If you want the whole story, you might want to start reading at the beginning. Other parts include: Wednesday, Thursday Part I, and Friday Ad Infinitum.

*     *     *

Before I tell the story of Wootstock, I should give you a little background so things will make sense.

A stab at definition.

For those of you that don’t know about it, Wootstock is….

Wootstock is….

Well, it’s just Wootstock.

It’s sort of like a modern variety show. (Except nobody knows what a variety show is these days.)

Imagine A Prairie Home Companion if it was run by a bunch of sci-fi nerds. (Man, that’s no good either, does anyone else other than me listen to A Prairie Home Companion?)

Okay. How about this. There’s music. There’s comedy. There’s music-comedy. There’s skits. There’s cussing and nerd humor and poetry and, well…

It’s pretty much a big geek performance orgy.

Honestly, I’ve wanted a piece of Wootstock for ages. Ever since I first heard about it, I wanted in.

Now did I get a piece of the action?

I got an invitation from Ernest Cline.

I mentioned his book on the blog a while back. It’s called Ready Player One. And not only did I like it enough to give it a blurb. I liked it enough to dig up his e-mail address and gush to him directly about how much I loved it.

I think the entire content of my first e-mail was, “Your book is fucking awesome.”

I tried to get them to use that for the blurb on the back, (“This book is fucking awesome.” — Patrick Rothfuss) But their marketing people wouldn’t go for it.

Anyway, Ernest got an invite to Wootstock from Wil Wheaton, who is narrating the audiobook of Ready Player One. Ernest, being a generous human being, asked if I’d like to share some of his stage time.

I said yes. I said it in a firm, manly, baritone. Then I hung up the phone and laughed my most maniacal laugh.

Right. So. We all on the same page here?

7:00 – Backstage.

I walk up to the side door of the Balboa Theater in San Diego. Someone was waiting for me at the door, where they gave me this:

My very first All Access pass. It makes me feel like a rockstar.

I go backstage and down into the secret parts of the theater. It’s a magical sort of place. It’s a secret place that only the performers get to see, and it’s electric in a way that’s hard to describe. Everyone there is getting ready for the show. They’re excited, and a little nervous, and happy to see each other. Plus it’s comic-con, so we’re all a little exhausted. And a few of us are slightly tipsy, too… (Though not me, as I’m not much of a drinker.)

There’s a blur of people all over the place. Some of them I recognize, like Adam Savage from Mythbusters. And the guys from Rifftrax (who used to do MST3K.)

I’m introduced to a few people in a whirlwind fashion. I shake hands and nod at names. But they all run out of me like water. If I say, “someone said” or “someone did” I’m not trying to protect anyone’s identity, or snub them. It’s because a lot of the evening is a blur to me. I suck at meeting people, and I only have space in my head for about 5 new names.

Then I turn around and Wil Wheaton is there.

It’s weird meeting someone you kinda already know. And I kinda know Wil from a bunch of different directions. From his blog, from Star Trek, from his books, and from the Guild.

Plus we e-mailed just a little a day or two before Wootstock. I won’t bullshit you, that made me kinda tingly.

Anyway, we’re introduced, and we shake hands. He thanks me for the nice things I said about his book on my blog. And I’m a little surprised that he’s read it, though I shouldn’t be, I suppose. I tell him that I loved it.

That’s all we have time for. The stage manager is gathering everyone up to make some announcements before the show.

We all jam into a room and Liz is introduced. She is the boss. She tells us how it’s all going to work. She tells us we can watch from backstage, and that we should, so that we don’t miss our cues. She tells us to stick to our allotted time. She tells us where the beer and pizza are.

Everyone else nods attentively. There are a few jokes. But all of this is old hat for most of them.

Me? I’m grinning like an idiot. The show hasn’t even started yet and I’m having the best time….

*     *     *

I should explain something. I used to do lots of group-performance type things. I used to sing in choirs. I used to do radio comedy. I used to act a little, and did a few plays, a musical or two.

I even used to do a little improv comedy. Which is like a trial by fire. Once you do improv comedy, no other type of performance will ever truly frighten you.

Now I didn’t do a lot of these things seriously. But I did them. I enjoyed them.

And I miss them.

You see, one of the downsides of being a writer is that it’s a very solitary occupation. If everything is going well with my writing, I’ll spend 10-12 hours a day alone, and the rest of my time sleeping. (Also alone, usually.)

When I do get out to do a reading or a convention, I have a lot of fun. I enjoy meeting fans and signing books. I enjoy doing Q&A and reading stuff to an audience. It’s a nice opportunity for me to go out and be social.

But while it’s social, it’s a very solitary type of performance. I’m up in front of 200-600 people talking. There’s just me and the audience.

I’d forgotten what it was like to be part of a group of performers. To be a piece of a WE.

It feels great.

*     *     *

Liz makes one last announcement. They’ve gone to the worst seat in the house and borrowed the person’s camera. They’re going to pass it around backstage and we’ll all take pictures with it. That way the poor schlub with the worst seat will have a cool memento of the show and, as a bonus, the pictures will go online so everyone can use them.

It’s only because of the photoset that I have a shot of Ernest and me backstage, wherein I am getting my Kawaii on.

The show kicks off, and after cadging a piece of free pizza, I head upstairs we head up onto stage and watch the show from the wings. The theatre is gorgeous. A place with some real style to it.

It’s certainly the biggest house I’ve ever played to, and I’m a little nervous. But despite the fact that I’m anxiously fretting over what exactly I’m going to read, I can’t help but get pulled in by Molly Lewis playing the ukulele.

Her songs crack me up as I watch from backstage, and it helps me relax a bit.

Then, as I’m watching her play, a little motion catches my attention from the corner of my eye. So I look over and see Wil Wheaton dancing.

Before that point, I liked Wil Wheaton. I knew he was cool. I respected him as a writer, enjoyed him as a performer, and admired him as a strong, smart, outspoken member of the geek community.

But backstage in the Balboa theatre, I watched Wil Wheaton do a happy, goofy little dance, and that was when I started to love him.

Soon afterwards, Ernest gets his cue and heads out onto stage. He reads some hardcore geek poetry. Good stuff. He’s a good performer, too. Gets a good reaction from the crowd.

