Author: Chris Kammerud

Writer, teacher, traveler, geek. Clarion 2012. Currently not a penguin.

eastercon wrap-up

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

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the line for platform 9 3/4 at King’s Cross

 

 

A six-step survival guide for EASTERCON 2015 in case you are me and end up going back in time.

 

1. You should take the next the train.

Be aware that the train you board with eg and sd will, alas, receive the wrong signal and end up going in the wrong direction, forcing everyone on the train to alight, cross over, go backwards, and then board and go forwards and arrive an hour or so later than they expected. So, when you meet sd on the platform, and see the train with your destination show up, skip it. Take the next one. It’ll be faster. Trust me.

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me and my shoes.

 

 

2. Meet all the people.

The best part of any convention is the people. Friends, old and new. People who surprise you with their energy and awesome shoes. People you’ve worked with but never met in person and so have no idea how fantastically tall they are. People you’ve read but never thought you’d meet or share Indian food with. People you’ve known only a little while but will discover new secrets about their hair and the problematics of “not presenting as geek.” Crazy cool panelists who surprise you with their collection of rubber guns and monkey’s faces. Crazy not-so-cool but totally fascinating people who wear capes and quiz you on your knowledge of dungeons and dragons. You don’t immerse yourself in crowds very much. But, you’re here now. Look. Listen. Take notes. You might end up with awesome quotes like: “It was basically sex pollen,” or “It was cool. He turned into a bird,” or “I had dinner with Yoda’s mum!”

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aliette de bodard reading awesome.

 

 

3. Seanan McGuire

The lady’s a troubador. Go. Listen. Enjoy the show.

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the picture of a troubador

 

 

4. Don’t bother with Periscope.

Look. It’s the future. I’m traveling back in time. Live video is big. People do it. You’re not ready for it, though. You’re too self-conscious to hold up your phone for any length of time worth people watching your live video of EASTERCON. Maybe, someday when they allow people to volunteer to periscope panels and get to set up a tripod.

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the girl with a fake fireplace.

 

 

5. Be prepared to ask ridiculous questions of yourself and the people sitting next to you during panels that feature people saying things that bug you in the best and most interesting ways

Such as. Why does everyone always assume robots possess no morality? Did they not see that tear in T2? Or, if they’re robots from outer space, who built them? And if no one built them, doesn’t that mean they’re aliens?

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truth, justice, and the home office w/charlie stross, jim butcher, and a woman whose name they forgot to put in the program. 😦

 

 

6. You don’t have to eat according to a regular schedule, but you should probably drink more.

Look. It’s totally fair to eat Indian food for dinner, and lunch, but also there’s fruit and rice cakes and granola. It’s portable. And healthy. And less likely to result in a bag full of curry sauce and a food box full of dry vegetables.

Also. Carry a bottle of water. Keep it full. Drink it. Dehydrated con-goers are sad con-goers.

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putting fantasy into history, and history into fantasy. w/kari spelling, jacey bedford, ce murphy, tiffani angus, and clearly a fifth person not in the program. eastercon, look into an app next time^^

 

 

7. Surprise

Be careful how much cash you carry. There are usually book stores at cons, and, at this one, there’s a used book store where you can buy 5 books for 5 pounds. You don’t have enough space in your bag for the amount of books you want to buy.

Happy fandom, readers.

 

ttfn.

eastercon 2015

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

I’m off to the British National Science Fiction convention today, otherwise known as Eastercon, and this year known as Dysprosium.

Looking forward to meeting internet friends and colleagues and basically having a weekend slumber party with a bunch of beautiful nerds who are smart and fun and stuff.

Follow the adventures on twitter, @cuvols.

I might even Periscope some stuff.

The future!

It’s here.

Happy good weekend, readers.

ttfn.

what’s it got in its pockets

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

Here are some things filling up my pocket. If by pocket you mean the program pocket which allows you to collect things for to read later. It’s like VHS. But for the internet. Time, and space, shifted reading.

On loneliness and narcissism:

Colson Whitehead writing in the New York Times…

Last year, Taylor Swift somewhat boringly testified that not only are “Haters gonna hate,” they’re gonna “hate hate hate” exponentially, presumably in direct proportion to her lack of culpability. Instead of serving the establishment (monotheism, patriarchal energies), the modern tautophrase empowers the individual. Regardless of how shallow that individual is.

Olivia Laing writing in The Guardian…

Curating a perfected self might win followers or Facebook friends, but it will not necessarily cure loneliness, since the cure for loneliness is not being looked at, but being seen and accepted as a whole person – ugly, unhappy and awkward, as well as radiant and selfie-ready.

