ReaderCon, come and gone

There are two different types of con panels. One is the panel where the participants list or taxonomize their experiences with regards to the panel topic. The other is a panel where I learn something. It’s not possible to tell which it’s going to be by reading the panel description, though I’m beginning to suspect that the more participants a panel has, the less I learn. Then there’s the totally random factor of when the migraine drugs will kick in and how hard they kick. On a good day they’ll deliver two hours of tripping my brains out, making anything that happens for the duration unbelievably profound, whether the experience is objectively interesting or not.

At ReaderCon I attended one fascinating panel that just happened to hit in sync with the drugs. The panel was called “Narrative Psychology and Science Fiction,” and it consisted of one person Boston Globe columnist Robin Abrahams presenting the findings of her dissertation. The point of it all was (aside from getting her out of grad school at last) to demonstrate that there are fundamental differences in the personality and worldview of people who read different genres of fiction. She interviewed a bunch of BU students about their opinions of various genres. Then for good measure she correlated her findings with the Myers-Briggs personality sorter. The MB was there not because it’s a really good sorter but because it represented the kind of hook her adviser suggested would be needed to get the thing published. I wish I could remember more of her findings (aside from the hilarious conclusion that her study population thinks that horror writers are in it for the money). On the other hand, I didn’t bother to write anything down except for her email address so I can pick up a copy of her dissertation and read it at length. It’s worth it if only to catch up on what an ‘average’ reader thinks about all the major genres, correct or otherwise. A moment of unintentional hilarity was provided by a questioner who, I believe, misheard “neurotic” as “erotic.”

On the other hand, the panel “How to Review” wasn’t about how to review. The participants were a number of high-powered reviewers from Old Media. A few of them discussed how they slide SF past a mainstream audience, which was less informative than sad. While their discussions of their reviewing experiences were often interesting, I was left wishing someone had discussed reviews on the web. Or for that matter answered the question posed by the panel title. How do you structure a review so that readers comprehend it? Do reviews by average people (through Amazon or whatnot) have as much weight now as reviews in Time? How do you find a good place to get an ebook reviewed? How do you find a reviewer who likes what you like? Of course, I could have taken advantage of the three minutes left for questions and answers, but I’m awfully wary about speaking up sometimes. Between the migraines and the drugs, I’m not sure what will come out of my mouth when I open it. That’s a good reason to keep it shut.

And then the drugs wore off.

I found out the hard way that the sandwich stand closed up at 2pm. I really don’t leave the house much these days, and I’ve forgotten how important it can be to bring a snack with me. Fortunately the con suite was open by the time I started to get hungry, and I was able to down some hummus and pita before something bad happened. The hotel was bitterly cold. Being cold didn’t used to be a problem for me until I lost 30 pounds last winter (one pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small…). Now I’m freezing all the time. I went outside and sat in the sun for a bit until I was warmer, but when I went inside I was still cold. Somewhere in there my head started to hurt. Lots. Usually my headaches get better when I sit down and eat something solid, no matter how nauseous I feel (this is because for drugs to work, they have to move past the stomach. Food pushes them along). Not this time. I had to leave the restaurant and sit to one side with my head down, which caused helpful people to ask if I’m ok and offer water (gee, I really wish a glass of water would fix it). Then I gave up and asked Cecilia, who I was with, to please drive me home. I thought I’d have to ask her to pull the car over on 95 so I could puke, but I did hold it together. Then I got to sit down somewhere warm and inhale a drug that cheerfully bypasses the jumpy stomach.

On Saturday I spent a very quiet four hours helping out in the con suite, which was warmer than the rest of the hotel. No major headache activity to report. I even got some schoomzing done.

But that headache was food for thought. I’ll try to remember it if I get funny ideas about attending a con out of town.