Dear giddy reader,
Well, I’m excited — it’s festival season!
For me, festival season doesn’t mean renting a Recreational Vehicle to head off to Burning Man, or packing camping gear for a weekend at Electric Picnic, it means buying a conference ticket months (or years) in advance, booking hotels and flights, and heading off to spend a couple of day with my friends and colleagues at a festival celebrating the arts (it could be ghost stories, comic books, or science fiction, but it usually involves something weird).
The 2020-2022 period flung an infectious spanner in the works of these festivals, so for many of us are still easing back into what was a very familiar routine of preparation and travel for connection with our creative families. Few of us have the luxury of seeing our mates very often, so these ‘play dates’ are special. As I’ve said many times already, technology is wonderful for keeping in touch with people, but nothing beats a lively tête-à-tête in person with someone who is equally obsessed with a subject.
This weekend I’ll be attending Fantasycon — the British Fantasy Society’s annual conference — which is taking place in Birmingham, UK. The BFS is for fans and writers of fantasy, horror and speculative fiction across all media, but as the moniker suggests, it tends to emphasise the fantastical.
I’ve been attending Fantasycon (on and off) for over a decade, and it’s been a wonderful community to discover. But I’m hardly new to the conference scene as one of the many hats I’ve worn over the years has been as a conference organiser, both on the highest level of the committee, dealing with the nuts and bolts of the event itself, or curating individual streams of programming. I started out as a reader and fan of speculative fiction, attending events to meet like-minded people, then volunteering to craft a conference for the benefit of others, and eventually becoming a writer of fiction (and nonfiction) and going as a participant and/or guest.
So I understand the immense work involved in marshalling a team to put together a fun programme for punters as well as being a participant at a conference where I want everything to click along like clockwork.
Whenever I stay at a hotel, even if it’s for a holiday, I can never quite shed that part of my brain that considers hotel layouts, function rooms, corridor size, parking, accessibility to all facilities, and the behaviour of managers and staff. It’s as if I’m perpetually analysing how well a conference would work in any space.
If I’m attending an event I can’t help but notice small details about how smoothly (or not) it is running. Thankfully, I’ve never organised a train-wreck of a festival, but I’ve attended plenty that were so shambolic that the best you could do was ignore the limp booklet, erratic panels, double-booked discussions and camp out in the bar with your mates and enjoy it simply as a reunion (as long as there is food and drink… and I hate to tell you, even that fails sometimes).
That brings us back to the fact that the essence of any good event is the people. Mixups occur at even the most efficiently run festival, but when you are enjoying an atmosphere that is conducive to captivating conversations then you can survive the occasional blunder.
I’ve been at this long enough that I’m rarely the newbie at an event, without any compadre to back me up, but it does happen. Perhaps you are now working in a new field of writing, where few people know who you are. You could be a guest at a conference in another country where fans are unfamiliar with your work. Even the most experienced creator can walk into a busy hotel lobby with that anxious feeling of being utterly on their own, or intimidated by the legends in the field around whom murmurations of admirers swirl.
Over the years I’ve worked in a variety of media and many times it seemed like I was constantly in a room where I knew very few people. It can be nerve-racking, especially if you have a hyperactive voice in your head spinning stories about how you look, or worst still, imagining what people think about you.
There is no easy way through this experience — except for those cheery, personable types who strike up conversations with ease. Then do exist, even in nerd-dom. Damn their perky socks! (No, of course not, they are too lovely.)
The only solution is to be friendly and show an interest in people. That might appear challenging but the great thing about attending events with fans of any persuasion, is they love sharing their passions.
Why do we attend, except to demonstrate our love of the topic and to expand upon our knowledge in the field with fellow devotees? There is nothing as magical as clicking with another aficionado during a fun panel discussion and carrying it over to a long and convoluted conversation over beverages.
After several conventions you establish your entourage and it acts as an invisible buffer between you and all the noise of the event. The problem is that it can make you oblivious to other people who may be adrift.
I’m sure people on the outside can watch these knots of good friends laughing heartily together and peg them as standoffish cliques. The more reasonable explanation is that they are cashing in on their most precious commodity: face-to-face time with good friends.
I always try to be kind to new people and notice if someone looks a bit lonely or excluded. But we’re not always going to be on form all the time. As much as I love festivals I have a limited capacity for being around a lot of people. I start to get frayed and jittery, especially if I’m low on sleep and over-caffeinated, which is de rigueur for these shindigs. If I’m scheduled for an interview or a panel I may try to duck out and steal a little time to prepare. I had this process interrupted one time just before a panel and it left me off-kilter during the subsequent exchange.
I’m an old hand at panels, interviews and discussions, but sometimes — depending on the topic and the other participants — anxiety creeps in. This is where having a little time to revise the subject appeases the nerves.
But the number one thing I remember when giving a reading or being part of a public conversation is I am there to entertain. I’m always grateful to get a spot at these events and I appreciate that the audience has chosen this room over other options.
So, I try to relax, be warm, engaged, listen carefully to the other panelists and have something of interest to contribute. We’ve all been on a panel with someone who is a conversation hog — it is the moderator’s job to keep those people in line. Yet, while I am an experienced moderator, I have struggled on occasion to keep spotlight grabbers in check. Sometimes they are clueless and nervous, which is an unhelpful combination. These days I put aside irritation and allow for curiosity instead. In the end, this is just fifty minutes and after that I can meet up with friends, or even leave the convention centre and ramble around the city I’m visiting (every now and then the convention hotel is the only bright spot in the town).
While writing this piece I thought of a number of amusing anecdotes about poor behaviour I witnessed at conventions over the years. When you run events you see selfish and entitled conduct regularly, and that often makes the best story. Yet, in the greater scheme of things, more often I’ve seen hard-working people go out of their way to be courteous and good-humoured.
Much as I admire these big-hearted volunteers I’m happy that my con-running days are behind me!
Finally, thanks to Dan Coxon and Richard V Hirst for inviting me to be part of the essay anthology, Writing the Future: Essays on Crafting Science Fiction. It was published on 7 September 2023 by Dead Ink Books, and I’m so pleased to be among such a good company of writers. There will be a book launch for the anthology at Fantasycon on Saturday at 10am.
I wrote about the longevity of the 2000 AD comics universe and the many worlds it has spawned. The essay is called ‘The Eternal Apocalypse: How British Comic 2000 AD Remains Relevant’.
I’ll be on three panels during the event. The full programme is online now.
May you all meet a good friend and laugh with them this week!
Middle painting: ‘Party of Armenians Playing Cards’ by Jean Baptiste Vanmour, c. 1720 - c. 1737.
Last painting: ‘The Miraculous Translation of the Body of Saint Catherine of Alexandria to Sinai’ by Karl von Blaas, 1860.
I was a vendor at a con at the end of August and I had been looking forward to it all year. I already paid for next year and can't wait already. They are fun, and I would like to attend more.
Have a great time, Maura, and hope to see you in Glasgow next year!