|
Friday 24th
10pm: Arrive in Canberra
after three-hour drive with carload of non-fannish types (wife, sister-in-law
with hubby, 12 year-old niece). Must’ve been hell for them! Feeling a little nostalgic
as we drive through the city outskirts; I lived here for a decade in 1996,
DJing at local club. Proposed to wife here. So nice and peaceful. Why did we
ever leave? Arrive at caravan park and open door. Ah! 5º Celsius. That’s
why we left! Too late to attend Opening Ceremony at ‘con. Decide to make an
early night of it, get there bright and early in morning to set up Agog /
AustrAlien Absurdities table.
Saturday 25th
8am: Wake up feeling stiff
(oo-er!). Had forgotten temperatures can get down to -12º in winter in the
ACT. Should have worn thermal jim-jams. Pole-vault out of bed, pack books in
car, convince wife to drive me to ‘con.
9am: Arrive at Novotel
Hotel. Wife assists me in unpacking books onto footpath, then tears off with
much squealing of tyres. Bump into Terry Dowling and Bill Congreve, loading
crateloads of books from Bill’s ancient car (Holden Shitbox, c.12 B.C.) onto
a hotel trolley. Am so thickly rugged up against ACT cold, they mistake me
for a homeless person. Bill offers me a copy of my novel Worlds Apart to burn
for warmth before recognising me.
Make my way upstairs to the ‘con (staggering under weight of boxes),
and am warmly greeted by organiser Vanessa Jacobsen. “This is Chuck McKenzie,
a very funny man,” she says to all in earshot. I presume she means
funny-amusing. Well, that’s putting the pressure on; I don’t usually
do funny until 11am. Some people
would question whether I’m even funny after then. Am shown to Trader’s room
and assigned a table. Bill and Terry set up shop next to me. Edwina Harvey
has also set up a table for her ceramic work and various damningly enticing
merchandise. Talking to Edwina is always a cack; she knows more terrible puns
than anyone I know. We chat for a while. She mentions I’m looking somewhat thinner
than usual. I tell her it’s because my wife’s on a naturopathic diet, and me
being big on solidarity… I demonstrate the effectiveness of the diet by
whipping off my belt and showing her how loose my jeans are. Appreciative
whistles from the other traders. Thank you, gentlemen. Pull up pants, and
present Edwina with her with 2 contributors’ copies of AA. She is surprised:
“Don’t we just get one?” This worries me: am I actually being generous to my
contributors? I was so sure I was screwing them! Dammit!
10am: Finish setting up
table. Cat Sparks, Rob Hood and
Deb Biancotti stagger in, looking like Death’s less-healthy older siblings.
Apparently Friday night was a big one; free booze put on by the organisers!
Dammit! Still, probably better I wasn’t there. Nobody wants a repeat of the
Swancon 26 drinking binge… Rob runs off to attend a panel on YA fiction. I
have a quick wander around ‘con to see what’s going on. Lots, by the look of
it. Two panel rooms, a media stream, gaming room and Traders’ Room, all full
of attendees. I head back to our table, and Cat and I talk crap while we wait for the first sale of the day. Much
crap talked.
More familiar faces are beginning to pass by the table now: Ted
Scribner, Michael Barry, Simon Brown, Maxine McArthur, Robbie Matthews and
Sean McMullen all drop by to say hi. Marco Nero introduces me to his lovely
Canadian fiancée, Rina. I introduce Allan Price to someone-or-other. “Allan
Price, as featured in Asimov’s,” says Allan Price. Featured in Asimov’s? Wow!
I ask someone when Allan was featured in Asimov’s, and am informed that
Allan’s claim to fame is having his name mentioned in a review of the Nor Of
Human… anthology which appeared in Asimov’s. Ah. This is obviously some new
usage of the word ‘featured’ I wasn’t previously aware of.
11am: Cat holds the fort
while I dash off to do the hour-long walking tour of Canberra
City. For those who’ve never been,
honestly, an hour is all it takes. Bump into Vanessa on the street outside,
where she introduces me to her daughter. “This is Chuck McKenzie, a very
funny man.” It’s amazing what a reputation I’m building on so little talent.
At this rate I’m going to get a swelled head. Me and my head set off for Garema
Place. Absolutely nothing has changed since ’96
(although there’s a dab of paint on one of the street signs which I think may
be new). It’s beginning to warm up a little; 12.5º. Visit Impact Records and
several bookshops, then head back to the ‘con with a bagful of books I can’t
afford.
12 noon: Cat has sold one
copy of AA for me in my absence. I perform a little dance of excitement.
People run to offer help, assuming that I’m having an epileptic fit. Time for
lunch. Rob, Cat, Simon, Deb, Ian Irvine and myself head off to the Woodstock
pizza restaurant for lunch. We share pizzas, one of which is covered with
small green chillies. Everyone digs in happily. Not wanting to look like a
wuss, I nibble one of the chillies. My eyeballs implode. Simon asks me a question.