On observations and anger:

Noah Baumbach with Co.Create…

“It’s always seemingly small things that get my attention. But they’re not small, they’re big—they’re just more everyday. They’re the things of our lives, and I think they’re just as cinematic as big moments, big breakthroughs—which I’ve yet to actually witness in my life,” he says, laughing.

Michael Billington writing in the Guardian about how John Osborne liberated theatrical language…

But who exactly was John Osborne? To find out, Devine made the unusual decision to track the author to his lair. He discovered the writer was living in a leaky old Rhine barge, moored near Chiswick Bridge, which he shared with a fellow actor, Anthony Creighton. So on a hot afternoon in August 1955, because the tide was high, Devine was obliged to borrow a boat and row himself out to the Osborne residence. He quizzed him eagerly and discovered that Osborne was a hard-up 26-year-old actor who had slogged his way round the regional reps, had written part of Look Back in Anger while sitting in a deckchair on Morecambe pier and was separated from his actress wife, Pamela Lane. By the end of the afternoon, Devine had offered Osborne £25 for a year’s option on his play. What neither man could have realised was that they were helping to make theatrical history.

Also. Eastercon begins tomorrow. I’ll be there with some other cool people. Probably, I should maybe go look at the program.

Happy Thursday, readers.

ttfn.

april fool’s

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers. 

Here’s a thing I remember.

In Nashville, at my grandmother’s house, during the time when I was probably watching a lot of Party of Five and perhaps not yet watching a lot of Buffy, I really hated my body. I felt chubby and short and hopelessly unattractive. The thing I remember is how sometimes, in the bathroom, I would plant my feet near the back of the bathroom and lean forward and catch myself on the edge of the sink. And then I would do, what some might refer to as, weak-ass push-ups. I was too weak to do them properly on the ground. I thought if I did them like this, with the sink, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror,  I would feel different inside. I would feel like it was okay for people to see me.

I still have trouble with that. Being seen. Existing in a way that affects other people’s existence. But I pretend I don’t. I pretend I want to be seen and not just to exist and see and not affect anything.

The crazy thing about everything is how very much I want desperately to hide and want desperately to be seen.

It’s like how I used to hide in the closet when strangers came to our house, and still feel that way sometimes, but the best feeling in the world is when you meet people and someone sees you in such a way that they see inside all your closets and see all the different parts of you hiding in all the different closets.

Also, it’s really scary. 

Or something like that.

April fool’s.

Actually, it’s exactly like that.

ttfn, readers.

cider on the floor

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

Presently, here in London, the sun’s striking the rain-dropped window and it’s a bit like living in a disco ball.

Last night, I had dinner with eg and vi and spilled some cider on the floor. It was a thing involving how the server explained that you were meant to poor Spanish cider in one of those up and down motions that make you look cool unless you spill it on the floor. I tried it twice. Once, it worked. I got cocky and tried again. It worked less well.

Somehow I ended up telling the story about my first day of kindergarten in which I didn’t make it inside the school. What I remember is sitting on the sidewalk with mom and crying until we went back home. The next day she got me in the door by promising to stay where I could see her in the parking lot. I still remember seeing her out there, drinking from a pepsi bottle, keeping watch on her boy.

I have probably written about this before. But, the thing is, last night, after I finished telling that story, vi asked what I was afraid of and it felt wonderful to be asked. A lot of people aren’t so vocal with their inquisitiveness. Maybe it’s because she’s a fellow writer. Or, maybe, as eg said, it’s a sign of deepening friendship that one feels free to go spelunking into the caverns of each other’s fears.

Possibly a little of both.

Happy Tuesday, readers.

Careful with that cider.

ttfn.

weird

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers. 

Here is a thing, while writing to someone, that I realized about the word ‘weird.’

I realized that weird has come to stand not simply for behavior outside of the norm, but for behavior that merits scrutiny and suspicion, as in perhaps hiding their intent, or attempting to engender obligation, etc. 

i.e.

Dishonesty is totally weird and totally common. 

That is all. 

Happy Friday, readers. 

ttfn. 

stillness

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

The last ice storm I remember (other than those featuring a young, pre-ringbearing Elijah Wood), occurred in 1994. I was thirteen. We had a landline. Possibly a rotary phone. When you went for a walk everything was quiet except for the sound of everything slowly breaking, ice melting in the sun, refreezing at night, branches and wires unaccustomed to the weight bending, bending, and then, at last, falling. It was wise not to walk under things during this time.

