I’m seriously considering revising my bio; reducing it, in fact, to a single, says-it-all sentence. “Risa Aratyr has a day-job.”
I mean. How do they do it? How do people cover all the daily basics plus the perennial extras and blog prolifically? It took me nearly three months to start this post; it’s taken me another month to cobble together the couple of hours I needed to finish it.
I trust I didn’t leave anyone on tenterhooks with that last entry? Picking up where I left off – YES, I did go to the World Fantasy Convention in San José and back again. Alone.
True, it wasn’t the “alone” part that intimidated me. It was the prospect – and reality – of the incessant not-aloneness. It was the socializing, networking, hand-shaking, small-talking and, omigod, schmoozing that stressed me out. I haven’t an ounce of shyness or inhibition in front of an audience. Throw a spotlight on me, I shine. Throw me into crowded room and pin a nametag on me… on a par with listening to fingernails scraping on a blackboard, if you ask me.
That’s why I planned not to go down alone. The plan was to go to the Con with my honey. He’d bought his membership and everything, then suddenly remembered he was performing that weekend, playing “Harry Brock” in Born Yesterday (the Broderick Crawford role). Alack and alas, no spouse to buffer the social blow.
I’d also planned to go down to SJ with a little artwork – a trial sketch of a Darkdays-esque image and an amazing drawing of a tiny Blackthorn with his foot stuck in the bog and a gigantic, scary, gorgeous white stag with truly prodigious hedge-of-knives antlers at the edge of the trees, looming dangerously over him. My excitement over the idea of good graphics overwhelmed my reticence about the Book Signing. It was a great plan. I’d set up the Éirinn pic alongside a few copies of Hunter, set up the Darkdays sketch on its own as a talking piece, set my husband in the chair beside me, and I’d be set for some serious schmoozing.
But hubby wasn’t there. The Éirinn artist neglected to handoff his drawing before departing for Oregon to save trees (intentional, I suspect… I doubt he’ll ever be “done” with the pic and ready to share it with the world). The Darkdays artist didn’t have time to do anything at all. By the time the Saturday Night Signing arrived, I was so crowd-fried, I procrastinated for an hour, finally dared the hall, stood in the deafening noise and milling humanity for about 30 seconds, then fled back to my room.
After a half-hour or so on the phone with my daughter (long-distance therapy – thanks, sweetie), I gathered my Hunter copies, my colored pens, and went once more into the breach. My personal weekend savior found me there (thank you, Dave), and pointed out Jim Frenkel. Jim had read 100 pages of Shadow’s Road ‘round about last May and asked my agent for the rest of the book. My ms. has been sitting on his desk ever since. This was a guy I simply had to meet; I owed it to myself as a writer.
Deep breath, friendly smile… I went over to introduce myself.
“Hi. You’re Jim Frenkel?” I held out my hand. “I’m–“
He withdrew into himself as he turned to me, as reticent as Renfrew turning to face Count Dracul.
“I’m Risa Aratyr,” I persevered, smiling still. “It’s a pleasure to–“
“I’m sorry! I haven’t read your ms. yet!”
It was more a “Back off!” than a “How do you do?” His gaze darted about the room looking for an escape, and lit on two big-name signers at a nearby table.
“You know Mr. X and Ms. Y?” he asked — but not really asking. He’d already turned his back on me and was racing to the signers for shelter.
My cue to depart, I suppose, but I lingered, still smiling inanely. Finally, he turned to me again.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t read your book,” he said again. “I– I really–“
“Of course,” I reassured him. “I know you’re terribly busy. I just wanted to take this opportunity to say hello. I thought it might be nice for you to have a face to go with the tome on your desk.”
My smile never waned as I slid my hand in his and pressed the flesh for a brief moment. Then I fulfilled his heartfelt wish, and walked away.
I felt sorry for him, really. Apparently, he’s so used to being accosted by angry writers who’ve been waiting for months (and months and months) for a response, he couldn’t help but assume I was one of them. I did my best, but it was hardly the easiest, most pleasant or most graceful business connection I’ve ever made.
I spent most of the Con weekend with Dave Smeds and Steven R. Boyett. They’re old chums, and since I’d glommed onto Dave, Steven kindly put up with me. It was fascinating, listening to them reminisce about old Cons and compare it to the current one. I’d attended one other WFC myself – back in Baltimore ’95. This was different. Back then, there was so much wheeling and dealing. Books were pitched in elevators between the 2nd and 9th floors. Contracts were negotiated in the lobbies and bars. A word here or there could make things happen, spark interest, initiate a round of letters, proposals, anthologies. In SJ, there were a few agents and editors buying their writers drinks, but no sense of marketplace, no bartering, no haggling, no hawking of wares.
The Con boasted two (count ‘em – 2) workshops on the publishing industry. I missed the first. Drinking Tequila with Dave and Steven seemed far more important at the time, and certainly more entertaining. By all accounts, I didn’t miss a thing. I made a point of attending the other panel, three big booksellers discussing “The Future of the Publishing Industry; Where Will it Be in 10 Years?”
That panel was truly educational, not because of what the guys had to say, but because of what they refused to say. First words out of their mouths: “We want to be clear right at the start, we will not be talking about e-books, on-line publishing, self-publishing or alternative publication media and methods at this workshop, or answering any questions on those subjects.”
?!?
The central, essential topic everyone had come to discuss, and they weren’t going there, so don’t even bother asking! Do the words “ostrich” and “sand” have any relevance here, do you think?
What I gleaned from random chatter beyond the official panels is that print-publishing is not at all well. E-books still have another generation or so to go before hitting big, but the technology will happen. E-books will live. Print books will die. The real debate is over whether writers should keep aiming for the big houses (assuming they will somehow make the transition to the new century and control profits from e-literature) or follow the napster/hulu model – find sponsors for our sites and put our work on the web for free.
Despite that Tor hasn’t yet nixed my book(s), my faith lies with the second option. But that option requires time and abilities I simply don’t have – to research the budding e-literary industry, to edit, self-publish and promote my own work. The successful writer of today is a sociable on-line presence with computer savvy and multi-faceted marketing skills. I’m not that person.
Instead of coming back from the Con all charged up and inspired, I came back well discouraged. Sure, I like to say I’m a writer, but I don’t even have time to write a blog. I’m a Theatre Arts instructor and part-time production manager. It was time to face facts. Time to accept the truth. Time to quit.
Would’ve done, too, even though it meant disappointing Mark and Sal – terrific guys I’d met at the Con, guys with great suggestions and advice to give an old lady writer a foothold in the 21st century. Then I read Dave Smed’s short-story collection, and fell in love with the way he introduced his brilliant tales, as if he was chatting one-on-one with each reader. I followed it up with Steven R. Boyett’s Ariel; the back-story of how the book came to be and what happened next spoke straight to the heart of me. Then I got an email from an accomplished, amazing artist who claims he’d like to illustrate my work. Check out artofwarble.com – it’s a treat. And to top it off, I received a couple of emails from fans in Russia. In Russia, fer fuck’s sake – in Novocherkassk and Snezhinsk!
Haven’t quit yet, so. Sal, don’t give up on me; I’m going to make that on-line chat thing happen (late March, maybe?) and we WILL grab a pint and a meal, anon. Dave and Steven, I owe you big time. Mike, hang in there, I almost have the space to think about art for Éirinn. Здравствyйте Эдуард и Алексей! Thank you, everyone – from India to Canada, family, friends and fans. You are my inspiration.