This year, for the first time, a convention I hadn’t been to INVITED ME TO COME. And after I said yes, asked if I was okay being a SPECIAL GUEST.
This is… amazing. Stuff I never thought would happen! They WANTED ME? The gal with no agent, only small press novels and short story sales? They didn’t even know I’d have a Hugo nomination by the time I showed up.
Friday after work I hopped in the car with an audiobook for company – “This is not a book about Benedict Cumberbatch.” It was a delightful book and got me through the long expanses of Ohio I had to cross south and then west to get to Indianapolis. Five stars! Read it for a passionate and thoughtful examination of what it means to be a fan, particularly a female fan.
I arrived in time to make it to opening ceremonies, a little dazed from the road. I got a neat leatherette badge holder for my Special Guest Badge! At Opening Ceremonies, they called me up as a Special Guest and asked if I had anything to say, so I mentioned I was nominated for the Hugo on Thursday, which felt pretty darn good. 😀 I was signed up for the Open Mic at 8pm, and the craft-and-chat at 9pm.
I read the “Kitchen Junk Drawer” and a bit of “We Built” at the open mic, and heard some stories and essays and poems that gave me all sorts of lovely ideas and turns of phrase to write in my journal. Then it was off to the crafting circle. I optimistically packed the gambeson I needed to finish as well as the shrug I needed to finish and the cardigan I had started but put on hold to work on the other two. Well! I cast off the shrug and got someone to try it on to see if it would fit the person it’s for. Then I started hand-sewing the puff down on the gambeson shoulder – but everyone in the circle told me, when I asked if I had the bottom of the puff lined up with the other sleeve, that it was too high. So I adjusted. Still too high. I was confused. It looked way too low to me. I gave up, clearly too tired to think, and would look at it in the morning.
The hotel had a pool, outdoors. One of those softly curving in-ground cement ones. I quite love those. As I always do, I had packed a swimsuit just in case, and looked forward to starting my Saturday with a dip.
Saturday morning I awoke to thunder and lightning. BOO. Well, I decided I would go to the hotel gym and actually work out, instead of my usual peeking in to see they have one and then walking back to my room.
This was fine. I could swim later in the day if I got a break. My phone said the rain would stop around noon. Maybe the pool would be extra clean and cool from it? I got to listen to the last of “Benedict Cumberbatch” and I did some curls and Russian Twists and a few minutes on the rowing machine because you have to do cardio, I guess.
The layout of the hotel was odd. It sprawled – two buildings connected together. The most convenient staircases to my room were all marked “An alarm will sound” or “No re-admittance”. I had found two working staircases, closer to the convention side of the hotel, but I thought I’d check if there was one near the workout room, so I walked down the somewhat dim corridor of rooms. I noticed two yellow plastic caution signs in the middle of the corridor, thought, “What, is the carpet wet?” and stepped to the side to go around them and… CRUNCH.
I tumbled right into the caution signs, which I now saw were marking an inch-and-a-half hard lip in the floor, which I had tripped over and onto my left ankle, which was now quite displeased with me. Also, yes, the carpet was damp. Though maybe that was my sweat.
I gave up my search for a new stairway and hobbled to Con Operations. They didn’t have athletic tape, but I did a decent job taping myself up with masking tape. Then I hobbled up the stairs I knew about to my room. (The elevators in the hotel were THAT SLOW. I just couldn’t go to them, even in limping pain.) I showered, made myself tea, and got to my first panel at 10am. I gave my talk on the Art of Finishing in the MAIN PROGRAMMING room. I felt very important. AND they had an HDMI to USB-C converter! Wonders! I had been secretly kicking myself for forgetting to bring one and saying “Oh well I can talk and promise to send people the PPT”. Nope. I got to show them my powerpoint skills on a big old screen! Glamorous! It was rose-gold, too, the dongle. I have not been so tempted to thievery since I was a poor kid eyeing up candy bars.
I digress. My Saturday was BOOKED. Six panels. Operations guy who helped me taped up my ankle also printed me out a nice name sign for the panels. What an operations room! I felt very provided for. But… exhausted. So much to see! People to talk to! I kept telling myself I’d take a break and write. (ha ha ha).
The masking tape kept my ankle stable, but it was hurting quite bad a few trips and up and down the stairs to get food at the con suite later, so when I sat down for a panel on Deconstructing Binaries, the moderator kindly assisted me, first by wrapping an ice pack in her tarot deck holder, then when I handed it back because I had to leave, she helped me improvise a McGuyver ankle ice set-up with a face mask and pen cap. That actually stayed on all the rest of the day!
I was getting stupid-tired. I took a trip through the Dealer’s Room, even though I am Dead Broke And Cannot Buy Anything.(TM) And I found… I had a table in the dealer’s room! I had looked to see if they had a table for me in the “Creator’s Alley” and was a little sad they didn’t… but there was one in the dealer hall!
Shoulda, maybe, brought things to sell? Oop. Well, I set up my one copy of each novel I’d brought to show off and sat at my Dealer table to write. Mary Robinette Kowal came over to say hi and I got to tell her my story about being mistaken for her at the Nebulas. 😀
I rewarded myself for being so virtuous, having exercised and not bought anything in the dealer hall, and having only eaten Con Suite food for the first half of the convention, with dinner in the hotel bar.