Then he introduces me. I’m a surprise guest of sorts, as I’m not on the program. People cheer when they hear my name, which is kind of a shock. It’s then that I decide what I’m going to read. I’m not going to try to follow Ernest’s poetry with more poetry. I think he’s got me beat in that regard.

I’m not going to read a piece out of my book, either. Too clunky. I even decide against reading a piece of a short story I’m working on.

No. A whole theatre of people cheering and my new man-crush Wil Wheaton watching from the wings means I go straight to my best material. The piece I keep in my back pocket whenever I do a reading. My sure-fire winner. My big gun.

I pull out The Guinea Pig Story.

Those of you who have seen me at a live reading might have heard it. Most of you have not.

It’s one of of the humor pieces I wrote back in college. Theoretically I was writing an advice column, but realistically I was making fun of people and telling incriminating stories about my life.

Here’s the only video I was able to find of the performance. The first little bit of my performance is cut off there, but it’s only about a sentence of the letter someone wrote in, asking for advice about keeping pets in their dormroom.

[Edit: After searching around a bit, I found another video from farther back in the audience that shows my performance AND Ernest's with Wil Wheaton's introduction.]

I got a great reaction from the audience, and left the stage feeling roughly ten thousand feet tall.

8:00 – Random House Party

After hanging around for a while and watching a few more acts, Ernest said he was going over to the Random House party and asked if I’d like to come along.

Though I was loathe to leave, I figured I should go and rub some elbows with some more bookish types. That’s kinda my job in some ways.

So I went to the party, hung out with some folks, and ended up riding a mechanical bull.

Why? No. Why is not the right question. I was at San Diego ComicCon. The proper question is “why the fuck not?”

That party was fun, but after about 45 minutes, I made my excuses and headed back to Wootstock. Because, y’know, Wootstock.

9:00 ish – More Wootstock.

I got back just in time for intermission, where I amused myself by handing out copies of the Chick Tract Dark Dungeons to members of the audience. I hope nobody thought I was serious….

After all my tracts were gone, I used my fancy pass to get backstage, feeling rockstar all over again. I wandered down to the dressing rooms and bumped into Felicia Day, who was also a surprise guest. I got a free hug and we chatted for about forty-five seconds before someone tells her she’s about to miss her entrance cue.

Somehow, someone managed to catch us on film during that brief moment. Proving that I’m not a big fibber.

I hang around and chat with folk, occasionally watching some of the show from backstage. I catch Jeff Lewis (Vork, for you Guildies out there) doing a piece of honest-to-god standup comedy. The man has amazing comic timing and delivery. As you’d already know if you were watching The Jeff Lewis 5-minute Comedy Hour.

11:30 ish – Autographing.

Eventually the show wraps up with a great closing number that I watch from the wings. Then I head downstairs to get my backpack and maybe another slice of pizza before I head out. When I’m gathering up my stuff, someone asks if I want to stick around and sign autographs. I shrug and agree, because I have nowhere else in particular to be.

Now over the last couple of years I’ve done a lot of signings. It’s old hat in a lot of ways. Usually I’m all alone. I’m a one-man-show.

But this one was different. A bunch of the performers were sticking around to sign posters and programs.

What’s more, at Wootstock, most of the people could give a damn about me. They’re there to see Wheaton, or Savage, or bask in the radiant glory of Paul and Storm.

And you know what? It was nice  doing a signing where most folks didn’t care who I was. It gave me a chance to goof off and get to know the people sitting on either side of me. To my left was the aforementioned Molly Lewis. And to my right was someone I didn’t know at all, but I quickly learned that she was Amy Berg, writer/producer for Eureka (among many other things.)

So we hang out and chat as the line of people slowly trickles past. I’m feeling pretty relaxed. I’ve had a good day. I was on a panel with George Martin, had dinner with Jim Butcher, and got to chat with Wil Wheaton. I went to a party with an actual velvet rope, and the bouncer nodded me through even though I wasn’t on the list. I rode the mechanical bull and didn’t hurt myself. I got a hug from Felicia day and made a thousand people laugh….

It’s  been a busy 14 hours, and I’m in that warm, happy place that comes when you know you don’t have to work any more. And, because I’m in a good mood, I start to joke around with the people coming through the line….

And that’s when I *really* start to get to know the people sitting on either side of me.  I draw a picture of a duck on someone’s poster, and they mock me for its utter terribleness. They mocked me with a sharp-tongued viciousness I haven’t experienced since most of my best friends moved away from Stevens Point.

So I abandoned drawing and started signing clever things on the posters. Then my neighbors started writing things on their posters that were clever-er. And I feel really put out by this, because normally *I* get to be the witty one, and they were out wittying me without hardly trying. I felt the sudden need to step up my game, to say nothing of wanting to buy some of Molly’s music and catch up on the current season of Eureka….

The signing went on for at least a couple hours, and it was the perfect end to the perfect day. As I left the theater I felt that strange, glowy feeling that comes when you level up. It wasn’t until I got home that I found out where the XP boost had come from:

Best of all, I’d made it through two entire days at the convention without making an ass of myself in front of anyone.

But then again, it was only Thursday….

*     *     *

Sorry this one was so long delayed. More soon…

pat

*     *    *

Thursday is my big day at the con, I’m on a panel with a bunch of epic fantasy bigwigs including George Martin and  Brandon Sanderson. It’s my only panel at the con this year, and it’s going to be a big one.

So I make a point of getting up extra early so I’ll have time to perform my elaborate grooming rituals, anoint myself with scented oils, and carefully select which of my many stylish tuxedos I will wear to the convention.

My which I mean to say that I wake up at 11:00 and am walking to the con by 11:20.

• 11:30 – Coffee.

Yeah. If I’m going to try be witty on the panel. I definitely need some. So I get some.

For those of you that are curious, it’s a large white chocolate mocha with hazelnut.

Yeah, yeah. I know it’s not the most macho coffee in the world. But I couldn’t get my usual. They didn’t have blueberry syrup.

• 11:45 – Satyriasis

While heading up to my panel I get a text from a friend. Pooka is the lovely fan who took me under her wing at my very first ComicCon back in 2009. I was wandering aimlessly, trembling and dewy as a newborn fawn. She took pity on me and, to completely mix the metaphor, showed me the ropes.

