(OT) It was good weekend. I was exposed to much...

I went to a writing and literary convention in Niagara Falls over this past
weekend. It was geared to Science fiction and mysteries, but every year there
is this writing intensive with two well-established authors--usually Nancy
Kress with another eminent pro--and it covers basic mechanics, plot,
character development and is not limited to SF and whodunits. It's a closed
conference, this workshop, with only 20 slots open each year. Because I'm
friends with two of the higher staff of the convention committee, I was
reserved a spot these pst two years.

Now the events of the con actually start the day before the workshop, when my
friend Dennis had his annual room party. One does not have to be a paying
convention guest to attend, so Louie and I went Friday night--I was paid for
Saturday, for the conference--and proceeded to eat ourselves blind, which is
the focal point of Dennis' party, even more so than SF talk. And as Louie
goes off to the video room to watch Doctor Who (which he prefers to Torchwood,
and has no romantic imaginings toward anyone involved, unlike the Tennant-
lusting woman he married) this schmuch walks in and decides to invite himself
to the little circle i was in.

My attendance was twofold. First the conference. Second, research. My heroine
in the novel is in a long-term relationship with a hardcore gamer and i
wanted to pick the minds, the culture of that subgroup. Part of Saturday
would be spent in the gaming room, then the conference. I would take notes.
And the Llord drops into my lap--literally--this schmuck who, denied beer
because of his pimples and overuse of the word "dude," came to join us.

He was a young schmuck, so I took with a grain of salt his trying to hold my
hand or drape his arm over me. I would like to emphasize that I told him
repeatedly i was married, i was old enough to be his mother, and he didn't
have a snowball's chance of getting any action from me whatsoever. Louie even
came in a few times, didn't feel threatened by poor geeky Arthur, and went
back to Doctor Who, which if I had bothered with as well I might not have had
to deal with Arthur on Saturday.

He found me in the gaming room and for the next three hours had morphed from
velcro into fungus, and not in the good way. Artie followed me everywhere but
into the john. When he could not use me, a considerably older female, to
convince the wait staff in the con suite to give him beer, he took it in mind
to try to use me for something else. When a girl friend saw me take his hand
out of my blouse she threatened him with dismemberment, and I reminded him
again that i was off-limits and I hoped he'd find a nice girl his own age to
grope.

When I went into the conference there were twenty chairs set up in a
horseshoe around the eminent pros and the big writing board they would use;
the atmosphere here is ordinarily a friendly, sharing thing, and boy did
Arthur decide to share! the little schmuck crashed the conference. He sat
next to me, took my notebook and asked me if he could give me a feel. Wehn i
told him to scram he decided to expose me to more than wriitng tips. He
opened his pants and pulled his whole business out, right there before God,
the authors, and everybody.

I grabbed my purse and ran to ask one of the con suite staff to call hotel
security. instead I found myself surrounded by something called "Dorsai."
Apparently conventions hire these guys to provide security for the con and
the celebrity guests; the word comes from an old SF novel and I'm told that
these Dorsai are vigilant and militaristic. Two of them took me to a back
room and sttod watch. They had to rope off the floor to hunt down Arthur, who
had tried to find me after I left. After 10 minutes or so they found him back
in the conference, trying to stuff his hand down another older woman's blouse!
I understand Artie, who was only 17, was carried out by six very burly guards,
and the guy he came with--his parents weren't with him--had to take him home
and explain.

After the schmuck was removed, it turned out that maybe seven women, and one
man, had seen more at that con than writing panels and costume shows.

Oy.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200804/1

when things like this happen I always am reminded how boring my life is and
oh thank the heavens how I Love boring, Lee
Baha via CatKB.com u18616@uwe wrote in message news:8315e2dbf2733@uwe...
I went to a writing and literary convention in Niagara Falls over this
past
weekend. It was geared to Science fiction and mysteries, but every year
there
is this writing intensive with two well-established authors--usually Nancy
Kress with another eminent pro--and it covers basic mechanics, plot,
character development and is not limited to SF and whodunits. It's a
closed
conference, this workshop, with only 20 slots open each year. Because I'm
friends with two of the higher staff of the convention committee, I was
reserved a spot these pst two years.

Now the events of the con actually start the day before the workshop, when
my
friend Dennis had his annual room party. One does not have to be a paying
convention guest to attend, so Louie and I went Friday night--I was paid
for
Saturday, for the conference--and proceeded to eat ourselves blind, which
is
the focal point of Dennis' party, even more so than SF talk. And as Louie
goes off to the video room to watch Doctor Who (which he prefers to
Torchwood,
and has no romantic imaginings toward anyone involved, unlike the Tennant-
lusting woman he married) this schmuch walks in and decides to invite
himself
to the little circle i was in.

