Post by Jason Whittle on Oct 1, 2012 12:02:59 GMT 1
FantasyCon 2012, Brighton
To paraphrase the legendary Olympian Sir Stephen Redgrave, if you ever see me brandishing a notebook at FantasyCon again, you have my permission to shoot me. For this is the year that I write my report from blurred but happy memories instead of page after page of minutes scrupulously taken at every panel, a habit that had hitherto prevented me from forging the sort of friendships that FCon is famous for.
Not this time.
This time I decided not to hide behind the notebook and to be more outgoing instead, helped by the presence of Ross Warren, editor in chief of rising small publisher Dark Minds Press, which meant that worst case scenario I’d be a Billy One-Mate this time around.
Before he showed up I started the weekend by volunteering to help out at the cake sale, which was raising money for the National Literacy Trust, the charity I was running my marathon for the following week. My duties were to put up the promo posters, which I did using sellotape, thus earning my first telling off of the weekend from Stephen Jones.
After Ross’s arrival we took in our only panel of the day ‘Your First Convention’, more relevant to Ross in that respect, although also my first convention sans pen and paper. General advice was to put yourself forward and meet people (why didn’t I think of it sooner?) but to try not to stink too badly whilst you do so (I may have broken this rule by the end of Saturday night). Star of the show was Guy Adams, an author who I have never actually read but have become a fan of through his convention appearances, where he always provides an entertaining and witty presence.
In the evening I attended the special screening of Robin Hardy’s long awaited Wicker Man follow-up, Wicker Tree. The film itself was very good but my only criticism would be that the preceding chat, although interesting at times, went on too long and too far off topic. In a hot and stuffy room after a day of travelling, people were fighting to stay awake.
Despite Guy Adams’s earlier assertion that the weekend “would not go all Lord of the Flies”, anarchy reigned at the raffle where he and John Llewellyn Probert resorted to simply flinging books at unsuspecting ticket holders and innocent bystanders alike to speed up the process; paperbacks only, or at least I hope so.
Friday night ended with readings by Gary McMahon and Simon Bestwick. McMahon read his story from For the Night is Dark, the forthcoming anthology from up and coming South African imprint Crystal Lake Publishing, and it was a suitably creepy tale with a genuinely surprising ending.
Anyone who knows Simon Bestwick will know how happy he is in his personal life, but this has not softened his writing style; nor indeed the delivery of his readings. Once again, this one was performed with real emotional energy, both disturbing and deeply moving.
Saturday morning began brilliantly, with me joining Tim Lebbon and Gary McMahon for a four mile run up and down Brighton’s beautiful sunlit promenade. Not only did I get to run and chat with two of the country’s best authors, but it also sparked a surge of positivity that would propel me through the rest of an epic day.
I took in Joe Lansdale’s interview which was hilarious in places, with him delivering the punchlines to his anecdotes with perfect comic timing, and he also demonstrated that with such a mellifluent Texan accent, the f-word becomes more poetic than profane. Then I went into a signed book frenzy, first by getting the great James Herbert to sign my copy of Ghosts of Sleath and then by ransacking Solaris’s big giveaway for whatever titles of theirs I hadn’t got my hands on already.
I dragged my heavy load up the stairs for Joe Abercrombie’s reading. He’s another author I haven’t read yet but always seek out at conventions, and once again he was on top form here with the opening of a new western/fantasy hybrid. Promising story, but the scariest bit was when he turned too suddenly and nearly knocked me over with his pectoral muscles. Presumably he’s been carrying lots of heavy books too.
Next up was the only panel that I’d highlighted for the entire convention, the apocalyptic fiction discussion with Simon Clark, Gary McMahon, Adam Nevill, Adele Wearing and Adam Baker. As author of Night of the Triffids, Simon Clark unsurprisingly cited John Wyndham’s original as a major work, while unfortunately the main consensus around the room was that there shouldn’t be any more zombie novels. But there has to be room for at least one more, surely?
Then it was time for the Mark Gatiss interview, and despite his achievements and fame he was humble and unassuming, reacting to any praise with slight embarrassment and shy coquettishness. His behind the scenes insights into The League of Gentlemen, Doctor Who, Sherlock and Quatermass were a joy to hear about and could have filled much more than the allocated hour.
Given the comments in the apocalyptic panel, it was ironic that there then followed the launch of Constable and Robinson’s Zombie Apocalypse! Fightback. I bought a copy but queued for signatures from the wrong side, which earned me a second telling off from editor Stephen Jones. My punishment was to be conscripted as wine fetcher for all the authors, although I grabbed a glass for myself while I was at it.
