Personal Interlude: "The Hero We Need and the Hero We Deserve"

A modest proposal for alternative Saturday night entertainment at literary science fiction conventions

May 30, 2025

(Remember how, in the days of standard episodic television before streaming and binging, many dramas and some comedies would give a thumbnail update starting with “Previously on…”, flashing scenes so fast that people starting midway through a season or story were more confused than before? Well, that’s what this newsletter is like. Look at these as regular updates of how the sausage is made, with what, and whether or not the staff washed their hands after they used the toilet. Or, worse, if they only washed their hands before using the toilet.)

"Fractal Collection: Frozen Yellow Fractal 8k". Made in Blender 3.3, Cycles X. — Image by Alex Shuper via Unsplash

One of the things about resurrecting a writing career after a 20-odd-year hiatus is how easy it is to get back into the swing of things. Sitting things out during the big social media boom and raising carnivorous plants instead was, in retrospect, one of the smartest things I could have done, as if that was an actual plan instead of a case of spiteful nose-trimming. I’d like to think I’ve grown up a bit, and I definitely have a wider perspective than I had in the middle of 2002. Likewise, it’s been great to get in touch with new writers, editors, and publishers, not to shove my stuff under their noses and scream “Taste it! Taste it NOW!”, but just to see what new folks are doing. It’s been a blast.

Anyway, as part of the effort to hype up this here newsletter, I’ve been reaching out to people and events in my past, particularly literary events of all sorts. Again, a lot of this is sitting back, shutting up, and learning something, because so much of the “essential knowledge of promotion” that was accurate at the end of the Twentieth Century is, well, a bit inadequate today. At the same time, with the ongoing collapse and consolidation of social media, everything old is new again, and if you’d told me even five years ago about the rebirth of zines, email newsletters, and in-person events both regional and national, I’d have looked at you strangely at best. Again, if I had to start anew with a completely different project, now seems to be the time to do so.

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At the same time, if ever there was a time to shed things that simply don’t work, now is as good as any. Getting back into the swing of looking at writer’s conferences, science fiction and horror conventions, and workshops as a mere attendee instead of as a vendor, I’m amazed at some of the rapid evolution going on. Science fiction conventions were having a major problem in the 1990s with organization and growth, with issues with incompetence hiding behind volunteerism, proud gatekeeping a half-step from bullying, and an attitude of many orgs that they would rather burn everything down than allow anyone under the age of 50 to get any kind of say over how things should run. The old joke in science academia is “scientific revolutions advance one funeral at a time,” and the same is true of once-clodgy conventions that have bloomed into new and strange growths once That One Person Who Had To Be In Charge finally went back to Hell.

Now, things are improving, but there’s still plenty of room for further developments. Digging through the Web sites for multiple conventions, I admit that I was surprised and not surprised to discover that an old entertainment from the Eighties and Nineties was still a thing. A lot of standard activities at science fiction conventions back then make little sense today: when nearly everyone carries miniature computers capable of pulling video signals straight out of the air, dedicated video rooms had better have either extremely tight curation or guest commentators that justify reserving the space. Considering the current state of publishing and distribution in the US, “How To Get Published” workshops are equally obsolete, much to the relief of the guests pressganged into attending. (There are only so many ways you could explain to the same 10 attendees who went to every one that you could only get published if you submitted manuscripts, and there was a chance of being rejected every time, and there was no super-special secret codeword that turned potentially hostile editors into pliant zombies. And Arioch help you if you even joked that there was such a codeword.) The most sadly expected artifact, though, was discovering that Eye of Argon readings were still a thing.

My poor girlfriend goes through conversations with me like a live rendition of Peter Greenaway’s TV Dante, so here’s the Sir David Attenborough explainer text for those, like her, who have no idea whatsoever as to what the hell I’m talking about. The details on The Eye of Argon are helpfully provided by Wikipedia, and there’s not much more to add to the discussion than the synopsis: 16-year-old puts together a fantasy novel, with more enthusiasm than skill, and gets it printed in a mimeographed zine published in 1970. Writers and editors who should have known better decide to make reading events where participants would read from the manuscript until they fell over with laughter, and then pass it on to the next. The manuscript finally saw print in a formal book form without any real permission from the author, and nearly a quarter-century after the author died, you still get people who think that verbally beating on a 16-year-old’s fantasy story is the height of wit.