My attendance was twofold. First the conference. Second, research. My
heroine
in the novel is in a long-term relationship with a hardcore gamer and i
wanted to pick the minds, the culture of that subgroup. Part of Saturday
would be spent in the gaming room, then the conference. I would take
notes.
And the Llord drops into my lap--literally--this schmuck who, denied beer
because of his pimples and overuse of the word "dude," came to join us.

He was a young schmuck, so I took with a grain of salt his trying to hold
my
hand or drape his arm over me. I would like to emphasize that I told him
repeatedly i was married, i was old enough to be his mother, and he didn't
have a snowball's chance of getting any action from me whatsoever. Louie
even
came in a few times, didn't feel threatened by poor geeky Arthur, and went
back to Doctor Who, which if I had bothered with as well I might not have
had
to deal with Arthur on Saturday.

He found me in the gaming room and for the next three hours had morphed
from
velcro into fungus, and not in the good way. Artie followed me everywhere
but
into the john. When he could not use me, a considerably older female, to
convince the wait staff in the con suite to give him beer, he took it in
mind
to try to use me for something else. When a girl friend saw me take his
hand
out of my blouse she threatened him with dismemberment, and I reminded him
again that i was off-limits and I hoped he'd find a nice girl his own age
to
grope.

When I went into the conference there were twenty chairs set up in a
horseshoe around the eminent pros and the big writing board they would
use;
the atmosphere here is ordinarily a friendly, sharing thing, and boy did
Arthur decide to share! the little schmuck crashed the conference. He sat
next to me, took my notebook and asked me if he could give me a feel. Wehn
i
told him to scram he decided to expose me to more than wriitng tips. He
opened his pants and pulled his whole business out, right there before
God,
the authors, and everybody.

I grabbed my purse and ran to ask one of the con suite staff to call hotel
security. instead I found myself surrounded by something called "Dorsai."
Apparently conventions hire these guys to provide security for the con and
the celebrity guests; the word comes from an old SF novel and I'm told
that
these Dorsai are vigilant and militaristic. Two of them took me to a back
room and sttod watch. They had to rope off the floor to hunt down Arthur,
who
had tried to find me after I left. After 10 minutes or so they found him
back
in the conference, trying to stuff his hand down another older woman's
blouse!
I understand Artie, who was only 17, was carried out by six very burly
guards,
and the guy he came with--his parents weren't with him--had to take him
home
and explain.

After the schmuck was removed, it turned out that maybe seven women, and
one
man, had seen more at that con than writing panels and costume shows.

Oy.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200804/1

"Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote in message news:8315e2dbf2733@uwe...
I went to a writing and literary convention in Niagara Falls over this past
weekend. It was geared to Science fiction and mysteries, but every year
there
is this writing intensive with two well-established authors--usually Nancy
Kress with another eminent pro--and it covers basic mechanics, plot,
character development and is not limited to SF and whodunits. It's a
closed
conference, this workshop, with only 20 slots open each year. Because I'm
friends with two of the higher staff of the convention committee, I was
reserved a spot these pst two years.

Now the events of the con actually start the day before the workshop, when
my
friend Dennis had his annual room party. One does not have to be a paying
convention guest to attend, so Louie and I went Friday night--I was paid
for
Saturday, for the conference--and proceeded to eat ourselves blind, which
is
the focal point of Dennis' party, even more so than SF talk. And as Louie
goes off to the video room to watch Doctor Who (which he prefers to
Torchwood,
and has no romantic imaginings toward anyone involved, unlike the Tennant-
lusting woman he married) this schmuch walks in and decides to invite
himself
to the little circle i was in.

My attendance was twofold. First the conference. Second, research. My
heroine
in the novel is in a long-term relationship with a hardcore gamer and i
wanted to pick the minds, the culture of that subgroup. Part of Saturday
would be spent in the gaming room, then the conference. I would take
notes.
And the Llord drops into my lap--literally--this schmuck who, denied beer
because of his pimples and overuse of the word "dude," came to join us.

He was a young schmuck, so I took with a grain of salt his trying to hold
my
hand or drape his arm over me. I would like to emphasize that I told him
repeatedly i was married, i was old enough to be his mother, and he didn't
have a snowball's chance of getting any action from me whatsoever. Louie
even
came in a few times, didn't feel threatened by poor geeky Arthur, and went
back to Doctor Who, which if I had bothered with as well I might not have
had
to deal with Arthur on Saturday.