Pooka’s message tells me she’s been standing in line for hours and is worried that she won’t be able to get in. I give her a call and let her know that this is the one place in the world that I might actually be able to use my meager crumb of celebrity and get her in the door.

So I get to the room and start to stroll down the line. Pooka isn’t hard to spot because she’s wearing six inch platform boots and… well… this:

Pooka is the one on the right. You can’t see it too well in this picture, but she’s also covered in glitter.

(Also, those aren’t cat ears, they’re horns. I made the mistake of calling her a catgirl and she pointed out my mistake.)

She’s only about 20 people from the front of the line, so I wander over and say hello. Then I pull her out of the line and we head to the door where I’m also going to try and work my mojo to get her and another friend.

I met Gregory Noveck at the con last year, he’s a fan of the books that works in the movie business, and he’s been kind enough to help clue me in to some of the mysteries of how Hollywood works.

I introduce the two of them, and we chat for a moment or two until the panel before mine finishes. Then I show my badge to the door guy and head inside with my two friends and a few of the other speakers and press people. Once I’m in, I can see that there’s actually a ton of seats available. Pooka didn’t need my help after all.

With Pooka and Greg are safely inside, I head out again to get a drink of water and burn a little nervous energy. I’m preoccupied with the upcoming panel, a little nervous because I’m going to be up there with some people who are a Pretty Big Deal.

It’s not until almost 5 minutes later that I start thinking of how this must have looked to the other people standing in line around Pooka.

So for the record, I’d like to officially state that I’m not a pervert.

Well, wait. Depending on your viewpoint, I probably am.

But I’d like to officially state that I’m not the particular flavor of tacky pervert I must have looked like to the casual observer. I didn’t just show up for my panel, troll down the line until I found some random, scantily-clad, hot girl, and pull her inside as some sort honorary arm candy. We know each other. We’re friends.

Honestly.

• 12:00: The Epic Panel

(Click to Embiggen.)

We talked about epic fantasy.

It was a good panel, but we needed more time or fewer people. Seven is too many in my opinion, especially when you’ve got this many heavy hitters. Especially if you consider that we’re folks who tend to measure our word counts in terms of millions.

For the most part, I tried to keep my answers brief and to the point. And a little funny never hurts, either. I got a few good laughs from the audience and didn’t make an ass of myself, so I consider the experience a success.

If you’re interested in the details, you can check out some videos of the panel over here.

After the panel, Martin came up and shook my hand, said he’d really enjoyed my second book. Said it was a good, quick read. A page-turner.

I was caught completely off guard by this. I was stunned and flattered, in all honesty. Luckily, I didn’t have time to make an ass of myself because the people in charge quickly hustle us over to our….

• 1:30 Epic Signing

Everyone on the panel sits down to sign books for a while. Paolini and Martin were busy as bees. I wasn’t in nearly as big a demand, which was actually really nice as it gave me the chance to hang out and chat with the people that wanted their books signed. That’s something there isn’t time for me to do at some of the bigger events where we get 300+ people.

• 2:30 – Ronin

I owe allegiance to no man. I wander the exhibit hall, a law unto myself, looking at catgirls and thinking a lot about waveform motion.

• 4:30 – Christopher Fucking Moore.

I hear that Jim Butcher’s signing is finishing up at 4:30, so I wander over to meet him and see if he’s interested in grabbing an early dinner with Sanderson, Paolini and I.

As an unexpected treat, Amber Benson is there as well. I totally get a hug. Because I’m awesome.

Then I realize one of the other guys there signing books is Christopher Moore. And at first all I can think is, “Fucksocks!”

You see, up until a year ago, I’d never read anything Moore had written. Then I picked up a copy of You Suck to read on a plane and immediately fell in love. The next day I went to my local indi bookstore and bought every book he’d ever written.

I’ve been meaning to write a blog about his books for ages. But for now, let me simply say that he’s brilliant. Double plus brilliant.

I grab a quick handshake and do a brief, “Hello. Your stuff is incredible.” And leave it at that, lest I over-gush.

Then I buy the last two special-edition copies of Lamb they have for sale. (They look like bibles, gold leaf and everything) One is for me, and the other I’m going to use it as a prize for Worldbuilders later on this year.

• 5:00 – Dinner

So Sanderson, Butcher, Paolini, and Rothfuss walk into a bar….

Or rather, we walk through a bar, and into a restaurant to have dinner. We’re accompanied by Christopher’s sister, Angela, and Jim’s friend, Priscilla Spencer. I know Priscilla from way back (She does Books for Boobs, among other things.) But I never realized that she was the same Priscilla that did Jim’s maps for the Codex Alera.

Yeah. I’m kinda thick sometimes.

We have a lovely time over dinner. We tell stories and engage in the geeky book talk.

Unfortunately, I have a previous engagement, and I have to leave far sooner than I’d like.

I stand up and put my napkin on the table. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “But I’ve got to get going. I’m doing a little cameo appearance at Wootstock.”

I try to say this casually. As if I do this sort thing all the time. But I’m pretty sure I sound smug as hell. Because the truth is, I’m really, really fucking excited about getting to be part of Wootstock.

Also, I am slightly terrified. Slightly completely terrified.

It turns out Jim and Priscilla have tickets for Wootstock, so we share a taxi on the way there….

I’m in a taxi with Jim Butcher, heading to a theater where I’m going to meet with members of the Geek Gliterati. I’m heading to a theater where I’m going to stand onstage, alone, and read something to a crowd of over 1000 people.

My life has become rather strange over the last couple years….

*     *     *

Next: Wootstock!

My co-panelists were Marian Crane and Kristine Smith. And we spent a pleasant hour discussing books we loved with the audience.

Rather than slow the panel down to a crawl by spelling out all the author’s names and/or the titles of the books. I offered to post up the list of books we compiled here on my blog.

However, I was moderating the panel, and when I moderate, I’m usually too busy abusing my power to take notes. Luckily, Marian was nice enough to jot down the books recommended by both the panelists and the helpful, clever members of the audience. Then she mailed them to me so I could post them up here for everyone to see.