Mumbling an answer past my smouldering tongue seems to give him the
impression I’ve just suffered a stroke. Sure feels like it. In combination
with the no-doubt laxative effect of the free mints I’ve been scoffing all
morning (thoughtfully provided by the Novotel), I reckon those chillies are
going to make my life, and the lives of everyone around me, pretty miserable
this time tomorrow…
1pm: Return to the ‘con.
More copies of AA and Agog have been sold. Refrain from dancing. Everyone
expresses gratitude. Many people pass by the table, picking up books, reading
the blurb, putting them down, moving on, coming back ten minutes later and
repeating the whole thing again. Some sort of weird time-loop? Vanessa drops
by with more attendees in tow. “This is Chuck McKenzie, a very funny man.”
I’m starting to feel like I’ve arrived in Stepford.
2pm: I head off to sit on a
panel on small-press publishing, as do Rob, Cat and Bill. Heck, who’s going
to watch the table? Ah! Good old Terry! I feel like an interloper on this
panel; I know nothing. Still, that’s never stopped me from doing anything
before. Just ask my wife.
3pm: The afternoon rolls on.
The atmosphere at the ‘con is great – very relaxed, casual and warm. I’ve so
enjoyed sitting at the table chatting to people, I’ve completely forgotten to
go to any panels other than the ones I’ve been involved in! Oops! For some
reason, people seem to be under the impression that Cat and I are a couple.
Why? It’s not like we’re snogging on the table-top (not in front of Rob,
anyway). Possibly it’s because we’re both very loud and raucous?
Unsettlingly, I keep picking the words “Chuck” and “Bottom” out of the
conversation going on at Edwina’s table. I’m not brave enough to listen more
closely.
A moment of unpleasantness when the purse of one of the organisers is
stolen from the green room. Everyone who hears about it is suitably
disgusted. Any eyewitnesses? Yes, one, possibly. Eyewitness reports seeing a
tall, thin, balding, suspicious-looking man hanging about near the green room
prior to the theft. Tall? Thin? Balding? Suspicious-looking? It’s Robert
Hood! We all crash-tackle him. “No, no,” says the eyewitness, “the guy I saw
was much thinner than Robert Hood!” Thinner than Robert Hood? Ergh!
Apparently the thief wasn’t a ‘con attendee, though, which is thankful. Cat
and I try to ease the pain of the purse-abductee by foisting complimentary
copies of our books upon her. Maybe she can trade them for food…
5.30pm: Ian Irvine delivers
his GOH speech in the foyer outside the Traders’ Room. It’s a very casual
affair; people sitting on the carpet, listening as Ian chats about
world-building and the popularity of fantasy in Australia.
Once he finishes, everyone turns to leave. Hang on! We’re supposed to be
having a combined Agog / AA / Immaterial / Passing Strange launch! After
several minutes of confusion we decide that since there isn’t a specific room
put aside for the launch, we’ll just do it from the Traders Room. No
speeches, just come on in and buy! Ha! Who says we’re disorganised? Just
about everyone, I’d imagine. Despite all the mucking about, we manage to sell
satisfactory quantities of all our books. I refer autograph-hunting customers
to Rob, Cat, Edwina, Marco and Allan ‘As Featured In Asimov’s’ Price, who are
all standing nearby. Chris McTrustry and family make a surprise appearance,
shout ‘surprise!’, and leave. Odd.
6.30pm: Launch over, time to
pack up. Post-‘con revellers seem to have split into two groups; those going
off to Mt Stromlo Observatory for dinner and a guided tour, and those popping
around the corner to the local Vietnamese restaurant. Being the piker that I
am, I opt to attend neither of these venues, but instead head off to a local
Italian restaurant for a romantic dinner with my wife (yes, slurping up
spaghetti bolognaise through your teeth is just so romantic): six
years (almost to the day!) since I proposed (proposed marriage, that is; I
proposed other things the first night I met her). Then back to our cabin
for…a nice cup of tea…
Sunday 26th
9.30am: Arrive at the ‘con
bright and early and ready to sell hundreds of books. Grab breakfast in the
bus terminal diner next to the hotel, and bump into Gary
‘Freecon’ Dalrymple. We discuss weighty matters, such as the breeding cycle
of Basenjis, and plans for world domination by the Freecon committee, then I
head upstairs. Am joined by Marco’s fiancée, Rina, who asks if she can keep
me company while I wait for Cat and Rob to appear, then proceeds to dazzle me
with her beauty and wit.. Cat and Rob stagger in shortly after, looking worse
for wear. Tsk! Young people! Oh, and Rob and Cat, of course.