He found me in the gaming room and for the next three hours had morphed
from
velcro into fungus, and not in the good way. Artie followed me everywhere
but
into the john. When he could not use me, a considerably older female, to
convince the wait staff in the con suite to give him beer, he took it in
mind
to try to use me for something else. When a girl friend saw me take his
hand
out of my blouse she threatened him with dismemberment, and I reminded him
again that i was off-limits and I hoped he'd find a nice girl his own age
to
grope.

When I went into the conference there were twenty chairs set up in a
horseshoe around the eminent pros and the big writing board they would
use;
the atmosphere here is ordinarily a friendly, sharing thing, and boy did
Arthur decide to share! the little schmuck crashed the conference. He sat
next to me, took my notebook and asked me if he could give me a feel. Wehn
i
told him to scram he decided to expose me to more than wriitng tips. He
opened his pants and pulled his whole business out, right there before
God,
the authors, and everybody.

I grabbed my purse and ran to ask one of the con suite staff to call hotel
security. instead I found myself surrounded by something called "Dorsai."
Apparently conventions hire these guys to provide security for the con and
the celebrity guests; the word comes from an old SF novel and I'm told
that
these Dorsai are vigilant and militaristic. Two of them took me to a back
room and sttod watch. They had to rope off the floor to hunt down Arthur,
who
had tried to find me after I left. After 10 minutes or so they found him
back
in the conference, trying to stuff his hand down another older woman's
blouse!
I understand Artie, who was only 17, was carried out by six very burly
guards,
and the guy he came with--his parents weren't with him--had to take him
home
and explain.

After the schmuck was removed, it turned out that maybe seven women, and
one
man, had seen more at that con than writing panels and costume shows.

Oy.

Blessed be,
Baha


Holy crap!!!!!!!

Who says those cons are a big bore? :P I actually gave up going to certain
gatherings, since I always seem to end up being totally appalled by other
people who share my interests!!

Except in cats, of course.


--
Theresa, Stinky and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

Sorry for the top post, I couldn't figure out where to cut this.

I envy you the chance to attend and get a slot in the writing intensive.
I've never been to one, but found the group critique in a creative writer's
class to be a liberating way of finding one's errors. I find that my, like
many other writers', biggest fault is my love for my own voice.

I'm sorry that you had to put up with "Arthur the Geek." Punks like him are
what turn many potentially great conventions into dreary messes. I think
that is why I don't try to go to any conventions any more, along with the
fact that there aren't any closer to Raleigh and I never find out about them
in time. I don't watch either Dr Who, or Torchwood (I know, I'm mailing in
my SF Techno Geek membership card for destruction as we speak) but I do read
a lot of fiction of all types.

One thing you have here, Baha, is a classic bunch of gamer geeks and their
partners. My owner Sonya is an honorary member of at least two gaming
groups, as she is a better dice roller than many of those with opposable
thumbs. If you have questions that were not answered at the convention,
please feel free to ask them here. Just put a GQ warning on it so that the
non-gamers will feel free not to read the missives, and ask away. I can't
tell you about conventions, but I can tell you about gaming sessions in
general. Vicky goes to the conventions with Joel. I don't know if Carey
attends yet, but I expect him to have his very own first set of dice by the
age of 7. There are many others who are past and/or present gamers. Ask
away. We promise not to drape ourselves over you, expose our short comings
to you and everyone else, and to try to answer your questions as best we
can.

Pam S.


"Baha via CatKB.com" u18616@uwe wrote in message news:8315e2dbf2733@uwe...
I went to a writing and literary convention in Niagara Falls over this past
weekend. It was geared to Science fiction and mysteries, but every year
there
is this writing intensive with two well-established authors--usually Nancy
Kress with another eminent pro--and it covers basic mechanics, plot,
character development and is not limited to SF and whodunits. It's a
closed
conference, this workshop, with only 20 slots open each year. Because I'm
friends with two of the higher staff of the convention committee, I was
reserved a spot these pst two years.

Now the events of the con actually start the day before the workshop, when
my
friend Dennis had his annual room party. One does not have to be a paying
convention guest to attend, so Louie and I went Friday night--I was paid
for
Saturday, for the conference--and proceeded to eat ourselves blind, which
is
the focal point of Dennis' party, even more so than SF talk. And as Louie
goes off to the video room to watch Doctor Who (which he prefers to
Torchwood,
and has no romantic imaginings toward anyone involved, unlike the Tennant-
lusting woman he married) this schmuch walks in and decides to invite
himself
to the little circle i was in.