I feel I should mention that we made no attempt to make this list comprehensive. These were just the books that came up in our discussion:

Our main criteria selection were books that were strong in: Worldbuilding, Characterization, and Language. (As those are areas where Pratchett excels).

We tried with somewhat less success to bring up titles that focused on other things we liked about Prattchett’s writing: the inclusion of humor, careful handling of ethical issues, and a “feel-good” quality to the books themselves.  This was somewhat less successful, as these are more ephemeral things, and harder to point at in a book.

What to read after you’ve read all available Pratchett books:

Douglas Adams: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, science fiction comedy
Neil Gaiman: fantasy and horror novels and graphic novels
Peter S. Beagle: The Last Unicorn, A Fine and Private Place, The Innkeeper’s Song. fantasy
Steven Brust: Vlad Taltos/Dragaera novels, fantasy
Glen Cook: Garrett, P.I. novels, fantasy mystery
Brandon Sanderson: Mistworld novels, Warbreaker, Elantris, fantasy
Jim Butcher: Dresden Chronicles, urban fantasy
Robert Jordan/ Brandon Sanderson: Wheel of Time series, fantasy
Lyndon Hardy: Master of the Five Magics series, fantasy
Walter Jon Williams: Drake Maijstral series, sf
Robert Zelazny: The Chronicles of Amber & many more, fantasy and sf
C.J. Cherryh: nearly anything, fantasy and sf
Barbara Hambly: nearly anything, fantasy and sf
Patricia McKillip: nearly anything, fantasy
Lois Bujold: the Miles Vorkosigan series, sf
P.C. Hodgell: the Kencyr novels, fantasy
Robin Hobb: the Assassin series, the Liveship Series, fantasy. Look also for her books as Megan Lindholm
David Weber: Honor Harrington series, sf
Diane Duane: ‘Wizard’ series and ‘Middle Kingdoms’ Series, fantasy
David Brin: the Uplift War series, sf
Ellen Kushner: Swordspoint and sequels, fantasy
Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett: Point of Hopes, Point of Dreams, fantasy
Ursula K. Le Guin: Earthsea books, Left Hand of Darkness, The Lathe of Heaven, many others, fantasy and sf.
Orson Scott Card & Kathryn H. Kidd: Lovelock (The Mayflower Trilogy), sf
Peter David: Sir Apropos of Nothing trilogy, fantasy
Martha Wells: The Element of Fire, the Cloud Roads, many others, fantasy
Angela Carter: novels and short stories, magic realism
Tanith Lee: fantasy novels and short stories
Liz Williams: Inspector Chen novels science fantasy, mystery. Also see Inspector Chen series from Xiaolong Qiu, modern mysteries
Michael Marshall: The Straw Man and other novels, horror/sf
Georgette Heyer: comedy of manners
P.G. Wodehouse: comedy of manners
E.F. Benson: Mapp & Lucia novels, comedy of manners
Galen Beckett: The Magicians and Mrs. Quent, historical fantasy/alternate universe
Jacqueline Carey: Terre d’Ange novels, historical fantasy, alternate universe
Dorothy Dunnett: The Lymond Chronicles, House of Niccolo Series, historical fiction
Mary Stewart: The Merlin Chronicles, historical Fiction
Ray Bradbury: Something Wicked This Way Comes, fantasy/horror
Christopher Fry: ‘The Lady’s Not for Burning’, play, historical romantic comedy
Tom Stoppard: ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead’, play, historical comedy/drama
Jasper Fforde: Shades of Grey and other novels, sf
William Goldman: The Princess Bride, fantasy
C.S. Lewis: The Screwtape Letters, Christian satire
Mark Twain: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, alternate history
Daniel Keyes: ‘Flowers for Algernon’ short story, sf
Lloyd Alexander: The Chronicles of Prydain, children’s Fantasy
Lee Martinez: The Automatic Detective, sf comedy/ Mystery
Barry Hughart: The Master Li books, Chinese historical fantasy
E. Hoffmann Price: The Devil Wives of Li Fong, The Jade Enchantress, Chinese historical fantasy
Fritz Leiber: ‘Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser’ fantasy series, other fantasy and horror novels
Vernor Vinge: ‘A Fire Upon the Deep’ and other sf novels
Phil and Kaja Foglio: Girl Genius graphic novels, steampunk fantasy
Hiromu Arakawa: Fullmetal Alchemist manga and anime Series, steampunk fantasy

There’s a fair amount of overlap between this list and my personal list of Must Read fantasy that I posted a while back. Some of that’s because I was on the panel, but another big piece of it is because some books are simply great reads. Classics become classics for a reason.

It goes without saying that if you were there at the panel and remember a book that didn’t get added here, you should feel free to mention it in the comments below.

pat

The thought of getting a book signed is an odd one to me. In these last several months, it’s possible that I’ve signed thousands of books. Many thousands. I’ve signed books to families, to kids, to grandparents. I’ve signed books in warehouses, libraries, bookstores, and colleges….

But honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever approached someone to get their autograph. Not in a formal setting. And certainly not anyone of Terry Pratchett’s status. Not someone I’ve been reading since I stumbled onto a copy of Sourcery in Shopko in 1989….

By the time Monday rolled around, I’d been at the convention for three solid days. And truth be told, I was kinda hoping that I might run into Terry at some point in that time. Maybe we’d be in the elevator together. Maybe we’d meet in the hallway on the way to a panel. Maybe someone would introduce us and I’d get a chance to say a few words….

But it didn’t happen. I wasn’t surprised or disappointed. I know how these things work. It’s a big con, and Terry’s the star of the show. They have to work hard to protect the Guest of Honor at events like this or they’re mobbed by fans. If they aren’t careful, a guest like Terry will have a hard time finding a moment’s peace to eat. I’ve seen some titan-level writers who have trouble simply walking down a hallway at a con without a handful of people asking for an autograph or a picture.

So I didn’t stalk Pratchett. I didn’t arrange an introduction, or just happen to bump into him somewhere. Even when I found out that his room was right next to mine in the hotel, I didn’t do anything like leave a copy of The Princess and Mr. Whiffle outside his door. I didn’t want to be that guy.

