Con Carolinas Rehash, Or More Cups Next Time

This is going to be more of a series of highlights than a profound meditation.  To whit:

- Despite various insanities with cell phones, passports and plane delays, all the long distance Magical Words Beta people (self included) made it safely to the con.

- I managed to insult self-published authors right in front of one of the best quality self-pubbers out there-John Hartness. He was very gracious about it and later had dinner with Emily, me, and a bunch of others.  Hilarious fellow and a good story teller. I've decided he's the exception that proves the rule. 

- Em and I had a party for the Magical Words Beta Critique group in our room and 30 people came - twice what I had expected. There were insufficient cups, but we soldiered on.  Next year more cups and possibly plates. The Magical Words writers Faith Hunter, Ed Schubert, David B. Coe, Stuart Jaffe, AJ Hartley, Kalayna Price all came to the party. It was like college all over again except nobody tried to quote Spinoza (thank goodness!) and we didn't make it to 4am. 

- Misty Massey did not come this year, alas, but hopefully she'll be there next year. Missed you Misty!

- Emily was a panelist this year, so I had to resist the urge to point and say "I'm with the talent!" She was hilarious and informative as usual. 

- I learned a new term; "War Porn" - the writing of weapon/battle scenes that are not plot or character necessary, but just sate the reader (or author's) lust for battle.  Porn is porn, people - if it's not about people, it's just porn whether it's body parts or gun turrets. 

- The panels on censorship provoked about the same levels of rage and consternation you might expect. 

- The writer's track this year included two panels on using the web for authorial self-promotion. They were probably in the top most useful panels of the con. Bottom line, this is the era of personalities, so get yours out there and make it sell your work. 

- Hands down, the most useful single panel was Allen L. Wold's panel on developing and outlining a plot through character and setting. I'll elaborate on this in another post. (Meanwhile, See Allen's books on Amazon). 

- Valkyries roamed the halls. Discussion of the subject position of the male gaze ensued. (That's academic speak for we teased the guys for noticing what you'd have to be blind not to notice. No Wagnerian diva was ever more attention getting.) 

And that was this year's con in a nutshell.  Some people go to family reunions to recharge and reconnect with their tribe.  I go to ConCarolinas. Thank you all for the encouragement, the good advice, and the hilarious story telling in the halls between panels. 

If I Write What I Know, How is it Fantasy?

So, dear reader (forgive me, but I love books that address the reader this way), I've been thinking about the old adage "write what you know." On one level it's nonsense.  Or a recipe for navel gazing.  Taken to its logical extreme all writing would become a form of memoir. Or a technical manual.

But let's assume that whoever said it first wasn't a fool. Let's assume, for a minute, that it means something subtler than that. I think that "writing what you know" means that we should tap those reserves of experience that make us unique, that give us insight into the human condition, and translate them into imagined worlds, imagined people so that those people become real. This applies whether we're writing a gritty novel of love and hardship in the rust belt or a ripping space adventure set in the gas clouds of Setii V.  If that's what it means, then "write what you know" is the writer's version of method acting.

It's true, I am not now, nor have I ever been, a vermillion skinned lizard woman, trying to protect her collective's pod of youngsters from the acid mists that rise every evening. I'm not even a mom. But I have been a camp counselor - I know what it's like to usher a bunch of giggling, fast moving, semi-hysterical little girls through the woods at night. I know what it's like to fear for their safety. I also know what it's like to love them and want to strangle them at the same time. So maybe I know what that lizard woman is going through as she tries to find little Icz (who has disappeared again!) and tell everyone to keep all five of their limbs inside the land rover and stop little Icz (he was under the driver's seat) from telling everyone else in gruesome detail exactly what will happen if they don't get back to the pod house before the acid mists begin seeping out of the ground, all while not panicking herself because the land rover won't start.  

And with that, dear reader, you'll have to excuse me. I think I hear a story calling...