Russell KirkPatrick.com

Having attended the chaotic but wonderful NZ Natcon last weekend has reignited my hunger for the company of writers, readers and fans. So in a rash and ill-considered decision I'm off to Adelaide and the Australian Natcon, to be held this weekend.

Currently I'm using a wi-fi hotspot at Auckland airport. I have a bit of the lurgi and I'm hoping I don't get quarantined in Melbourne! There are some people I really, really want to talk to in Adelaide.

Just spent Easter weekend at the New Zealand national convention in Wellington. The lovely and talented Donna Maree Hanson from Canberra came over for the con, and I drove her down from Auckland.

The con was generally well organised, though I found it disconcerting not to know which people were on what panels. Elizabeth Moon was an excellent Guest of Honour, and I was fascinated by her thoughts on environmental management. I enjoyed the company of New Zealand fandom, but particularly enjoyed spending time with Ross Temple, Lucy Sussex and Julian Warner. Ross won a Julius Vogel award for his blog, and Lucy won one for a short story. And, as mentioned in the news section, Path of Revenge won a Julius Vogel for Best Novel - Adult.

Back home now, exhausted and ready for bed. More thoughts tomorrow, perhaps. 

The final morning, and it's a heavy case of Mondayitis as I prepare to say goodbye to as many people as I can find. Donna's been great, letting me stay at her place (I hate hotels). Trudi and Paul have been great company. Mark Deniz is not as weird as I thought he'd be. Sharyn is relieved, I think, that I didn't sabotage the launch of her book. Nicole as chair has dealt with lots of issues with cheerfulness and professionalism - if she threw any naneroonies I never saw them. I enjoyed catching up with Andrew, Keith, Amanda, Kaaron, Gillian, Cora. Emmy, Karen - oh dear, this is a mistake, trying to list people -  Kim, Stephanie, Nicola, Bill, Fiona, Ella and oooh, lots of people who will be angry I have forgotten them, but I can't find many of them this morning. I'd really like to have had more time ...

Instead I go to a panel about the future of e-books. There's one of these at every convention but this is easily the best I've seen. Great job Fiona, Andrew and Sharyn. Fiona, the administrator of this site, takes me to meet Joffre Street Productions, who are doing the podcasts for the convention. We spend an interesting half-hour talking about the possibility of doing book trailers for the Husk Trilogy.

It's time to go. I sneak out and set off on the bittersweet drive back to Sydney - always a mistake, as it gives me too long to think and start missing the people I've just bid farewell to. I've cut the timing a bit fine, so it's straight to Sydney with no stops, arriving a little after check in time. No worries though, the plane is delayed. I appear a genius to the woman sitting next to me. 'The plane is delayed,' she tells her husband. 'But they didn't say why.'

I pipe up. 'Gale force head winds,' I say, guessing madly. It is fairly windy outside. 'Head winds can slow a plane down.' 

'Really? Hear that, Stan? This man says it's wind.'

They don't look convinced. 'If I'm right, the other two planes due to depart to Auckland and Wellington should also be delayed.'

At that moment the PA comes on: 'A boarding call for flight XXX to Wellington will be made in twenty minutes. We apologise for the delay due to the late arrival of the aircraft in Sydney.'

I smile deprecatingly, but I feel their awe.

A few hours later I'm paying the exorbitant $95 airport parking charge - for the first time it's cheaper to get a taxi to the airport and return than it is to drive your own car - and I'm home before 1am. The dog is pleased to see me. Well, he wagged his tail, anyway.

Another Conflux over, and later that day I learn the great news that Karen Herkes has volunteered to chair Conflux 5. So I get to do it all again next year! 

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.
 

First day of the Con: Friday

Up at 5 a.m., no hardship as Australia is two hours (and twenty years) behind New Zealand. A frantic hour later I have thrown together a presentation that should wow both people registered for my workshop (actually four confirmed by the previous Monday, apparently).

