Russell KirkPatrick.com

Right, so I get up on Sunday morning and decide to lie about at Donna’s house reading. I finish Peter F. Hamilton’s ‘The Dreaming Void’, which is a large book but doesn’t get me as far into the story as I would have liked. I grab a late breakfast at Rydges Hotel (the site of the con) and swan about sampling panels and giving cheek to whoever is foolish enough to fail to dive for cover. In particular I bother Bill Congreve at his stand in the Dealers’ Room. Bill is always good for a chat about progressive rock, and we talk articulately about this extremely important subject until we get sick of agreeing with each other.

Keith Stevenson tells me my editor, Nicola O’Shea, is putting in an appearance later in the afternoon. I agree to hang about in the bar in the hope I can get to meet her. This is important because, diplomat that she is, she’s said some very nice things about my latest manuscript:

'I couldn't put the manuscript down when I was doing my initial read-through, and my further reads for the copy edit just confirmed what a wonderful book this is. The characters and the relationships between them are utterly compelling, and I've loved seeing how you interweave the three narrative strands into such a complex and satisfying story. There's such fascinating background material throughout as well ... and holding it all together, the marvellous prose - it is such a great pleasure to be merely 'polishing' during a copyedit.'

She can talk to me about my book anytime, I think to myself.

Daikaiju 3, a giant monsters anthology and jolly good fun, is launched at noon. Agog Press (aka Cat Sparks) is a seasoned launch professional and gets three times as many people as did ‘In Bad Dreams’ earlier in the con. I even buy a book in the rush of enthusiasm, though I’m not a short story fan.

1pm sees my last panel, the glorious ‘Australian from the outside’. If ever there was a reason for my existence, it is to chair panels like this. Over a drunken lunch the Conflux 4 organising committee thought it a good idea to ask a New Zealander to chair a panel telling Australians how good they are.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

The extremely articulate and bitingly witty Dev Jeyathurai joins myself, Mark Deniz and Ross Temple for this orgy of Aussie-worship. We point out that workshops for newly arrived immigrants ought to be more helpful than teaching people to say ‘Put another shrimp on the barbie, Sheila.’ We also ask if we could please not be swamped by people asking us how much we liked Australia the moment we disembark the plane. We comment on Australian mountains, pointing out that the Blue Mountains are neither, and guffaw at crossing the Great Dividing Range on the way to Canberra – a sign reading ‘Great Dividing Range, 726m’ the only indication the countryside is anything other than perfectly flat. I speculate that perhaps the Range was 726 metres away from the sign, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. Perhaps it is Base Camp for an assault on Mt Kosciusko’s giant peak.

We remind them of their habit of cultural appropriation, wondering how they are able to lay claim to Phar Lap, Sam Neill, the Finn brothers, Pavolva and Russell Crowe. Actually, we conceded the last one. We wonder why they want New Zealand when they already have Tasmania?

We do make some more serious points, commenting quite positively on Australian writing and fandom. And we allowed that there were, in fact, some very decent and thoroughly nice Australians, although when put on the spot to name some we umm and ahh a bit.

I hang about in the bar talking to Keith Stevenson. Now Keith has in the past made me a bit nervous. I remember a famous panel which took a strongly anti ‘Big Fat Fantasy’ stance, of which he was an enthusiastic member. I, of course, write BFFs. Nevertheless he is a more than congenial companion, especially since he seems very interested in my comments about the politics of maps. Anyone who listens to me talk is a good sort, in my book.

Nicola turns up and says all the right things. For a quarter of an hour I feel like a very good writer. I want to write thousands of words a day for praise like this. Easy to please, me.

While the Voyager Online community organise a party, I accompany other authors to a Voyager dinner. Timing could have been better. Food is great, company is great, people persist in listening to me, so I persist in talking. There is nothing I enjoy more in the entire world.

The final act of a great day is the Masquerade, consisting (by the time I get there) of a Sean Williams-directed disco. Wooo! I have just the shirt, as I mentioned in a previous blog post. My fancy graphic equaliser shirt partially masks my total inability to dance. There is limb movement, randomly in time to the beat, and I can tell when a song starts and finishes. Despite these obvious inadequacies I actually enjoy the evening, despite not having danced in over 25 years.

Off home late. I’ll get a few hours’ sleep in preparation for the end of the Con and the trip home.