WHC Report, Part II: Friday
Our first event of the day is Greg Lamberson's reading. The reading room is the best setup I've ever seen at a convention. Candles on the tables, a very intimate atmosphere, an actual microphone for those of us who aren't drill sergeants--very classy. Greg reads a few short excerpts from JOHNNY GRUESOME, which is trashy b-movie-style fun. I hang out downstairs for a while, and then go to Brian Keene's reading, which is unsurprisingly packed. He reads his tale "The Resurrection and the Life" for the benefit of those who couldn't afford the $125 version.
My reading is after Keene's, but there's a one-hour lunch break in-between, so I don't get to leech off of his audience. I should've brought a whole bunch of bag lunches and encouraged people to stay. I read "Werewolf Porno." About two minutes into the reading, I sort of wish I'd picked a different story, but it's too late and I plow through the entire tale. The audience is pretty small at first, but as people return from lunch it grows into a nice-sized crowd. Definitely not my best reading ever, yet also not the worst...it's sweet, sweet mediocrity! I stick around for Bill Breedlove's wildly entertaining reading, which is also a tale about disaster on a porn movie set.
I'd noticed that the signings at the HWA table weren't exactly attracting hordes of screaming fans, and so I'm not surprised when my signing at the HWA table does not attract hordes of screaming fans. But I get to sit next to John Everson for an hour. Everybody should get to sit next to John Everson for an hour.
Lori Perkins takes her clients out to a French restaurant for dinner. (Technically, Jenny Rappaport is my agent, but I'm with the Lork Perkins Agency and so I qualify.) We burn as many calories during the walk as we will consume during the meal, and there will be many a calorie consumed during the meal. Quail is tasty.
Next up was the mass booksigning. This year, in an exciting change from traditional policy, authors were not allowed to sell their books. Show of hands: How many of you have ever been to a booksigning where you couldn't buy the author's books? That's right, NONE of you! To be fair, the dealer's room was open and you were supposed to buy books from there to take to the mass signing, but to be unfair, the dealer's room pretty much sucked. They also decided that people couldn't bring more than 3 books into the mass signing at a time, because authors get upset when people bring them books to sign at a booksigning. I don't wish to be a tattletale, but I DID witness some illegal selling of books. Much merriment was had over the whole policy.
The official gross-out contest was cancelled this year, but Mike Myers (not the comedian, not the serial killer) organized an unofficial event. Though it doesn't even appear on the program, it attracts a standing-room-only crowd. Every single contestant gets big laughs and lots of disgusted reactions from the audience. In a flagrant violation of the rules, Carrie "MuscleChik" Rapp, one of the bouncers, tries to prevent me from taking the stage when it's my turn, but I easily overpower her. Or she finally lets me pass--I forget which.
My story is a risky venture (it's a vile, obscene tale written and performed as if it were a classy Jane Austen piece) but an early line earns almost 30 seconds of sustained laughter and is quoted continually for the rest of the convention. I could share it here but...no.
I come in third place, losing to Cullen Bunn and Wrath James White. Which is fine, because Cullen, Wrath, and most of the other constestants reach a level of sheer grossness that I don't even WANT to attain. I mean, what the hell is wrong with those people? Jeez.
Next up is the midnight launch party for WAITING FOR OCTOBER. Three of the four authors in this anthology are there (myself, Sarah Pinborough, and Adam Pepper) along with the editor (Bill Breedlove) and publisher (John Everson of Dark Arts Books). We each read one of our three stories from the book to a very receptive audience. My story "Bad Candy House" is extremely well received and makes up for the lack of guffaws and chortles during "Werewolf Porno."
WAITING FOR OCTOBER sold very well in the pre-order stage. This is great news until I see a long table piled high with books to sign. Adam Pepper cheats and merely signs "AP." He says that my "signature" is too legible and pisses him off. (I don't actually use cursive; when I sign books I print my name. John McIlveen, who is selling my books in the dealer's room, shows me that Joe Hill does the same thing.)
I stagger away from the table, hand cramped and useless, and we head off to bed.
My reading is after Keene's, but there's a one-hour lunch break in-between, so I don't get to leech off of his audience. I should've brought a whole bunch of bag lunches and encouraged people to stay. I read "Werewolf Porno." About two minutes into the reading, I sort of wish I'd picked a different story, but it's too late and I plow through the entire tale. The audience is pretty small at first, but as people return from lunch it grows into a nice-sized crowd. Definitely not my best reading ever, yet also not the worst...it's sweet, sweet mediocrity! I stick around for Bill Breedlove's wildly entertaining reading, which is also a tale about disaster on a porn movie set.
I'd noticed that the signings at the HWA table weren't exactly attracting hordes of screaming fans, and so I'm not surprised when my signing at the HWA table does not attract hordes of screaming fans. But I get to sit next to John Everson for an hour. Everybody should get to sit next to John Everson for an hour.
Lori Perkins takes her clients out to a French restaurant for dinner. (Technically, Jenny Rappaport is my agent, but I'm with the Lork Perkins Agency and so I qualify.) We burn as many calories during the walk as we will consume during the meal, and there will be many a calorie consumed during the meal. Quail is tasty.
Next up was the mass booksigning. This year, in an exciting change from traditional policy, authors were not allowed to sell their books. Show of hands: How many of you have ever been to a booksigning where you couldn't buy the author's books? That's right, NONE of you! To be fair, the dealer's room was open and you were supposed to buy books from there to take to the mass signing, but to be unfair, the dealer's room pretty much sucked. They also decided that people couldn't bring more than 3 books into the mass signing at a time, because authors get upset when people bring them books to sign at a booksigning. I don't wish to be a tattletale, but I DID witness some illegal selling of books. Much merriment was had over the whole policy.
The official gross-out contest was cancelled this year, but Mike Myers (not the comedian, not the serial killer) organized an unofficial event. Though it doesn't even appear on the program, it attracts a standing-room-only crowd. Every single contestant gets big laughs and lots of disgusted reactions from the audience. In a flagrant violation of the rules, Carrie "MuscleChik" Rapp, one of the bouncers, tries to prevent me from taking the stage when it's my turn, but I easily overpower her. Or she finally lets me pass--I forget which.
My story is a risky venture (it's a vile, obscene tale written and performed as if it were a classy Jane Austen piece) but an early line earns almost 30 seconds of sustained laughter and is quoted continually for the rest of the convention. I could share it here but...no.
I come in third place, losing to Cullen Bunn and Wrath James White. Which is fine, because Cullen, Wrath, and most of the other constestants reach a level of sheer grossness that I don't even WANT to attain. I mean, what the hell is wrong with those people? Jeez.
Next up is the midnight launch party for WAITING FOR OCTOBER. Three of the four authors in this anthology are there (myself, Sarah Pinborough, and Adam Pepper) along with the editor (Bill Breedlove) and publisher (John Everson of Dark Arts Books). We each read one of our three stories from the book to a very receptive audience. My story "Bad Candy House" is extremely well received and makes up for the lack of guffaws and chortles during "Werewolf Porno."
WAITING FOR OCTOBER sold very well in the pre-order stage. This is great news until I see a long table piled high with books to sign. Adam Pepper cheats and merely signs "AP." He says that my "signature" is too legible and pisses him off. (I don't actually use cursive; when I sign books I print my name. John McIlveen, who is selling my books in the dealer's room, shows me that Joe Hill does the same thing.)
I stagger away from the table, hand cramped and useless, and we head off to bed.
posted by Jeff Strand at 5:43 PM
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