Author's Note: Thanks for those who have expressed concern because I fell behind on updates. I'm not sick, but my laptop (last year's Christmas present) had a hardware issue and is in at the shop. I have a tablet but can't stand to type out a story with one finger. However, my wife and I dug out my old, old laptop (pre-2002) from storage, I plugged it in, and it works, although it's running Windows 98 and a very old Word program. I've forgotten all the shortcuts for those! And it's horribly slow, but I can get online and sort of update now. Thanks for your concern, though! This note will self-destruct with the next update.
Cons and Pros
(June 21-22, 2018)
9-Sturgeon's Law
Dipper tucked the fanfiction story into his backpack, down at his feet, as the other panelists showed up.
Jayne Breene, in her mid-thirties and wearing her blonde hair in a butch cut, was first. She greeted Dipper with "And you're replacing Lacey, right?"
"Yes," Dipper answered. "She's busy and on deadline, so my editor asked me to sub for her. I hope that's OK?"
Jayne put a stack of Kitty Hart books on the table and then sat behind them. "It's fine with me," she said. "How are you with trans people?"
"Uh—I'm fine," Dipper said. "I didn't know—"
"Born a theoretical male, but really a woman inside," she said cheerfully. "I transitioned about ten years ago and started writing my first Kitty Hart book in the hospital. Kitty's sort of a self-portrait—twelve in the first book and very confused because she doesn't feel like a real male."
"I haven't read them," Dipper said. "But I will. I've got a couple of gay characters in my books, but so far that's not obvious—just hints." He and his editor had been going round about the relationship between the Chief of Police of Granite Rapids, Damon Dubbs, and his not-too-bright deputy, Henry Hunny.
"Here's Darnell!" Jayne said, waving.
A professorial-looking guy in his forties, with a neatly trimmed beard and wearing a tweed jacket with, yes, leather elbow patches, waved back cheerfully. "Who's missing?" he asked as he sat on the far side of Jayne.
"Catherine Quayle," Dipper said.
"Ah, then she's the moderator," Darnell Warren said in a satisfied tone as he put three of his own books on display.
Wendy came up. "Here you go, Dip," she said, standing up hardcovers of Bride of the Zombie, It Lurked in the Lake, and An Inconvenient Spook. "If you want, I'll go get the newest one."
"This is OK. Thanks, Wendy. Oh, this is my wife, Wendy, and I'm Stan Mason. Wendy, Jayne Breene is next to me here, and that's Darnell Warren."
"Hi," they both said, and then with a quizzical look, Jayne asked, "Did your wife just call you 'Dip?'"
Sighing, Dipper pushed his hair off his forehead. "My nickname, because of my birthmark. Dipper."
Wendy leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I love it," she said. "Good to meet you!"
She sat on the end of the front row of seats. Just then a frazzled-looking woman with long, stringy, gray-streaked black hair, huge glasses, and wearing a floor-length black dress , came hustling down the aisle. "Sorry, sorry, sorry! I nearly forgot the time!"
"Ladies and gentleman, the late Catty Quayle! Catty, you get to moderate!"
"Oh, thanks so much," She said, almost out of breath. She put up a couple of Haunted Trails books in front of her. "I know Darrel and Jayne, so you must be . . . um." She adjusted her large round spectacles and squinted.
"Stan Mason," Dipper said.
"But you can call him Dipper," Darnell put in. "And by the way, Catty, it's 'Darnell.' Don't forget the N."
"Mind like a sieve," Catherine said. She sat and put a legal pad on the table in front of her. "Let me make sure I know all your names. Stan—or Dipper?"
"Stan for the panel, Dipper for ordinary times," he said.
"And Jayne, of course, I know, and Darnell with an N. All right, first of all I'll ask each of you to introduce yourself to the audience and mention a few titles you've written. Then I'll toss in a few questions. Please, no one monopolize the discussion—Darnell—and when we have twenty minutes left, we'll take questions from the audience."
The doors opened, and attendees came sprinting in, hurrying to claim primo seats.
Darnell leaned toward Dipper and said, "Oh, I just made the connection—you're the Granite Rapids guy! Congratulations on the TV series! Who's your agent?"
"Bea Bergeron," Dipper said.
"Mind giving me her contact info after the panel?"
"Sure," Dipper said.
"I'm looking for representation," Darnell explained. "My present agent isn't doing enough for my Henry the Hero series."
A con staffer brought up four glasses and a pitcher of ice water. The room wasn't nearly as large as the theater—but before long every seat was packed and a couple of dozen people were standing against the back wall.
Jayne stood up and speaking into the hand microphone that had been on a stand in front of her, she said, "Hi! There are three seats in the third row on this side. Let me see. Are those two saved there? They are? OK, how about back in the fifth row on the right? Two seats together there! Anyone sitting next to a vacant seat, raise your hand!"
Even after that, more than twelve people still stood against the back wall. Jayne sat down and said, "Madame moderator, let's get this party started."
Catherine Quayle spoke into her own microphone: "Good afternoon, everyone! Are you enjoying ComicsCon so far?"
The audience chorused agreement that they were, indeed.
"Well, let's see if you're in the right place. This is the Young Adult Fantasy panel, and our topic is 'Is Fantasy Good for Kids?' Anybody need to leave? No? All right, let's introduce our panelists, and we'll start down on my left with Stan Mason. Tell us about yourself, Stan."
"Hi," Dipper said. Then he realized his mike was switched off and turned it on. "Hi. That's better. I'm Stan Mason, and I write the Granite Rapids books."
