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I attended my first major science fiction convention in 1993. Steve Perrin, the game master for my weekly Champions game—and coincidentally, the man who wrote Runequest and the ElfQuest role-playing game, as well as being one of the original Wild Cards—received his yearly invitation to BayCon, the Silicon Valley general science fiction convention. The invitation was for "and friend," something that actually isn't all that common in the convention world of today. Steve, recognizing that leaving a bored teenage girl without a Champions game was practically a recipe for disaster, invited me to come with him.
I don't really remember much about that first BayCon. It was a long time ago, and I don't think I slept at all during the convention—easily four days. Four days of sleep-deprivation and poor nutrition will do funny things to your memory. I just remember that I staggered home saying that I'd had the time of my life, and that I absolutely, positively, without question, had to go back the next year.
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In the meantime, I had gaming conventions (Dundracon, Origins, Games Caucus, which most of the attendees called, with cruel accuracy, "Games Carcass") to attend, and when there weren't any gaming conventions available, I had filk conventions to visit. (Short definition: filk is the folk music of science fiction and fantasy. So a filk convention is sort of like a folk music festival crammed into a hotel and invaded by goblins.) All these early conventions were characterized by a lack of sleep, a lack of proper nutrition, and the strong desire to see everything that could possibly be seen NOW-NOW-NOW.
Sometimes my survival to reach adulthood really does strike me as something of a miracle.
As I grew fully into my convention princess status, I began volunteering to work the cons, something that seemed just short of sitting at the Round Table at Camelot. This actually caused me a lot of trouble, because I was one of those dangerous teenage girls who looked eighteen at thirteen, and twenty-two at fifteen. (I then proceeded to look twenty-two for the next fifteen years, so this really isn't so much of a punishment.) A lot of people met me at fifteen and assumed that I was much older than I was, leading to some of them developing the firm conviction that I was insane. "Perfectly reasonable behavior for a somewhat geeky fifteen-year-old" is very different from "reasonable behavior from a grown woman we all assume has a job and a life outside of this con."
(For the past six years or so, the mystery of my age has been a bit of a party game. I run into people, and they're amazed at how young I look, since they're assuming I'm almost ten years older than I actually am. I tell them what my last birthday is, and they run the math. After that, I get to watch the funny, funny mortification.)
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The nice thing about the convention world is that it really is a place where people can go to "let their freak flag fly" and not particularly worry about being judged for it. Fairy queens ride the elevators alongside ninja turtles, super-powered mutants, and, in more recent years, parties of steampunk adventurers who appear to be on some epic quest that the rest of us just haven't been briefed on yet. I was at a science fiction convention when we decided to make ice cream in a pressure cooker using liquid nitrogen, and discovered that pressure cookers can actually explode (no one was hurt). I was at another science fiction convention when I spent a good half-hour deep in argument about the origins of fairy tales with a very nice man, only to discover later that I'd been arguing with Peter Beagle.
It's a whole different world in there.
My two favorite conventions of the year couldn't be more different. There's OVFF (the Ohio Valley Filk Festival), an intimate gathering of filkers from around the world that happens every October in Columbus, Ohio. And then there's the San Diego International Comic-Convention, held every July in San Diego, California, which is an intimate gathering of well over a hundred thousand people, many of whom will manage to step on my foot over the course of the weekend. I come out of both of them the same way: exhausted, energized, excited by the reminder that I belong to a world community of geeks. We come in all shapes, sizes, and colors; we're blazingly obvious, or totally invisible; but we're out there.
(I fall somewhere in the middle on that visibility scale. I'm a reasonably ordinary-looking blonde woman...as long as you can ignore my tendency to dress all year long as if Halloween were just next weekend. I can blend better than I do. I just rarely see the need to actively bother. I am a Disney Halloweentown Princess, and I own that reality.)
Con-going isn't for the faint of heart, and I think that if I started today, I'd probably keel over by the end of day three. In an effort to save the lives of the unwary, I've taken to writing Survival Guides to really big conventions that I plan to attend. My guide to San Diego is well over twenty pages long, and still doesn't touch on every aspect possible. But it's a start! Conventions are a place for networking, shopping at what is effectively an entire mall tuned to your interests, and for meeting your favorite authors in a friendly, not-the-supermarket setting. If you get the chance, you should go.
Since I don't think you're going to want to read through twenty pages before your first con, here are my top ten tips for getting in and getting out again without completely dissolving:
SEANAN'S CONVENTION SURVIVAL SUGGESTIONS
10. The human body needs six to eight hours of sleep and six to eight glasses of water every day. You're very unlikely to get that kind of sleep at conventions, so make an extra effort to get enough water. Buy yourself a refillable water bottle and refill it religiously. You'll feel way better after.
9. The human body also needs calories that aren't just sugar. Carbs and protein are important. You should have some. (Peanut M&Ms were developed for the U.S. military based on exactly this idea.) Carry protein bars, beef jerky, whatever you like that will fill you up and isn't just sugar. Try to eat two balanced meals a day. It can be done!
8. You can't possibly do everything. Go through the program book, decide what's important to you, and prioritize from there. You'll feel better if you have a plan.
7. The days where you could stroll into the convention and just grab a hotel room are long, long gone. You need to plan things in advance, unless you're sleeping on the floor of an understanding local cousin. Check the convention website (I can almost guarantee they'll have one) for details on registration and hotel booking.
6. When backing your backpack/purse/shoulder bag, keep in mind that a) you'll be carrying that stuff all day long, and b) you won't really have easy access to the rest of your stuff. If you can carry twenty pounds, don't pack your bag with twenty-five, unless five pounds of that is the hard candy you're delivering to a friend in the lobby. If you get cold easily, pack a sweater, or you'll regret it later. A day at a convention is a lot like a day at Disneyland, and you'll be equally sorry if you show up unprepared.
5. If you're planning to do a full day at the convention, followed by a full night of parties, may I suggest trying to take an hour or so to just take a nap? If you're not a napper, you can also read, soak in a hot bath, or watch mindless television in your hotel room—whatever makes you happy. The idea is to cool down, through whatever mechanism that requires.
4. Shower early and often. There will be a lot of people packed into not much space, and "con funk" is a sad reality. Don't be a contributer.
3. Pace yourself! Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. Unless you're being chased by a crazy guy with a machete. In that case, don't pace yourself. Run like you're being chased by a crazy guy with a machete.
2. Breathe.
1. Have a wonderful time. This is a chance for you to meet your peers, no matter what your peer group may be. Stretch out your arms and grab hold of it with both hands, because we're so lucky to be part of a world where things like this exist. Even if those things include a swimming pool full of Martians.
--Seanan McGuire
Seanan McGuire, Rosemary and Rue, fantasy, faerie, books, Penguin Books
