It’s Tuesday once again, and that means you’re all subjected to my
rambling words of wisdom. But first! Clan Dave is doing fine (it’s fine, it’s all fine, no problems at all AT ALL). Mom Dave and Pop Dave are visiting, and have been occupying Wee Dave and Wee-er Dave. Also cleaning Castle Dave, which is doing wonders for Dave’s peace (and piece) of mind. I’ve even gotten to bugger off and loaf about write at the local caffeination establishments. I finished a short story, and about four chapters of a space opera project.
I really don’t know what to do with myself. It’s like almost all of my fondest dreams are coming true. I’m really clinging to the hope that both of the littles will be able to rock the morning pre-school gig come September. I’d get to write every day. I could set up a publishing schedule without laughing bitter tears. The world might end, or at least mine.
In other news, the World Science Fiction Convention appears to imploding at a record rate. It’s been having issues, pretty much all the way along. I imagine bringing it back from an year overseas is a special challenge, all in itself. That said, there was an early uproar over the con not reserving a large enough block of rooms, and that locals snapped them up before out-of-town congoers could get a chance to spend money atop money. Then, a local author was pre-banned, and his membership yanked.
More recently, an author was misgendered in the programming bio. I wonder why said author didn’t just send a note to the concom, maybe with a revised bio. Instead, the Internet Outrage Mob was whipped up. Then, a request that attendees wear semi-formal attire for the Huggo ceremony raised further screeching. Because looking nice at a broadcasted awards ceremony is a chore, and a trial Hercules himself would have failed at.
In the last few days, things have gotten even more confused. Award nominees have been left off programming, which seems a bit odd. Still, there was plenty of outrage to go around. And finally, a handful of weeks from opening ceremonies, the entire program has been scrapped to be redone in a more enlightened and inclusive manner.
Folks, I haven’t done it, myself, but I know some people who’ve run cons. In my rather humble opinion, this doesn’t seem to be the way to do that. I’m also ambivalent. I’ve had a number of friends hurt over what is a truly small fight, to include slander (yes, I’ve heard it) and libel (on a global scale) and deliberate attempts to sink careers. Which is survivable — if incredibly painful — if you’re DINC and your author gig is basically a hobby. It’s far worse if you’re supplementing so the kids can actually go to college, or even the sole bread-winner of the family. At that point, this behavior is beyond morally ambiguous.
Folks I know are predicting no more than a decade before the largely graying WorldCon in-crowd are unable to travel, and the institution just wastes away. I don’t want WorldCon to die. I really don’t, but it may need to undergo a medically induced coma and a painful rehabilitation, and we look to be more or less front-row spectators to the process.
It would be awfully nice to see the con itself get a new lease on life, with a young crowd (seriously, barring a handful of local families, I was one of the youngest attendees at my last WC) of enthusiastic con-goers digging into ideas with a new fervor, instead of rehashing the same worn-out notions in the same worn-out way. But I don’t think we’re there, yet.