When I attend a convention, I do so as a professional
author, so I almost always appear on panels, readings, and autographing
sessions. Some conventions request that potential guests submit proposals for
events. If panel topics are accepted, the guest then moderates them. This was
the case for 3 of the 6 panels I appeared on (* = I proposed and moderated this
panel). Here are descriptions, with a few notes on how the discussions
unfolded. With only one exception, I have avoided using the names of panelists
and audience members. All the opinions are my own!
The Reality of Fiction. We normally think of fiction
as unreal, but quite a few authors talk regularly with their fictional
characters about the story and where it should head. How does this work? How
can knowing some of the psychology involved give us a livelier relationship
with fictional characters? What wisdom for life might they impart when listened
to?
I arrived a bit early, as is my custom, to find the
panelists wondering who the moderator was and expressing their unwillingness to
do it. “Okay,” sez I, “I’ll do it.” Therein followed a fascinating divergence
between the tired, perennial question, “What to do when your characters won’t
behave the way you want them to?” and how much your characters reflect
yourself—is this a good thing or a bad thing?--versus my personal focus, “Where
is the energy in the story? Character (Hamlet), plot (thrillers), ideas
(mysteries)…and how difficulties with characters arise from mismatches between
different elements.
*Writing our Nightmares. What horror, dark fantasy, and related genres
can teach us about surviving personal and political catastrophes.
The idea for this
panel arose from two incidents: Octavia Butler told me that she took the things
that really scared her and put them on paper; in a horror panel many years ago,
when I said I had enough nightmares in my life, the other panelists showed me
how horror can shine a light in the darkest places. As writers, we have agency;
as readers, we trust that the protagonist, no matter how vulnerable, has or
gains power over their fate.
We talked about
having lost many traditional methods of dealing with trauma, so horror as a
genre offers catharsis via the story journey; the end is different from the
setup. “Horror is safer than memories.”
Finally, the
zinger trope: “Play nice or I’ll put you in my novel” (and you won’t come out
unscathed)!
*Finding Our Tribe. Writers, readers, and fans share how storytelling creates communities
of understanding, acceptance, and celebration of differences. From fandom as
family to writing as a way of healing, stories transcend the fear and prejudice
of our times.
My thought in proposing it was to celebrate how the
science fiction/fandom community welcomes and celebrates those who feel they
don’t fit in anywhere else. This could be folks “on the spectrum” (of autism),
sexual and gender minorities, racial and ethnic minorities, geeks of all
flavors, and so forth. Everyone in the room had a version of a “finding my home
here” story.
The second aspect was ethnic or ancestral communities. I
was fortunate to run into one of my favorite co-panelists, an Indigenous elder,
and invite him to participate in the panel. He brought the perspective of
tribal membership being integral to identity, the history of
near-extermination, and the separation he experiences between his role as elder
and teacher, and his love for science fiction not shared with fellow members of
his tribe. He helped us to understand the difference between tribal and tribalism.
Tribal affiliation nourishes community and deep understanding of collective
history. Tribalism creates a distinct "in-group" (those we identify
with) and an "out-group" (everyone else).
Three of us were Jewish, and the only thing we agreed on was that we don’t agree on anything except being Jewish (“two Jews, three opinions,” more like “twenty-five opinions with footnotes and appendices spanning 2,000 years of commentary.” You can join if you’re willing to study hard for a year and pass a board examination. Otherwise, “Are you nuts?”) Much laughter ensued.
*Escapism is Not a Dirty Word! Panelists and participants share their
favorite comfort reading and how it informs, sustains, and gives us hope.
In the past,
we’ve labeled comfort reading “guilty pleasures,” but it’s much more than that.
Certain books or series inspire as well as soothe us, and create community.
(See Star Trek and Star Wars fandoms.)
As young
children, we read or listen to what our parents choose. As we mature, however,
we develop our own taste. A panelist asked the audience what age they were when
they first read The Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter.
As the discussion
progressed, both audience members and panelists shared their “go-to” escape
reading, everything from cozy mysteries to romance to space adventure to
classics. A good time was had by all.
Hard Sci Fi vs Soft Sci Fi vs Science Fantasy. How many or what science facts do we have to
include in our stories? Does what we call it have to do if we are focusing on
the science or on the mystical aspects? Or is it only marketing?
I got to relax on
this panel since it was in the capable hands of a different moderator. After
introductions, the moderator realized that everyone—panelist and audience
alike—had opinions about the definitions and distinctions between the
sub-genres. This included a discussion on the difference between science
(science fiction obeys the laws of physics, with a few exceptions like
Faster-Than-Light travel and psychic powers, if explained) and magic (magic works
by different rules). A comment by an audience member brought the insight that
science is replicable but magic is unique and individual.
Fantasy, by the way, derives from the ancient
Greek, “making things visible to the mind.” I love that!
I should add that the conversation was greatly enriched
by the presence in the audience of one of the field’s living legends, Larry
Niven, whose perspective and insights were invaluable.
You're Asked To Moderate Your First Panel. A panel designed to help convention goers who
want to do their first panel. This is about planning and preparation.
This was my last
panel of the convention, and it was challenging for several reasons. I was
tired, a vicissitude of nearing 80, but mostly that my assumptions about the
nature of the panel were erroneous. It turned out to be a repeat of a
presentation (as opposed to a discussion) from a previous convention the year
before. The moderator stood at one end of the room, thereby drawing all
attention to them, and walked about as they delivered a lecture. And complained
about the absence of the appropriate equipment for a visual presentation. After
several deep breaths, I looked for ways I could contribute constructively. My
style of moderating was quite different from the instructions being given. An
example is that since most or many of the panels I moderate are ones I have
proposed, I have already done my preparation. I often write down a few
questions to revive lagging conversation, but I will set them aside in light of
the energy in the room, both on the panel and in the audience. (I’ve seen
enough times a moderator forces a discussion into a pre-determined path—with strained,
deadening results.) So when the moderator insisted that we must prepare 2 to 3
weeks in advance and asked if anyone did not, I raised my hand (fairly
emphatically) and proceeded to present a contrary view, which is that panels at
their best are spontaneous, with give-and-take, my turn-your turn, and
sensitivity to the rhythm and energy of the room. And so it went…
One of the more
interesting moments was the realization that another panelist was autistic and
struggling with nonverbal subtext (social cues, eye contact, and the like). I
used a lull in the conversation to ask how I might help them to feel more
comfortable.
The more diverse opinions the panelists expressed, the better the conversation went (in my estimation). I told the story—in the context of the importance of arriving early—of a panel where two authors whom I knew to dominate conversations were sitting together, and I tactfully placed them at opposite ends of the table. One of the panelists turned to me and said, “I love you forever for that,” to much laughter from the audience.
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