To his surprise, about a quarter of the audience cheered. "Thanks for that! If you're a fan, be sure to come to the theater tomorrow for the grand debut of the first episode of the new series. My wife Wendy is with me. Stand up, Wen! There she is."
He had not expected wolf-whistles, but he heard them. "And to my right is Jayne Breene. Jayne?"
"Thanks, Stan. Hi, everyone, I'm Jayne Breene, and I write about Kitty Hart—and the ninth book is on sale in the Exhibitors' Hall. You guys know the series?"
The audience vociferously affirmed that they did. "Good. I'll be glad to answer any questions you have about them. Over to Darnell Warren."
"Hi," Darnell said. "This is a really old crowd! I'd guess the median age at about eighteen. But when you were younger, did any of you read about Henry the Hero?"
Again, most of the audience had, and someone yell, "Hell, I still read 'em!"
"Thank you, aged sir!" Darnell said. "So you all have some idea of the kind of fantasy I write. I have to say I'm pleased with the good company here at the table. The science-fiction writer Ted Sturgeon created Sturgeon's Law: 'Ninety per cent of everything is crap!' We at the table represent the other ten per cent of fantasy writers! Now back to our moderator, the witchy Catherine Quayle."
"Thanks, Darnell. And you probably know Haunted Trails. The new book, Unhappy Haunts, will be officially published next month, but if you go by the publisher's booth, there are about fifty advance copies already available. And now to our first question—Why do you write fantasy? Who wants to go first?"
From the Journals of Dipper Pines: I said that first of all, a lot of the background stuff in the books was based on my and my sister's experiences and explained that we really did have a relative who ran a tourist trap and that we'd spent the summer there when we were twelve. I kind of lied, I guess, about the supernatural stuff not being real in the same way. But I did say that I thought the best fantasies were those that had a believable surface and added a lively imagination to that.
The panel mostly agreed that fantasy fiction was good, not bad, for readers—like you'd expect, I guess—because it stimulates their imaginations and fires their curiosity. And Jayne said something that struck me as true: "It's a genre in which readers who feel displaced or marginalized can discover characters similar to themselves who have lived through the same kind of troubles and trauma. I think a great part of fantasy is assuring uncertain, anxious readers that they're not really alone."
We got some questions from the audience. One to me: "Is that beautiful woman really your wife?"
"She really is."
"No wonder the Granite Rapids books have a great character like Willow!"
And then someone asked, "Hey, is Willow going to marry Tripper?"
I smiled and said, "He wishes! But I guess time will tell. I haven't written that far yet!"
When the panel wrapped up, some con staffers walked us to Autograph Row, where they'd arranged a long table for the four of us, and we signed books for an hour. The others had longer lines, but then they've all been writing for years. I can't complain, though, because a stream of book buyers came to my place, lots of them with all four of my books. And nearly every one of them wanted a photo with me for some reason, so Wendy patiently took their cameras or their phones and snapped the pictures for them.
After an hour of this my hand was tired, but then the con staff moved us out so some others could come take our places. By then it was past four o'clock. Wen and I went to an artists' panel—they were all so talented! Then we walked through the exhibitor's hall, but I kept getting waylaid by Granite Falls, or Precious Pony, or Kamen Runners fans. Twice I had to explain to fans that I would not sign boobs. And one of them was a guy. . . .
Something that strikes me about these fans. For the most part, they are incredibly tolerant of differences. Race, creed, color, age, sexual orientation, none of these seem to strike them as something to be unpleasant about. Man, if fantasy fans ran the world, things would be much more pleasant for everyone!
Then at six-thirty, Wen and I returned to the hotel to shower and change clothes. The Ditzney folks, including Alan, were taking us all out to dinner. And D.D. had advised us "Dress up—casual but elegant."
I didn't know what that meant, but for me, with Mabel's advice, it turned out to be my jacket, dark trousers, and a black turtleneck. It reminded me of the time when the GIB briefly detained us all and gave us all color-coded turtlenecks to wear!
Anyhow, Wendy looked stunning in a dark green pants suit. Mabel and Teek more or less matched in navy-blue outfits. And, thank God, the restaurant they took us to had other diners much more casual, and a few much more formal, than we were, so nobody paid us much attention. It was La Belle Parisienne, and Alan and his fiancée Amelia helped Mabel pick out her food.
Wen and I had—I don't remember! It was good—not like the ninety per cent in Sturgeon's Law. But exactly what we ate escapes my memory because three of the other guests were Kristie Chelle, Jackson Rhett, and Lydia Corelli, the voice actors for Alexia, Tripper, and Willow! They were so much fun. I don't think I said very much, but listening to them was fascinating.
When Jackson asked me, "Do I sound the way Tripper's supposed to?" I told him, "You sound better than I even imagined. I like that he's not as squeaky-voiced as I was at that age!"
And you know the best part? He came in wearing a nice semi-formal outfit, a white dinner jacket and a black bow tie—and a pine-tree hat just like mine, except the blue is darker!
And all three of them—well, they get it. Their voices are perfect. They bring the magic to the characters' personalities, and now I'm thinking that this show is going to be very, very popular.
We celebrated with more champagne, but Teek kept Mabel to two glasses, and Wendy and I stopped there, too.
However, a little champagne evidently relaxes us a lot. We had a private dining room, and after the meal and after about three different dessert courses, we hung out and talked until after midnight!
Then finally Alan, like the papa of the group, said, "This is fun, but we've got a show tomorrow!" So a stretch limo took us back to the hotel, and we said our good nights in the lobby.
Wendy and I took the express elevator, and five seconds after we got to our room, she and I were in bed.
And a good time was had by all.