The evening session began with a reading from Alison Littlewood, who like Mark Gatiss still retains more modesty than is necessary; she seemed genuinely shocked that people knew who she was. She read the opening of her follow-up to A Cold Season, and it seemed to be a simple family drama about the relationship between mother and teenage daughter until it took a much darker turn, which was made even more shocking by her soft and gentle voice lulling us into a false sense of security beforehand.
After a quick drink at the Jo Fletcher books party I sat down to the ‘Emporium of Entertainment’, opened by a fine monologue from Lord Reginald Oliver (he is far too noble to be called ‘Mr’ or ‘Reggie’), followed by a monologue from The Hallowe’en Sessions, written by Stephen Volk and brought to life by a magnificent performance by Billy Clarke that made for compelling yet uncomfortable viewing.
That was always going to be difficult to follow, and the spoof paranormal investigations of Atters Attree sagged a bit in places, but there were some laughs along the way. After an interval Stephen Olley played a decent acoustic set before Alessa Dark introduced the burlesque show to put us in the mood for dancing.
Nevertheless, Shy Jay threatened to take over and hold me motionless on the outskirts of the Fcon disco. Big thanks then to Gillian Redfearn for putting me on the dancefloor; a writer has to do what the editor says, and when Gillian Redfearn tells you to dance you do so, and you keep going until she tells you to stop.
She never told me to stop.
Thus Fun Jay was unleashed for a very rare outing, and he apologises if in the absence of any actual dance moves he made me jump on your toes, spray you with my sweat, or whip you with my name badge, which in turn caused me quite a nasty case of jogger’s nipple when I put it in my chest pocket. Not that I held a monopoly on freaky dancing though; the pick of the many impressive party pieces on show was Gary McMahon’s Footloose, which will never be forgotten by any of us that had the privilege of witnessing it.
So great was the disco that I completely wrote off the Sunday; nothing could come close to matching that high. So I put myself on the train and started writing these notes. At previous conventions I’ve learned which is the best manuscript format, and how to word a covering letter, but what I’ve learned this time round is much better: Christopher Teague and Ross Warren are bigger in real life, V.H. Leslie is younger in real life, Suzanne MacLeod never stops dancing, and that the FantasyCon community are the funnest and friendliest people in the world.
See you next year.
To paraphrase the legendary Olympian Sir Stephen Redgrave, if you ever see me brandishing a notebook at FantasyCon again, you have my permission to shoot me. For this is the year that I write my report from blurred but happy memories instead of page after page of minutes scrupulously taken at every panel, a habit that had hitherto prevented me from forging the sort of friendships that FCon is famous for.
Not this time.
This time I decided not to hide behind the notebook and to be more outgoing instead, helped by the presence of Ross Warren, editor in chief of rising small publisher Dark Minds Press, which meant that worst case scenario I’d be a Billy One-Mate this time around.
Before he showed up I started the weekend by volunteering to help out at the cake sale, which was raising money for the National Literacy Trust, the charity I was running my marathon for the following week. My duties were to put up the promo posters, which I did using sellotape, thus earning my first telling off of the weekend from Stephen Jones.
After Ross’s arrival we took in our only panel of the day ‘Your First Convention’, more relevant to Ross in that respect, although also my first convention sans pen and paper. General advice was to put yourself forward and meet people (why didn’t I think of it sooner?) but to try not to stink too badly whilst you do so (I may have broken this rule by the end of Saturday night). Star of the show was Guy Adams, an author who I have never actually read but have become a fan of through his convention appearances, where he always provides an entertaining and witty presence.
In the evening I attended the special screening of Robin Hardy’s long awaited Wicker Man follow-up, Wicker Tree. The film itself was very good but my only criticism would be that the preceding chat, although interesting at times, went on too long and too far off topic. In a hot and stuffy room after a day of travelling, people were fighting to stay awake.
Despite Guy Adams’s earlier assertion that the weekend “would not go all Lord of the Flies”, anarchy reigned at the raffle where he and John Llewellyn Probert resorted to simply flinging books at unsuspecting ticket holders and innocent bystanders alike to speed up the process; paperbacks only, or at least I hope so.
Friday night ended with readings by Gary McMahon and Simon Bestwick. McMahon read his story from For the Night is Dark, the forthcoming anthology from up and coming South African imprint Crystal Lake Publishing, and it was a suitably creepy tale with a genuinely surprising ending.
