Cons Make You Sleepy

Just back from Conflux (the 43rd Australian National Science Fiction Convention) and my brain is too scrambled, my ankle too sprained, my creativity too drained to do more than scribble a few notes reassuring my hordes of loyal readers that I'm alive and kicking (well alive anyway, not kicking on account of aforementioned ankle).

The word of Conflux was, well, a short word with a hard consonant up front and a nice plosive at the end and that's all I'll say about that because some of Scott's relatives read my musings. But it's a good word and I love the way it explodes out of Deb Biancotti's mouth (goddess!).

I think Conflux was quite possibly (WisCon aside) my favourite con ever. I've been going to these strange things for ten years now (my first: World Fantasy in Minneapolis in 1994) but I learned more at this one than at any previous four-day long all-talking, all-panelling, all-dancing, all-singing sf experience.

I learned that Donna Hanson truly is a goddess. As is Nick Stafopalis (whose name is dead easy to spell), Ron Serdiuk (Bad Man!) and every single Kim (Selling, Westwood, Wilkins) at the convention. Not to mention Cat Sparks and I say that not just because she's the editor of Agog! Smashing Stories which just happens to have a story by me in it, but because she's, well, Cat Sparks. And not forgetting the man behind the woman, the lovely Rob Hood.

I discovered that Lucy Sussex and I should go on the road together and become the Laurel and Hardy of science fiction. Our standup routine panel on James Tiptree Jr. and her/his award was splendid (you may think it immodest of me to say so, but I asure you I am quoting others.) If only Julie Phillips—hard at work in Amsterdam on her extraordinary Tiptree biography—could have been there too (no, Julie, I did not reveal a single spoiler!).

Kim Selling introduced me to the concept of champagne consumption by panellists during actual panel time. The two Kims, Ron, Scott and myself were dreadfully witty and charming (again, I'm quoting others) demonstrating that everything is genre (including newspaper reports, Martin Amis novels and bus tickets) while we genteely sipped our bubbly. Though the charm and wit could have been transmitted by the gold, red and silver tiaras Kim Wilkins made for us. Such a goddess! I'm framing mine.

I learned that arguing that there is evidence for alien visitation on Earth is much, much funnier than arguing against. Michael Barry, Rob Hood, Chuck McKenzie, and Antony Searle were hilarious.

I got to spend quality time with my oldest (as in known for the longest time, not as in decrepitude) sf friends: Pauline Dickinson and Justin Ackroyd. The three of us shook our heads over how degenerate the Australian sf community has become (think back to the word of the con mentioned above: degenerates!) and bagged as many sf notables as we could think of (but in a loving and supportive way). Such fun! Oh yes, and Justin sold every copy of Scott and mine's books he'd brought with him from Slow Glass Books. We love Justin.

I read some of my fiction out loud for the very first time and no one ran from the room screaming.

I listened to Paul Brandon read out loud for the very first time and didn't run from the room screaming. He good. Put them words together not too foul.

I learned far more than I ever wanted to know about the first Clarion South workshop which boiled down to: they're all—including the organisers—mad (except Kim Westwood and Wendy Waring) and everyone loves Nalo. What is it with the ping pong, people?

A few remaining Conflux factoids: Sean Williams gives good dj, Garth Nix has an astonishingly low voice (goddesses both), airships are not that interesting (but balloons are), Gregory Benford, Karen Herkes (scroll down) and Sean McMullen are extraordinarily gracious guests of honour and good food can be found in Canberra (but none better than at Cass and Gemma's house).

Sydney, 27 April 2004

© 2004 Justine Larbalestier

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