Four has transmuted into sixteen by 9am. Among the attendees is the redoubtable Karen Miller, she of wonderful bestselling novel and dreadful map fame, come to learn about maps because her publishers insist she has them. Mark Deniz is there, the Swedish Pom, and I am leery of his razor humour. Feeling sorry for me he reins it in, allowing me to make Karen the butt of all my lame jokes. The presentation lasts two hours, not one, but my participants tell me they have enjoyed it. Con-goers are so polite.

I crash a private lunch involving committee and guests – I didn’t realise but ate the food without any guilt. I meet Ella McKay, aka Mopsy from the Voyager Online community, and we spend the afternoon chatting – well, she chatted and I fell asleep. Sorry Ella, I’m an old man.

We get pizza for tea and eat it at Ella’s parents’ home. Ah, her parents are pure gold. Her father regales me with a story – stories are never far away, and he takes any excuse as an invitation to bring one out – while her mother mutters fond but disparaging comments in the background. We’re there less than half an hour, but I feel as though the air fare was well spent.

I attend the opening ceremony but leave at the beginning of the Great Debate. Apparently I miss Gillian at her incisive best, including references to me. Sorry Gillian, that broadside missed.

Second day of the Con: Saturday

Today’s task is to launch Sharyn Lilley’s and Mark Deniz’s anthology ‘In Bad Dreams’ (www.eneitpress.com), so first I must re-read it. I’m launching it in conjunction with Trudi Canavan, who decrees that she will MC and I will do the launch speech. Righto: I take notes furiously. Actually, even though I’m an experienced public speaker I’m very nervous. It is, after all, someone else’s book.

First I have a panel, ‘Portraying Race in Sci-fi’, chaired by Maxine McArthur. The redoubtable Keith Stevenson and I argue that the days of racism in sci-fi are largely over, with the better examples problematising human relationships at all levels. The audience join in, but I’m guessing they probably feel preached at a little.

Now to the launch. People are slow coming, and the energy is low when Trudi and I begin. I talk about each story, looking to generate excitement. Kaaron Warren, a spectacular horror writer, requests afterwards a copy of what I said. What can I say about Kaaron’s writing? She could write about the slowly decomposing body of a decapitated donkey and hold me enthralled. She writes domestic horror. The horror of broken glass on the floor, or a mole turning into a melanoma. A world of rank smells, a pungent, effulgent world of sharp retorts and petty jealousies, teeth clenched tight. Her work is disturbing.

The new two-volume Shorter Oxford English Dictionary contains illustrations for the first time, and under the word ‘disturbing’, drawn in a pale green wash by Edvard Munch, is a picture of Kaaron Warren. I wasn’t surprised.

I particularly enjoyed Amanda Pillar’s story. I’m not telling you what was severed, or where it was found.

I have another panel in the afternoon, this time with myself as chair. This means I have to allow the other panellists freedom to talk (which sometimes entails gently slapping down panellists hogging the microphone) and, conversely, find something to say if we run out. I’m always keen to involve the audience, which brings pressures of its own – there is always someone who thinks they should have been on the panel. So we talk about ‘Environmental Sci-fi’, and it turns out that Kevin J. Anderson, one of the international guests of honour, is passionate about global warming. As, we discover, is the entire panel. So we evangelise the audience and appear successful, apart from a couple of die-hards (who, to be fair, are good sports).

Tonight is the highlight of the convention, Gillian Polack’s Regency Banquet. Gillian is a foodie, and you can guarantee that anything she organises will be interesting and accurate. Unfortunately I cannot verify this as bookings had closed before I thought to purchase a ticket. So Karen Miller, Stephanie Smith (associate publisher, HarperCollins) and fellow New Zealander Ross Temple (threemonkeys on lj) come with me to eat ata fine Ethiopian restaurant. Lovely it was too, although something didn’t agree with Karen, who paid for it later that night.

The con’s half over already. Sigh.