That’s not to say that mockery, properly applied, can’t teach us about better writing. I’m a firm believer in it myself, but I also try to punch up. Given a few minutes, I’m sure we could all go after novels of all genres by authors who at least should have known better, that were bought and published by editors and publishers who at least should have known better, and often extolled by critics who should have known better. Ragging on The Eye of Argon is just like the stylings of the late Asimov’s editor Gardner Dozois, who took time away at conventions from referring to his penis as “Mel Gibson” (and he was furious with me for the rest of his life for my responding “You mean ‘Mel Brooks’”) to host readings of short story submissions to Asimov’s, sharing the “worst” examples for those hoping beyond hope that if they laughed along with him, he might be amenable to printing their work one day. It’s not just cruel, but it’s also lazy, and as mentioned before, there are much better and much, MUCH more deserving targets.

Now, you might ask, what do the conventions do instead? I’m glad you asked. While pondering how The Eye of Argon might be best left to obscurity, the twentieth anniversary of a similar fannish landmark just came and went, and wheels started turning. You could probably smell the smoke and hear the gears stripping. Within a couple of seconds, a great alternative presented itself, one that allows everyone to show off their comic chops, and without mocking someone who died as a punchline. We can call it “Spectacular Spectacular,” for obvious reasons, so bear with me.

Okay, here’s the opening. Typical hotel ballroom space utilized by a typical science fiction convention: big space with rows of chairs facing toward a main stage. Emphasis on BIG, because there’s no telling how many people are going to want to participate, both as subjects and as audience. One way or another, we need lots of legroom, and nobody needs to crash into attendees. NOBODY needs to get hurt.

Now before things start, we need participants and a moderator. Before jumping in, each participant arrives with a wardrobe inspired by the Duck Tape Stuck at Prom contest or the Ig Nobel Prizes: fantasy armor, attire, weapons, and magic items, all made from foam and duct tape. The more ridiculous, the better. Go wild on the designs: if the outfit would make a medieval literalist cry, you’re halfway there. If the costumes have action features, make sure that they’re ones that won’t hurt anyone, stain clothes, or make a mess in the room, but otherwise go wild with these, too. Same for the moderator: I highly recommend a look evocative of Sleazy P. Martini. The participants collect outside the room, allowing passersby to gaze in wonder at the ridiculousness, and if anybody asks what’s going on, everyone simply answers “Spectacular Spectacular” and gestures toward the open door. We don’t need a full audience, but it won’t hurt.

(Additional gear for the moderator: a big stopwatch or timer visible to most or all of the attendees, and a noisemaker of some sort. Air horn, vuvuzela, whoopie cushion: it just has to be loud enough to be heard over a crowd. Keep these handy: we’ll need them.)

At the top of the hour, the moderator pulls out a container with folded slips of paper, one of which is simply marked “PRESENT,” and hands over a rubber chicken as each person reaches in. It’s very important that the person drawing “PRESENT” not tell the others they won the drawing, including the moderator. Having selected, the moderator leads all of the participants up to the front, announces “And now Spectacular Spectacular,” and moves to the side, displaying both timer and noisemaker.

From here, every participant takes turns delivering a soliloquy. It could be Shakespeare, it could be Jerry Seinfeld. It could be original. It could be the first page of the participant’s new novel. It could be singing, or knee-slapping, or competition belching. The absolute, though, is to make it at least relatively family-friendly, make it funny, and make it as ridiculous as possible. Most of all, to make it sixty seconds long: every time one starts, the moderator turns on the timer, and each participant gets exactly one minute to present. At the end of the minute, the noisemaker goes off, and the participant has to back off and give the next person a chance, and it repeats.

When everyone has finished and the last airhorn goes off, all participants line up against the back of the stage and hold perfectly stock still. Nothing, nothing at all, for about fifteen seconds. Not a move, not a peep. That’s only to be interrupted by the drawing winner, who steps up, yells “All right, chums, let’s do this! LEEEEEEEROY JEEEEEEEENKIIIIIIINS!”, and rushes off stage. The other participants can take chase, or they can hand buttons or candy to the attendees (yet another opportunity to promote your own work, someone else’s, or just surprise everyone with early Halloween candy), or joust and feint among themselves. Eventually, the winner comes back up on stage, brandishing the rubber chicken and yelling “At least I got chicken,” and the participants pelt the winner with their rubber chickens before standing up for a bow. Spectacular Spectacular is over, and everyone can break free to clean up their messes, let attendees take pictures, and share email addresses before preparing new outfits for the next year.