The signings were carefully controlled, too. They have to be. Terry has written more than 50 books, and everyone there would like nothing more than to get a bunch signed. If they let everyone get as many books signed as they’d like, Terry would have spent the entire length of the four-day convention signing books.

I’m not being hyperbolic here. It’s the literal truth. He could easily have spent 70 hours signing books if the convention didn’t work hard to control the situation.

This is something I understand only now that I’ve been on my first signing tour.

Take me, for example. I’m a newbie author. I have two books out (compared to Pratchett’s 50+). I’ve been published for four years (compared Pratchett’s 40.)

To put this in different terms, I am currently hovering around 2300 Gaiman-Day units of cool, which isn’t bad.

But Pratchett probably ranks in at more than 60,000. I mean, when you write so well they actually knight you, you’re kind of a big deal.

Despite my relatively newbie nature, when I showed up in Houston back in March, I signed books for 9 hours straight. Given that I’m about 2% of a Pratchett, you can see how quickly one of his signings could spiral into madness if it wasn’t carefully controlled.

My point is, I knew Pratchett wasn’t going to be signing books all higgledy piggledy at the con. Even if he signed a single book for every person there, it would take him 12 hours. Because of that, I knew I probably wasn’t going to have a chance to get anything signed.

That said, I was pleasantly surprised when the guest liaison for the convention told me that if I wanted, he might be able to pull a few little strings for me. Maybe enough for me to get a book signed. Maybe.

I was honest, and said I’d be grateful for the chance. If I could get a book signed, I’d be able to use it for the charity I run every year.

He said that if the book was for charity, we could almost certainly make it happen.

So I bought a copy of Nation from Dreamhaven in the dealer’s room, and on Monday, I wandered to the hall where Terry was signing. He was mostly autographing stuff items that had been sold at the charity auction the day before. I’d had to miss the auction because I was doing some paneling. But it was probably for the best, as I’d already spent more money than I should on swag.

The guest liaison motioned me over and told me it was cool if I got something signed. It really didn’t have to be for the charity, either, he said. I could just get something for myself.

Suddenly I was really conflicted. I’d brought a copy of Where’s My Cow? to the convention, because whenever we travel with Oot, we need to bring about a dozen books to keep him happy. (He’s like his dad that way.)

I’ve been reading Where’s My Cow? to Oot since before he could talk. It’s a great book, and the ending makes me a little weepy, because I’ve turned into a total soppy git ever since I became a dad.

Oot knows what noises the animals make, even the  Hippopotamus. He really likes the page with Coffin’ Henry on it, too, and asks to see it again and again.

He also enthusiastically says, “Buggrit!” Which is a little troubling to Sarah, but pleases me to no end.

So when the guest liaison says I can get any book signed, I realize I have Where is My Cow? in my backpack. I could get Pratchett to sign the book to Oot….

It’s a hard moment, but I decide to get Nation signed for Worldbuilders instead. Because personal isn’t the same as important. The signed book will be a nice draw for Worldbuilders if we throw it into the general mix of prizes. And if we auction it, I’m guessing it will bring in at least a couple hundred bucks. That’s enough for a couple of goats….

I consider trying to get both signed, of course. Because I’m only human. Terry is a nice guy, and accommodating, so I’m guessing if I pulled a second book out of my bag when I was at the table he’d go for it….

But I shake off the thought fairly quickly. I am not a special snowflake. I don’t deserve to get two books signed when everybody else gets one. If everyone tried to pull that shit, Terry would have an extra 2000 books to sign.

The guest liaison brings me up to the table and introduces me, explaining that I’m fellow author and that I’ve hit the New York Times with both my books. That’s nice of him. It lets me stand a little taller.

Terry looks up at me and says, “I’m guessing you’re fantasy, not science fiction.”

I grin and nod. “We do have a certain look, don’t we?”

I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that I don’t feel terribly tongue-tied or shaky or awkward.

[Author's note: Sarah just brought Oot in after his shower. He grinned at me and, "Bugit! ... Hand and shrimp! Fow Ron!" (This will only make sense if you've read a lot of Discworld or Where's My Cow?)]

I hand over the copy of Nation and say, “This book was absolutely gorgeous. It might be the best book I’ve ever read.”

“I got a lot of letters from children,” Terry says. “They were upset because it didn’t have a happy ending.”

He opens the book and signs his name. His signature is way loopier than mine.

Terry keeps talking as he signs, “But I always reply, ‘It has a ending. It has the right ending.”

“It has the perfect ending,” I say. “It was beautiful. It absolutely broke my heart.”

And that was it. I moved away and made room for the rest of the folk who had things for him to sign.

Would I have liked to talk longer? Maybe chat about writing and the art of ending? Of course. Who wouldn’t?

But there’s only so much time. And honestly, I was happy to wrap things up before I accidentally made an ass of myself.

Besides, though Pratchett didn’t know it, he’s said about the best thing possible to me. I worry about the ending of my story sometimes. I worry that people won’t like it. Most of my readers are hoping for a particular type of ending. They e-mail me with their theories and their hopes. They want X to hook up with Y. They want Z to get his comeuppance. They want such and such story tied up in a certain way….

I know it comes from a place of love. But it makes me nervous.

After talking to Terry, I’m less nervous. I can’t give each of you your own personalize ending, containing everything you specifically wanted out of the story. That’s impossible.

But I can give you the right ending. A perfect ending.

That’s all for now. If you have a spare moment, send a good thought this way tomorrow.

I don’t want to give any specifics, but tomorrow is going to be a little rough for us. If everything goes well it won’t be a big deal. But still, if you have a spare thought, Oot and Sarah and I could use it, just for luck.

Later,

pat

I know what you’re thinking. Technically there shouldn’t be a “W” in that acronym. But without it, they’d have to call the convention NADcon, and that would attract the entirely wrong sort of attendee.

Truth is, the last thing I needed in my schedule right now was another convention. It’s not that I don’t enjoy cons, I do. I love hanging out with other geeks, being on panels, doing readings and signing books. It’s a good time.

But conventions tend to be expensive, exhausting, and time-consuming. Any two of those are hard to deal with, but all three together can be a crushing combination. Especially now that little Oot is in the picture. He’s sentient enough to miss me, and I feel guilty leaving him for days at a time.

