It took a late night of photocopying in the back room with Sanjay2, but we managed to get Space Squid published by our self-imposed deadline yet again. I’ve managed to get almost caught up on sleep, so I’ll tell you how releasing issue #5 into the Nebula Weekend went.
First of all, you could hardly call this a con at all. There were no parties or panels to speak of. Just a hundred or so legends of the field, wandering around the Omni hotel with hardly a fan in sight.
On Friday afternoon I wandered down to the Omni with a box of cookies (an advert for baked goods trade with Quacks Bakery) and a backpack stuffed with Space Squid and the Complete Austin Guide. It took me twenty minutes of wandering through the hotel before I actually found the Nebula facilities. Apparently you can’t just take the stairs in the Omni. I had to be guided back to the lobby through a kitchen by a cook carrying a wad of prosciutto.
The only real event on Friday was the signing.
Here we see former RevSF fiction editor Jayme Blashke sharing a table with Patrice Sarath. Elze and Paige E. Roberts look on. Not pictured, Stina "My name’s not Christina" Leicht.
Meanwhile I worked the crowd, putting free issues of Space Squid and party invitations in the hands of as many warm bodies as I could. Or as the case may be, annoying people who are better than me, such as Joe R. Lansdale and Neal Barrett Jr.
Luckily, they have no idea who the hell I am.
That evening there was a relaxed dinner at the Hickory St. Bar and grill with the usual suspects, Steve Wilson, Chris Nakashima-Brown and Lawrence Person (in the lit foreground).
Below, Tales of the Secret City contributor Patrick Sullivan wonders why Squid editor D Chang ordered a children’s burger.
Later, a bunch of us crashed Jayme Blashke’s room and swilled down his bottles of homebrewed jalapeno mead. Imagine having your nipples carressed with a blowtorch. Only with 15% alcohol.
Sure there was an awards thing on Saturday (Michael Chabon’s acceptance speech was a sci-fi-pride manifesto as powerful as Obama’s reply to Wrightgate), but people are really only going to remember the Space Squid release party at B.D.Riley’s Bar and Grill, a benefit for "The Nerds Are Our Future Foundation."
Below, in no particular order, Nebula Award Nominee and Space Squid contributor Jennifer Pelland , Allen Wise, Mr. Jennifer Pelland (not his real name), Space Squid illustrator Chris Waltrip, Fred Stanton, Original Squid Grrrl Cecil Clorox, Robert L. Reed, and Space Squid contributor Jeremey Malish.
A shocking number of attendees allowed themselves to be badgered into reading for the 15min improv fiction contest. The overall genre trope was "Cold Sleep."
MC Matthew Bey prompts the audience for stream-of-consciousness story props while avoiding competing in the contest himself
Robert L. Reed, using the prop "Stupid Red Hat" wrote a touching story about grandma dropping into a cold sleep capsule, and leaving a note in her sunday hat for her grandson.
D Chang wrote with the prop "Box of Space Squid" and told about the streets of Cairo and filthy urchins selling contaminating Space Squid issues on street corners.
Jennifer Pelland, writing with the prop "Stupid Red Hat", took the opportunity to engage in self-indulgent wish fulfillment. Let’s hope she doesn’t really trap her husband in a cryopod.
Writing from the prop "The Hennessey Sisters Who Are Sitting Right Next to the MC" (pictured at the lower right), Contest winner Paige Roberts spins a tear-jerking tail about space pirates, bull semen, and the benefits of taking your cast-iron frying pan into the hibernation chamber with you.
Allen Wise somehow writes for fifteen minutes without once mentioning mighty thews or wenches.
From the prop "Beer Bottle" Nancy Jane Moore comes up with a story about a south-austin Irish-ghetto cryo-clinic where they use bottles of Guiness to put you to sleep until better days roll around.
Second place contest winner Jessica Reisman reads about a future dystopia where squid grrrls rule
Third place winner Patrick Sullivan tells how one can indeed sustain horrible head trauma from Dick Cheny.
The Hennessey sisters explain to Paige Roberts that in Montana they don’t sue, they come after you with a skillet.