Okay, so this doesn’t have the easy sleazy laughs of an Eye of Argon reading, and that’s the point. Complete silliness and lack of pretension, inclusive competition, and everybody gets chicken. So who’s up for taking this to Readercon this year?

St. Remedius News

Well, everyone who asked for St. Remedius fliers (including the tour promo for the new Mandatory Parker album “My Life With The Lint-Covered Breast Implant”) should be getting them any day now, if they haven’t arrived already. This hasn’t depleted the current supply, so feel free to ask for a pack. For paid subscribers, get ready for a much larger pack as your pledge incentive, including Mandatory Parker magnets, St. Remedius stickers, and a handy Quantum Pocket Detector that doubles as a bookmark, stencil, and toothpick. Oh, the weirdness just keeps coming and coming.

For those who don’t want a stranger with your mailing address, as the essay above related, it’s time to press flesh and give away surprises over the summer. This includes heading out for the Dallas run of the Oddities & Curiosities Expo on May 31 to reminisce with old friends and meet new ones. (The plan ultimately is to be able to run a St. Remedius booth at O&C one of these years, but sadly not this year.) This might also coincide with a Kylo Boomhauer sighting, but that depends upon whether the weather is amenable to humans that day or if it kicks into North Texas Overload. Either way, coming out early (doors open at 10:00 am) is HIGHLY recommended.

In related news, for those who missed your humble chronicler’s first published piece of fiction (you didn’t think I was making up everything about St. Remedius Medical College, did you?), it behooves you to go through the complete list of entrants in the Small & Scary/Big & Beastly collection. A dream in my very early youth was to get an entry in the DAW Year’s Best Horror Stories series edited by Karl Edward Wagner, and this is about as close as I’m going to get. Go get in some reading time.

Cooking References

With summer in Texas comes a renewed taste for all things garlicky and spicy, so it’s time to mention probably the best book on growing, harvesting, storing, preparing, and cooking garlic ever written, The Complete Book of Garlic by Ted Jordan Meredith (Timber Press, 2008), an essential part of my culinary library. The book has been out of print for years (sadly, a regular occurrence with many of Timber Press’s best books as of late), but whether you pick it up via online sales or a random used bookstore encounter, snag it, hold it, and never let it go.

Events

As for the rest of the summer, because of the understandable aversion to get out under the yellow hurty thing in the sky and burn off four layers of skin in the July or August sun just for an event, the plan is to coordinate events that minimize the chances of becoming a Near Dark cosplayer. This includes talking with the crew at the Texas Theatre about a possible series of related film screenings, including celebrating the 40th anniversary of the release of one of my favorite movies. (And the first person who even suggests that the movie is The Goonies gets cut. Take that hipster crap over to the Inwood.) Details will follow as things happen.

In the interim, the various Silent Book Club events in the Dallas area are a very welcome social/not social event, especially during the summer. In particular, the Garland Silent Book Club meets June 7, July 5, August 2, and September 6 from 11 am to 1:00 pm, and the monthly Half Price Books Silent Read at the flagship store in Dallas runs on June 18 starting at 7:00. And yes, there will be flyers.

Final Words

Conventions have been on my mind a bit this year: last March marked the 40th anniversary of my first-ever convention, the one-shot FanCon ‘85 at the long-demolished North Park Inn on Dallas’s Central Expressway. FanCon never happened again, the hotel’s remnants have been under a Best Buy for over thirty years, and all of the attractions and vendors that engrossed 18-year-old me probably wouldn’t make any sense today, but I hope to recapture some of that magic this year, finances willing. Now to go buy duct tape.

Want more hints as to the history of St. Remedius Medical College? Check out Backstories and Fragments. Want to get caught up on the St. Remedius story so far? Check out the main archive. Want to forget all of that and look at cat pictures from a beast who dreams of his own OnlyFans for his birthday? Check out Mandatory Parker. And feel free to pass on word far and wide: the more, the merrier.