Luckily, this con was in Madison, which is pretty much my backyard. I can drive there in less than two hours, and Sarah and Oot can come along with relatively little hassle.

But the real reason I was willing to go to this convention was the fact that Terry Pratchett was attending.

I’ve talked about Pratchett’s books on the blog before. Most specifically, his book Nation, and the Tiffany Aching series.

I haven’t bothered mentioning him much more than that for the simple reason that I assume you’ve already read his stuff. If you read my books, you read fantasy. And if you read fantasy, you know about Terry Pratchett. Q.E.D.

Anyway. Suffice to say that I’m a Pratchett fan. I’ve been reading him for more than 20 years, and the thought of getting to see him in person was too much to pass up.

The convention was a different experience for me. I’m used to cons where all different types of geeks get together and revel in their nerdery. You’ll see someone dressed up as Harry Dresden chatting with a hot vulcan girl. You’ll see a catgirl playing Catan with a kid wearing a Dalek outfit.

But at this con, the focus was all Pratchett, and 98% of that focus was Discworld.

That means no catgirls. Many feegles.

I did a tiny signing and a tiny reading. I wasn’t really an official part of the convention because I don’t have anything to do with Pratchett (other than liking him a bunch.) But that itself was nice in a way, as it meant I could spend time with my family.

Cool things:

• There was a guy there who did crazy-cool balloon animals. I’m not talking about a hat or a poodle or shit like that. I’m talking about Death Riding A Motorcycle.

Or Granny Weatherwax:

He also did a cool dragon for Oot:

This picture doesn’t do the dragon justice. You’ll have to take my word for the fact that it’s awesome, and it looks like it’s breathing fire.

• I got to hear Terry talk about writing and tell stories.

A lot of the biggest panels were ones featuring Terry himself. Including one about his work on The Long Earth with Steven Baxter.

• Swag.

I bought a copy of Thud! and some coins and stamps from Discworld. It’s cool to see things like stamps from a fictional world. They’re an odd combination of souvenir and artifact. I’d love to make some coins set in the Four Corners world….

• Neil Gaiman.

Neil made a surprise appearance at the con where he and Terry spent a couple of hours talking about Good Omens on a panel. It was cool watching them tell embarrassing stories about each other. They knew each other back in the day, back before they strode the earth like titans.

Oot slept through the panel, which was nice, as that meant Sarah and I both got to listen to it, as opposed to having to tag-team and take turns watching him.

He woke up at the very end, just as Gaiman was presenting Pratchett with an award. After looking around bleerily for a moment, he correctly sensed the mood of the room and burst out with a preemptive “Yay!”

It was a sentiment pretty much everyone shared.

It was a good time overall. Oot made some kid-aged friends and got to climb stairs, so he was happy. Sarah got to go to a con and bum around State Street a bit, so she had a good time, too.

But for me, the high point of the weekend was on the last day of the con, when I got Terry Pratchett’s autograph.

More about that tomorrow,

pat

When I was growing up, the only convention I knew about was Gencon. But over the last couple of years, I’ve been around the block a bit. I’ve hit most of the big ones: DragonCon, San Diego Comic-con, WorldCon, as well as at least a dozen others.

Most cons I attend have two things in common.

1. They have had a strong track of writing programming. (Because I like talking about writing).

2. They’re sci-fi and fantasy themed. (Because that’s how I roll).

So how did I end up at a romance convention?

Well, first off. I was invited. Most of the conventions I go to, I go because I’m invited. This is because I’m lazy.

Second off, Romantic Times gave The Name of the Wind Best Epic Fantasy of the year in 2007. It’s nice to go to a convention where they think you’re cool. (Or at least where they thought you were cool back in 2007.)

Third, I was kinda curious as to what a romance convention would be like….

It was like this:

• At one point I was in a crowded hallway, heading to a panel. Out of curiosity, I looked around to see if I could find another man. I couldn’t. I kept looking, then turned in a full circle. I still couldn’t.

• The ratio of female authors to male authors attending the convention was at least 20 to 1. It was like the anti-gencon.

• They have an event called the “Mr. Cover Model Contest” where strapping young men parade about on stage. I don’t know what the winner gets, but I hope the prize package includes a shirt. Those poor boys looked cold to me.

• I bought a book for Sarah.

Because… y’know…. viking.

And honestly, that’s all I really have to say about the convention.

The other reason I went to this convention is that it’s in LA. I know some people in LA that I don’t get to see very often, so it was a good excuse to visit them.

Now those of you who have been reading the blog for a while might remember my first, shameful meeting with Amber Benson. Since then, we’ve gotten to know each other a bit, and when we were chatting on e-mail we came up with the idea of doing a reading and signing together when I was in LA.

So we did.

We got together for dinner first, and while we ate, we shared war stories about our books. Both of us had just written sex scenes for the first time, and we talked about how weird it was.

Then something happened. I honestly can’t remember the exact details, but I’m pretty sure I suggested that we should read our sex scenes at the event later that night. I was kinda joking, but not entirely.

Then Amber said the equivalent of, “I will if you will.”

Faced with a challenge like that, there was no way I could back down.

So about an hour later, we were standing in front of 100 people, telling them that we were going to read them some sex. They seemed okay with it.

I went first, reading the end of chapter 95. I got a little sweaty and red in the face, but I made it through pretty well, especially considering I’ve never read it out loud before.

Then it was Amber’s turn. We’ve both been busy lately, so we haven’t had a chance to reach each others’ newest books yet. So she’d thought my scene would be more explicit. She was worried her scene was way smuttier than mine. She started to read, then stopped and stepped away from the mic, shaking her head.

Now that I was done with my reading, I was pretty relaxed. I felt great, in fact. My reading was done, and I was all full of adrenaline.

“If there’s dialogue in there, we could read it together,” I joked.

Little did I know there was dialogue. So I was trapped. After an extended bout of being extremely flustered, the two of us read her sex scene together, giggling like third graders all the while.

Luckily, someone caught it on tape. You can witness the glorious debacle here if you want.

All in all, it was one of my favorite readings ever. And as a bonus, I discovered I can do a southern accent if I want to. Who knew?

pat

But first I should deal with the current news: Kvothe got a mention in Penny Arcade today.