School was cancelled for a week. I don’t remember doing anything much different than what my sister and I did a few weeks ago, sled and play video games. Sometimes kneel and look at frozen things. Leaves, blossoms, paint brushes. Stillness in unexpected places.

Something else that happened in 1994 was Friends.

I watched the pilot yesterday. It reminded me of that year and of being thirteen and of fearing stillness and sex and not always understanding what the people on tv meant when they said things but wanting and trying to understand the world through this box with the people. What’s amazing is how looking back sometimes feels like looking forward. I can see myself in episodes of Friends looking forward to who I am now. I can see myself wondering when I will date and when I will kiss and when I will fall in love in such a way as to warrant standing still in the pouring rain full of unexpected hope.

So. I watch. And I wave to myself. Hello, I say.

Nice to see you after all this time, I say.

Dear god, my past self says, this parachute is a knapsack.

Chandler was an early role model.

ttfn.

snow and things

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

Some things of note.

Thing 1

Strange Horizons, that treasure chest chock full of punk selkies, queer robots, and other such speculative gold, released their readers’ poll for the best of 2014. Many wonderful stories and writers were nominated. I was lucky enough to find myself among the year’s favorite reviewers. Go here. Look at the lists. Read stuff.

Thing 2

A new crop of videographical interfaces, otherwise known as vlogs, otherwise known as a chronicle of the mess one can make of their hair in three minutes and thirty-three seconds, have started appearing.

Check out the first new video here, in which I decide to name my video channel hug your monsters because:

And the latest one here:

And be on the look out for more videos every other Wednesday.

Psst. You can Subscribe here.

Thing 3

The better part of January and February found me in Nashville, visiting my sister, and friends, and tinkering around with various projects, such as the vlog, the novel, and another thing which will not be included in this list of things but may be discussed at some future date in which other things, such as this thing, might be discussed. It snowed a lot my last week in Nashville. It prevented me from flying home to EG, but it also gave me and my sister a few extra days to sled and Mario Kart, to get out old vinyl and listen to Jimi Hendrix. Not a bad deal.

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Thing 4

More soon. And always.

ttfn.

ttfn, 2014

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

This, most likely, will be my last post of the year. Tomorrow, EG and I will board a train for somewhere Kentwards, as has been noted, and very likely on this trip, I will refrain from very much in the way of blogging, though not from writing, in general. And maybe sketching. I may not refrain from that. I plan to bring a notebook and sketchbook in which to note and sketch.

Over the course of this year, a great many changes have occurred, as so often happens every year because of time.

Later, perhaps, I will write some of them.

Now.

I must wrap things.

ttfn, readers.

see you soon.

there are only 24 hours in a day. well. except.

Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

It’s Monday. A blanket of grey clouds has been tossed over London. I’ve just realized yesterday, the 21st, was the winter solstice. We’re half way out of the dark.*

Later in the week, I’ll be traveling to Kent with EG. There will be 7 children under the age of thirteen. And several children over 30. I don’t know if it will snow. On Boxing Day, we (EG and I) will be in charge of brunch, which I believe is the traditional Boxing Day feast, as no one, most likely, will be quite ready to wake up for breakfast. There will, most like, be eggs and muffins and pancakes and granola and fruit. And that should be good, then.

The year, being almost over, and December being Christmas, and Christmas being ghosts, I find myself thinking about the dead and the past and the living in a way all a bit shimmery, like, perhaps, I’ve lost myself in the blanket of clouds. Or that I’m experiencing weather-related emotions. One of the things I remember is Sarah Lee Butter Pecan Coffee cake. Which we would, most always, have on Christmas morning when I was a kid. One year, much later, I made a coffee cake of my own for Christmas and for to share with mom and sister. For some reason, this memory makes me sad, but not sad, more a sense of sharp joy, felt and gone. A bit like being stabbed. Memories are like that, sometimes. As are yearnings, which are memories of a future that haven’t happened yet.

The tricky thing about yearning is that the joy is imagined and so, the knife, more a probability blade, one that could cut in any one of an infinite ways.

but. well.

Memory and imagination. Ghosts. Joy. Sorrow.

The gift of the season, if you’re lucky, is having someone to unwrap all those feelings with. Maybe on a sofa. Maybe with a cup of cocoa, or hot tea, your feet rubbing together. Something of your past on the television. A Christmas Story. A Grinch. And then, in the morning, all the many children, and the beautiful noise.

Happy Monday, readers.

ttfn.

*I read this just now. Only 4 days in a year last 24 hours. The rest, do not. We live in a model world, readers.