-four hours, which were ordered thirty-six hours ago. Properly grumpy now, since tomorrow is write-club day and I’ve been rearranging things at work, on the off-chance they actually called and I could have hot water again.

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Today I learned that Bubble Soccer is a Thing – players take to the field wearing giant inflatable bubbles, kick at a tiny football, and generally bounce off each other like they’re playing an absurd computer game. It’s hard to argue with people who have figured out that soccer would be better if the players bounced when they fell.

Facebook also brought along a link to an oddly poetic article about What Snails Think About When Having Sex, via my friend Chris Lynch. It’s hard to deny the power of its opening:

It starts with a light, soft touch, one tentacle gently reaching out, hesitant, hopeful, hanging lightly in the air. There’s a pause. Skin touches skin. One softly strokes the other and slides closer, and then, carefully, they wrap themselves together, stroking, probing, entwining. They glisten as they move, and because they are snails, everything happens very slowly.

Which is kinda glorious, really.