This fills me with a geeky joy which words can hardly express. I’m a long-time fan of Penny Arcade. When they called me this weekend to give me an early peek at the comic, I bolted upstairs to my hotel room in a most undignified manner. Then, when I saw it, I laughed uncontrollably for a solid minute.

Did they make fun of the book? Of course they did. That’s their job.

The more important question is, “Did they poke *legitimate* fun at the book.” Did they mock something that, viewed in the proper light, deserved to be mocked a little?

And the answer, again, is yes. That’s what makes them more than mere humorists. Mike and Jerry consistently stride the lofty realms of satire, where they harvest raw platonic truth, forge it in the white-hot fire of their anger, then hurl it down at the howling monkeys below.

I, for one, am honored to be their monkey.

Does it sting? Nah. Not really.

For one, I know them. They’re lovely people. And being gently mocked by skilled professionals is a treat. Like I said, they make a fair point.

But also, my best friends have always been very honest people. Mockery has always been the way we’ve shown each other love. I’d flatter a stranger. But if I’m making fun of you, you know that I like you.

So I guess what I’m saying is this: “Thanks Jerry. Thanks Mike. I love you too.”

Here’s a link to the strip. Be warned: there is some very mild spoilerage. If you’re a purist and haven’t read through Chapter 128 yet, you might want to wait before you check it out.

It’s getting late, and I’m still recovering from the convention. So I think I’ll tell my other stories in a day or two. If you want a teaser though, I’ll say this: The romance convention was a headtrip, and the reading with Amber Benson was, well, sexy.

More soon,

pat

I had to miss San Diego ComicCon this year. It’s my first one I’ve missed in five years. Many tears.

What did you think of it compared to last year? This was only your second ComiCon, wasn’t it?

Michelle

This was only my second ComiCon, Michelle. But I have to admit that it felt a lot different than the first one.

Part of the difference was that this year I knew the lay of the land. I knew where the all night deli was. I knew the layout of the dealer’s room and how to find the place with the good seafood.

The other big change was that this year I’m a dad. This was the longest stretch of time I’ve spent away from Oot since he’s been born. It was harder than I expected, and I missed him from the very first day.

For example, last year when I went to the con, my mental commentary was like this: “Hey! Hot girl dressed as Poison Ivy! Hot girl in chainmail! Hot catgirl! Batman!”

I make no excuses for this. I am who I am.

But this year when I walked around the con, I was thinking, “Oh, look at that baby! Cute baby! Baby dressed up as Yoda! Hot Catgirl! Batman!”

Also, this year I was smart enough to schedule times to meet people instead of just hoping we could get together. As a result, I got to have dinner with Brandon Sanderson and Christopher Paolini on Saturday night.

We had a lovely conversation, and at some point Paolini told us that in an early draft of his first book, the main character was named Kevin, not Eragon.

Not to be outdone, I said that in an early draft of The Name of the Wind, Kvothe was actually a lesbian unicorn.

I didn’t think much of it. This is the sort of thing I say all the time, and I don’t expect people to pay much attention to me.

But I failed to take into account twitter. Which led to someone sending me the profoundly bizarre e-mail.

So the next day when I was doing a reading and signing at Borders, one of my lovely readers brought me a present:

It is, of course, a lesbian unicorn. His name is Kvothe. You may of heard of him.

I had a good laugh over it, and thought that would be the last I ever heard of it. But after I get back from the Con, I find one of my friends has sent my the following surreal e-mail.

Pat,

Okay, so I am doing a search for “pink unicorn gay” in Google Images because, well, it’s a long story…  (Shut up!)

Thing is I spotted something very odd pretty early on in the results.

I swear to you this isn’t a set up or faked or anything.  I just typed in “pink unicorn gay” and this is what I got!

[name withheld for blackmail purposes]

(Click to Embiggen.)

So yeah. That was the unexpected result of this year’s ComiCon. Permenently linking Kvothe’s name with the phrase “Lesbian Unicorn.”

Working to make your day a little more surreal,

pat

Whenever I’m at a convention I find myself thinking, “I need to mention it this on the blog.”

The problem is this: When I get back from a convention, I’ve usually got a bunch of catching up to do. Revisions. Sarah needs kissing. And I usually have about 500 emails to sift through.

So I put off writing the blog for a couple days. But then something else always seems to come up. The convention stories get pushed back and eventually I give up on telling them.

But today I’m going to break that bad habit and tell a few of the stories from Penguicon.

I got a chance meet Randy Milholland in person for the first time. Randy does a webcomic I’m terribly fond of. He’s also one of the first webcartoonists to mention The Name of the Wind to his readers. It was a really big deal for me at the time, as it helped spread the word back when not a lot of people knew about the book.

We didn’t get to hang out as much as I’d hoped, but it was still cool to see him. I also took this picture:

That’s Randy drawing on the head of one of his fans. I took the picture because at the time I was a little jealous. But now that I’ve thought about it some more, I’m not so sure I’d like that sort of artistic responsibility.

I also had a lovely little adventure with Howard Tayler of Schlock Mercenary. But rather than re-tell that story, I’ll just link to his version of events. I honestly do not remember dropping the f-bomb on him. But Howard is a lovely guy, and I trust his memory more than mine.

I got to hang out with John Scalzi a little bit. He was delightful as ever. At one point he gave me an onion ring.

I honestly cannot remember why I took a picture of it. I think I was joking about selling it on e-bay.

Scalzi also told me a story.

Apparently, (Scalzi said) Subterranean Press sent him an ARC of The Adventures of The Princess and Mr. Whiffle.

The package showed up at his house, and his wife opened it. She flipped through it briefly, then set it down.

Later, his young daughter Athena wandered by. She saw the book and was curious about it. Understandable, really. On the surface, it looks like something every child would love:

(Warning: Do not allow book to come in contact with actual child.)

Anyway, Athena was lured in. She picked up the book, read it, and was a little… disturbed.

Athena then took the book to her mom and said, “I don’t think I like this.”

Luckily, mom was on the ball. She sat down with Athena and they chatted about the book. Processed it. Afterwards Zoe felt better, and, apparently, became rather fond of the book.