10am: Cat wanders off to sit
on one of them panel things (I really must try to attend one!), while I watch
the table. Les Petersen and his wife put in an appearance, accompanied by
their new bub. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! The bub’s just like Les - small and
constantly wetting himself. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Yes folks, I’m just full of
awww today. I’m awwful! Vanessa pops by. “This is Chuck McKenzie, a very
funny man.” I think people are going to be asking for the evidence upon which
she’s basing that remark soon.
11am: Cat arrives back from
her panel, and I head off to my book-signing session with Richard Harland.
Richard tells me he’s actually heading off to do an interview, then on to the
ACT gallery. Could I just let any autograph-seekers know? Well, buggered if
I’m sitting in a room by myself for an hour! Upon hearing that most of the
other authors have averaged three people per hour at their respective sessions,
I head back to the table, asking the rather luscious young lady on the
registration desk if she could direct my vast fan club there. I don’t sign a
single autograph for the next fifty minutes.
Eventually, the rather luscious young lady from the registration desk
wanders by and peruses the AA cover blurb. “Hm, not sure this is my cup of
tea.” Cat mentions the special: buy AA and Agog together for only $30. “Well,
okay,” says luscious. I sign her copy. She tells me I have the most beautiful
eyes she’s ever seen. Wow, flattery! Flashback to my pre-married DJing days.
I tell her she has a lovely smile. Cat, sensing that all this flirtation can
lead to no good, points out that you can only see my beautiful eyes up close
because my chubby cheeks obscure ‘em from a distance. Sort of like a hamster,
she says. The mood shatters. Cheers Cat. Dunno what I’d do without you.
12 noon: Actually manage to
get away to see a panel; Rob Hood, Jon Blum and Michelle Marquardt discussing
the philosophy of Godzilla films. Much stamping of feet and giggling from the
panellists. Where’s Robin Pen when you need him?
1pm: Lunch. Head off solo to
seek out a Kingsley’s; the best damn hot chicken franchise I’ve ever come
across, and my favourite ACT fast-food hangout when I lived here in ‘96.
Forget Parliament House and the War Memorial, folks; what you really need to
check out when you come to the ACT is a Kingsley’s sub with tender chicken
and gravy. Yummo! I then head off to a bookshop, and notice some books in the
front window that Cat and Rob would probably like; a collection of critical
essays on gothic horror, and a DIY guide entitled Funky Junk. In lieu of
books entitled Horrific Zombie Tales and Kitsch Crap, these books might make
a nice gift to say ‘thanks!’ for all the work they put into proofreading and
laying out AA for me. I head back to the ‘con and present the gifts to Cat
and Rob. Much hugging and sentimentality. “Awww, you didn’t have to give us
these, Chuck!” What? Okay, I’ll take them back! There’s a little tear in my
eye, though. Must be the chillies from yesterday.
2pm: Head off to sit on a
panel on Humour in SF, together with Bill Congreve, Robbie Matthews, Rob
Hood, Sean McMullen and Allan Price (“as featured in Asimov’s”). I can recall
saying nothing of intelligence during the entire hour, being distracted by
yesterday’s chillies making their imminent return felt. Finally bump into
Kate Orman as we finish up; she’s been here all along, but our paths haven’t
previously crossed! A shame, since she’s always a pleasure to chat to.
3pm: Back to the table.
Things are starting to wind down now. Fewer people passing by the table, some
are even heading off home. Everyone is looking tired, but happy. It’s been a
really fun convention, and I’ve yet to hear any negative feedback from anyone
(except regarding the theft of the purse, of course). Vanessa pops by (“This
is Chuck McKenzie, a very funny man,”) and proceeds to shatter my illusions
by telling me about one of the Guests (who shall remain nameless, because
I’ve never heard of them) complaining bitterly about not having all their
‘con expenses paid by the committee. Oh well, no ‘con is complete without a
bit of prima donna ego action, I guess.
4pm: Looks as though I may
as well call it a day. Wife had requested that I call her if I can get away
from the ‘con before 5pm. I call,
and head back to the table to see if I can make any further sales in the
expected half-hour before wife arrives.
4.02pm: Wife arrives,
claiming she was just around the corner when she rang. Hmmmmm. Drag boxes of
books (seem to be more of them than I arrived with!) down to the car full of
non-fannish types parked outside, then rush back up to say a quick goodbye to
everyone (wife is timing me). Manage to find everyone except for Vanessa, who
seems to have vanished. I try the old aboriginal trackers’ trick of standing
still and listening for the characteristic cry of “This is Chuck McKenzie, a
very funny man,” but all I can hear is “…as featured in Asimov’s”. Ah well.
Sad to be leaving, but looking forward to getting home, I stagger downstairs
to the car, and we slowly head back towards Sydney.
Goodbye, Canberra! I’m
already looking forward to next years’ ‘con!
|