Anyone who knows Simon Bestwick will know how happy he is in his personal life, but this has not softened his writing style; nor indeed the delivery of his readings. Once again, this one was performed with real emotional energy, both disturbing and deeply moving.
Saturday morning began brilliantly, with me joining Tim Lebbon and Gary McMahon for a four mile run up and down Brighton’s beautiful sunlit promenade. Not only did I get to run and chat with two of the country’s best authors, but it also sparked a surge of positivity that would propel me through the rest of an epic day.
I took in Joe Lansdale’s interview which was hilarious in places, with him delivering the punchlines to his anecdotes with perfect comic timing, and he also demonstrated that with such a mellifluent Texan accent, the f-word becomes more poetic than profane. Then I went into a signed book frenzy, first by getting the great James Herbert to sign my copy of Ghosts of Sleath and then by ransacking Solaris’s big giveaway for whatever titles of theirs I hadn’t got my hands on already.
I dragged my heavy load up the stairs for Joe Abercrombie’s reading. He’s another author I haven’t read yet but always seek out at conventions, and once again he was on top form here with the opening of a new western/fantasy hybrid. Promising story, but the scariest bit was when he turned too suddenly and nearly knocked me over with his pectoral muscles. Presumably he’s been carrying lots of heavy books too.
Next up was the only panel that I’d highlighted for the entire convention, the apocalyptic fiction discussion with Simon Clark, Gary McMahon, Adam Nevill, Adele Wearing and Adam Baker. As author of Night of the Triffids, Simon Clark unsurprisingly cited John Wyndham’s original as a major work, while unfortunately the main consensus around the room was that there shouldn’t be any more zombie novels. But there has to be room for at least one more, surely?
Then it was time for the Mark Gatiss interview, and despite his achievements and fame he was humble and unassuming, reacting to any praise with slight embarrassment and shy coquettishness. His behind the scenes insights into The League of Gentlemen, Doctor Who, Sherlock and Quatermass were a joy to hear about and could have filled much more than the allocated hour.
Given the comments in the apocalyptic panel, it was ironic that there then followed the launch of Constable and Robinson’s Zombie Apocalypse! Fightback. I bought a copy but queued for signatures from the wrong side, which earned me a second telling off from editor Stephen Jones. My punishment was to be conscripted as wine fetcher for all the authors, although I grabbed a glass for myself while I was at it.
The evening session began with a reading from Alison Littlewood, who like Mark Gatiss still retains more modesty than is necessary; she seemed genuinely shocked that people knew who she was. She read the opening of her follow-up to A Cold Season, and it seemed to be a simple family drama about the relationship between mother and teenage daughter until it took a much darker turn, which was made even more shocking by her soft and gentle voice lulling us into a false sense of security beforehand.
After a quick drink at the Jo Fletcher books party I sat down to the ‘Emporium of Entertainment’, opened by a fine monologue from Lord Reginald Oliver (he is far too noble to be called ‘Mr’ or ‘Reggie’), followed by a monologue from The Hallowe’en Sessions, written by Stephen Volk and brought to life by a magnificent performance by Billy Clarke that made for compelling yet uncomfortable viewing.
That was always going to be difficult to follow, and the spoof paranormal investigations of Atters Attree sagged a bit in places, but there were some laughs along the way. After an interval Stephen Olley played a decent acoustic set before Alessa Dark introduced the burlesque show to put us in the mood for dancing.
Nevertheless, Shy Jay threatened to take over and hold me motionless on the outskirts of the Fcon disco. Big thanks then to Gillian Redfearn for putting me on the dancefloor; a writer has to do what the editor says, and when Gillian Redfearn tells you to dance you do so, and you keep going until she tells you to stop.
She never told me to stop.
Thus Fun Jay was unleashed for a very rare outing, and he apologises if in the absence of any actual dance moves he made me jump on your toes, spray you with my sweat, or whip you with my name badge, which in turn caused me quite a nasty case of jogger’s nipple when I put it in my chest pocket. Not that I held a monopoly on freaky dancing though; the pick of the many impressive party pieces on show was Gary McMahon’s Footloose, which will never be forgotten by any of us that had the privilege of witnessing it.
So great was the disco that I completely wrote off the Sunday; nothing could come close to matching that high. So I put myself on the train and started writing these notes. At previous conventions I’ve learned which is the best manuscript format, and how to word a covering letter, but what I’ve learned this time round is much better: Christopher Teague and Ross Warren are bigger in real life, V.H. Leslie is younger in real life, Suzanne MacLeod never stops dancing, and that the FantasyCon community are the funnest and friendliest people in the world.
See you next year.