So fond of it, in fact, that Athena took it to school and asked the teacher if they could read it during story time. The teacher read the book and said “Hell no.” Though she said it in a much politer teachery way.

After Scalzi told me the story, I had a premonitory sweat. I shook my head and said, “I really need to put a sticker on the front of the book that says: This shit is not for kids.”

The idea rolled around in my head for a while, and so I talked to the illustrator, and we came up with this:

Then I had my best idea ever that week. Why not make the sticker really eye-catching? That way, people couldn’t help but notice the sticker and be fairly warned about the non-kid content.

I have to say it turned out perfectly. What’s more eye catchy than a gold-foil sticker? I’m sure when this is properly affixed to to the front of the book, people will be amply warned. Our nation’s children are now safe. Only the most foolish and lazy-minded of parents would ever mistake it for anything other than a warning label.

If you ordered your book from Subterranean Press, rest assured that you’ll be getting a sticker shipped to you along with your book. For the children.

In closing, two quick related notes:

1) Don’t hassle the folks at Subterranean Press, asking them if your book has shipped. They’re shipping them out as fast as they can. Be patient.

2) Subterranean is also shipping out their prizes from the Worldbuilders raffle. They’re sorry about the delay, but it was unavoidable. So if you get a couple unexpected books in the mail, it’s not a mistake, it’s a prize. Enjoy.

pat

Both events were a good time. I had the chance to read the Princess Book to a few people, hung out with other author types and talked geeky writing talk. It was fun. I’ve even got a few pictures to share…

I’ll post those things later. Today I’m going to talk about part of the convention that usually gets glossed over: The traveling.

The truth is, traveling is one of the hardest parts of going to conventions. It is for me at least.

Conventions themselves are easy for me. I meet people, sign books, talk on panels, and do readings. It’s exhausting, but it’s not hard. I’m a fairly decent public speaker, and I like meeting fans and other authors. So conventions are a treat for me. They’re a break from my otherwise rather unsocial and solitary life.

But the traveling isn’t fun. It’s expensive, irritating, and time consuming. Worst of all, I seem to get sick every time I go on an extended plane ride.

That’s the main reason that I do so many events here in the midwest. And that’s the reason that I decided to drive to Penguicon.

It takes about 8-9 hours to drive from central Wisconsin to Troy, MI. Still, given check-in times and layovers, that’s only a couple hours longer than a plane. Plus it’s cheaper and I don’t have to worry about people groping through my luggage.

The trip to the convention was relatively uneventful. I made a pitstop in Madison to hang out with some friends I don’t see nearly often enough and helped one of them move some furniture around in his new apartment.

Have I ever mentioned that I used to be a professional mover? It was only a summer job, and I was in better shape back then. But still, it’s nice to keep my hand in, just in case this whole writing thing doesn’t pan out for me in the long run.

It’s on the way back from the convention that things get interesting. After my library reading I hop in my car, enter my home address on my Magellan, and start driving.

I feel I should mention here, in yet another tangent, that I feel morally conflicted about the Magellan. I got it as a Christmas present from my dad, and it’s wonderfully convenient. But at the same time I believe devices like this are actively endumbening the populace. You should be able to read a map, folks. You should know which direction north is.

Did I ever mention I used to be a delivery driver too? I was. I can read a map. What’s more, using a brilliant mixture of zen navigation, Aristotelian logic, and pure rage I can get you your package and/or delicious sandwich relatively close to on-time.

That’s another fallback career for me.

That said, I do use the Magellan when I’m in unfamiliar territory. I don’t have a map of Detroit. It’s quick, easy, and usually accurate.

Note the *usually.*

The Magellan tells me to turn right, then left, then right. I just follow along, as most of my attention is focused on listening to Warren Ellis’ Crooked Little Vein on audiobook.

But something doesn’t feel right. I look at the one of the passing signs and see that I’m heading north. I pull over in a gas station and have a discussion with the machine:

Me: What the fuck, Magellan?

It: Calculating Route.

Me: No. Seriously. What the fuck?

It: Turn right onto North 74.

Me: North isn’t the right way to go.

It: Ding!

Me: I’m going to Stevens Point. In Wisconsin. Through Madison.

It: Calculating route. Stevens Point is 974 miles away.

Me: The fuck it is. Go south.

It: Ding! Turn right onto North 74.

So I throw the thing into the footwell of the car. I throw it hard, too. So it knows who’s in charge. You people might have to deal with that sort of insolent backtalk from your machine overlords, but not me. I work with machines in one way: they do what I say or I fucking destroy them and do it myself. I consider myself a Darwinistic force in machine evolution. I’m encouraging them to evolve along more helpful lines.

The gas station is depressing. The woman behind the counter doesn’t know which road leads back to I 94. She doesn’t think the gas station has any maps to sell. She suggests I get directions from someone who has an iphone. She has one eyebrow. Not kidding.

So I find the maps myself, buy one, and get back into the car. Using the map and eight seconds of rational thought, I find the sensible route home.

After two hours the Magellan’s battery starts to die and it chirps at me pitifully from the passenger-side footwell. I let it starve for another ten minutes then bring it out and we have another conversation.

Me: How far away is Stevens Point?

It: 820 miles?

Me: What’s your name?

It: M-Magellan?

Me: No. Your name is bitch. I’m asking you one more time, how do you get to Stevens Point?

It: You should head south through Chicago on I 94.

Me: That’s right I should.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that an hour later, after paying a toll, my driver side window refuses to roll back up. Machines tend to stick together like that.

So I pull over at another gas station and kick the hell out of the door for a while. I do this partly in case it’s a loose wire or something that can be fixed by kicking, but also as a warning for any other machines nearby that are considering insubordination.

Then I go into the gas station and explain the situation. I don’t want to drive another three hours with damp, 50 degree air blowing into my ear. Cardboard and duct tape isn’t good either, as it would limit my visibility too much. The attendant there is cool, and lets me poke around in back looking for useful supplies until I find a roll of that plastic stuff you use to wrap up pallets.

Did I ever mention I used to work in a warehouse? I did.

I have to say, even though I’ve been out of the game for about two decades, I still have some mad pallet-wrapping skills.

Then I went home.

Everything said, it was still way better than flying.

pat