I can heartily and vehemently recommend the cheese sticks at the Wyndham Indianapolis West. They were sublime. In my top three with Jolly Scholar and Nunzio’s.
Also, the chef himself was tending bar, and an eager nerd, so I had great conversations with him and the other guys at the bar over my cheese.
Fortified, I made it to my 8pm, 9pm, and 10pm panels. Yeah, I was like … 10pm? Can I not? But it would be my first time attending an Open Filk! I planned to sing the one song I know cold “Fairy Story.” Which I did, to applause. I also finished the gambeson sleeves – I think the crafting circle was confusing how poofy the top was “too high” with what I actually cared about, the level of the seam on the bottom.
I started poking holes with the awl to make the gambeson lace up between songs, and I was tired and happy at eleven. “I’ll only have one drink at the Barfleet party,” I told myself, “A shot of whiskey will send me right to dreamland tonight. Gotta get up early so I can swim before checking out!”
Ah, best laid plans.
The U.B.S. Indycent puts on a hell of a Barfleet party! They had a huge party suite, with plenty of dance floor and TWO BARS. As I walked in, they noticed I was a Special Guest and gave me a VIP PASS. GUYS I GOT A VIP PASS.
They gave me Single Malt. I had Single Malt scotch for free at a convention party. I had died and gone to Nerdhalla.
Well, after I sampled the scotch, I got my One Drink, a whisky and coke, and went to boogie on the dance floor, bad ankle or no. I ran into people I’d talked to earlier in the con and had lovely conversations with them. Then … oh, the Royal Manticorian Navy was doing shots. “Roll Pods” as they call it. Well, I LOVE ROLLING PODS. Just one, right?
Or, okay, two. Gotta do my part for the good of the navy!
… things get blurry and at some point a fellow escorted me back to my room. I don’t remember going to bed at all. I was HAMMERED.
I woke up to the sound of my phone alarm going off. I was naked except my socks and masking tape ankle-brace. I was nauseous and had a headache. Somehow, stumbling drunk me had the forethought to plug in her phone and set an alarm for 8:30am.
Well done, drunk me! I am deeply impressed. Well, not impressed with all your decisions post-scotch, but definitely impressed with the level of forethought getting into bed.
I desperately needed tea. I groggily went to the little room kettle and found… Chamomile. They’d only given me two tea bags, a generic English Breakfast I’d had the morning before and CHAMOMILE.
I was deeply offended.
I changed into my swimsuit, tore off my masking tape ankle, and went to the pool. It was lovely. My ankle throbbed every time I kicked with my left foot, but I was sure this was good therapy for it. I mostly did a lazy crawl and some doggy-paddle to keep from moving it much. I had the pool all to myself and the water was not too chlorinated (yay rain) though the surface was covered in tiny black flies who had perhaps perished in the storm? This contributed to my slow crawl swim as I kept sweeping them away from me as I progressed.
It felt very good to just be in water, and I spent a while hanging on the edge of the pool, letting my legs dangle. There was a 10am writing symposium thing I wanted to go to, so I reluctantly got up and went back to my room to shower, pack, and check out, which I managed to do by 9:30am, plenty of time to get tea before the 10am thing.
It is appropriate that this 42nd InConJunction was Hitchhiker’s Guide themed because I had Arthur Dent’s experience Getting Tea. First I hit up the hotel front desk. No complimentary tea and coffee stand. No extra tea bags at the concierge. Coffee shop in the main area … eeeeh … but money… I went to the con suite. They, too, had only Chamomile. Oh! But there was a box of tea by the kettle! I ran to it, eager… fumbled the Celestial Seasonings box to see the front and moaned, “HERBAL!?!?”
A nice lady who happened to be in the con suite said, “Come, that was a cry of the heart! We have a packet of English Breakfast in our room.”
A saint. A goddess.
I was a bit late to the 10am write-in, but it all worked out because I had tea, therefore I could think, and a write-in doesn’t have to start or stop on a dime. We were presented with three gorgeous works of art and the musical accompaniment of a talented guitarist as our prompt. I scrawled a short flash piece in paper and pen.
Then I sat at “my” table for the last bit of my stay at the convention, typing the story into the computer, and a gentleman came and bought one of my books off of me. So I had just enough money to buy the Golden Meeple earrings I’d been eyeing at the booth next to me. Yay!
I left InConJunction at 11:30 to meet a dear Indianapolis friend I hadn’t seen since pre-pandemic for brunch. I’d downloaded a new library audio book – Cats Eye by Margaret Atwood, really enjoying it, too, and drove off into the West … oops. Right, it was 70 West to GET HERE. 70 EAST home.
Yeah, I was a mental giant by the time I pulled into my driveway at 6:20pm. I hope no one asks me what Cat’s Eye is about. Also I happily told my husband, “I twisted my ankle, but it’s all better. Doesn’t hurt at all!” and looked down to see my ankle was about the size and shape of a softball. Oops. (Better now. Got actual medical tape and more ice.)
Will definitely want to go to InConJunction again, but I will do so with tea in my suitcase and, hopefully, a wingman to stop me from drinking too much. 😀
by 
by 