My attendance was twofold. First the conference. Second, research. My
heroine
in the novel is in a long-term relationship with a hardcore gamer and i
wanted to pick the minds, the culture of that subgroup. Part of Saturday
would be spent in the gaming room, then the conference. I would take
notes.
And the Llord drops into my lap--literally--this schmuck who, denied beer
because of his pimples and overuse of the word "dude," came to join us.

He was a young schmuck, so I took with a grain of salt his trying to hold
my
hand or drape his arm over me. I would like to emphasize that I told him
repeatedly i was married, i was old enough to be his mother, and he didn't
have a snowball's chance of getting any action from me whatsoever. Louie
even
came in a few times, didn't feel threatened by poor geeky Arthur, and went
back to Doctor Who, which if I had bothered with as well I might not have
had
to deal with Arthur on Saturday.

He found me in the gaming room and for the next three hours had morphed
from
velcro into fungus, and not in the good way. Artie followed me everywhere
but
into the john. When he could not use me, a considerably older female, to
convince the wait staff in the con suite to give him beer, he took it in
mind
to try to use me for something else. When a girl friend saw me take his
hand
out of my blouse she threatened him with dismemberment, and I reminded him
again that i was off-limits and I hoped he'd find a nice girl his own age
to
grope.

When I went into the conference there were twenty chairs set up in a
horseshoe around the eminent pros and the big writing board they would
use;
the atmosphere here is ordinarily a friendly, sharing thing, and boy did
Arthur decide to share! the little schmuck crashed the conference. He sat
next to me, took my notebook and asked me if he could give me a feel. Wehn
i
told him to scram he decided to expose me to more than wriitng tips. He
opened his pants and pulled his whole business out, right there before
God,
the authors, and everybody.

I grabbed my purse and ran to ask one of the con suite staff to call hotel
security. instead I found myself surrounded by something called "Dorsai."
Apparently conventions hire these guys to provide security for the con and
the celebrity guests; the word comes from an old SF novel and I'm told
that
these Dorsai are vigilant and militaristic. Two of them took me to a back
room and sttod watch. They had to rope off the floor to hunt down Arthur,
who
had tried to find me after I left. After 10 minutes or so they found him
back
in the conference, trying to stuff his hand down another older woman's
blouse!
I understand Artie, who was only 17, was carried out by six very burly
guards,
and the guy he came with--his parents weren't with him--had to take him
home
and explain.

After the schmuck was removed, it turned out that maybe seven women, and
one
man, had seen more at that con than writing panels and costume shows.

Oy.

Blessed be,
Baha

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200804/1

I envy you the chance to attend and get a slot in the writing intensive.
I've never been to one, but found the group critique in a creative writer's
class to be a liberating way of finding one's errors. I find that my, like
many other writers', biggest fault is my love for my own voice.

I'm sorry that you had to put up with "Arthur the Geek." Punks like him
are what turn many potentially great conventions into dreary messes.

Au contraire. Arthur the Geek is going to appear in *dozens* of books.
How often do you go to a workshop and get handed a character like that
to work with?

I'm imagining an alien visitor who has come to Earth because he's been
a total loser back home and spends his visit following Earthlings and
showing off his copulatory appendage. Unfortunately, for his species,
that's a green slimy tentacle that emerges from his nose, so people just
keep offering him paper handkerchiefs when he does it.

==== j a c k at c a m p i n . m e . u k === http://www.campin.me.uk ====
Jack Campin, 11 Third St, Newtongrange EH22 4PU, Scotland == mob 07800 739 557
CD-ROMs and free stuff: Scottish music, food intolerance, and Mac logic fonts

"Jack Campin - bogus address" wrote in message
...
I envy you the chance to attend and get a slot in the writing intensive.
I've never been to one, but found the group critique in a creative
writer's
class to be a liberating way of finding one's errors. I find that my,
like
many other writers', biggest fault is my love for my own voice.

I'm sorry that you had to put up with "Arthur the Geek." Punks like him
are what turn many potentially great conventions into dreary messes.

Au contraire. Arthur the Geek is going to appear in *dozens* of books.
How often do you go to a workshop and get handed a character like that
to work with?

I'm imagining an alien visitor who has come to Earth because he's been
a total loser back home and spends his visit following Earthlings and
showing off his copulatory appendage. Unfortunately, for his species,
that's a green slimy tentacle that emerges from his nose, so people just
keep offering him paper handkerchiefs when he does it.


Gasp! Jack, I never thought about that possibility, which is why I'll never
make it in the SF market. Even if you keep Arthur the Geek human, there are
a myriad of possibilities available to the SF writer. The Romance market
wouldn't cut it though.

Pam S. awed and amazed with Jack's perceptions