The first thing I should mention is an announcement I’m proud of. Editor Lou Anders has chosen my short story, ‘Catherine Drewe’, the first in a series of SF/spy/alternate world stories featuring my lead character Jonathan Hamilton, as the opening story in his next anthology, Fast Forward 2, coming out from Pyr Books in October 2009. Yes, that far ahead! So I’ll be talking more about the Hamilton stories nearer the time. I’ve already placed the second story, subject to contract, and I’m in the process of sorting out the third. It’s great to have a series up and running, especially in such prestigious anthologies, the first Fast Forward having gained Lou much justified praise:

http://www.pyrsf.com/FastForward-1.html

Now, I give up, I’m not going to be able to write a proper convention report about Gallifrey in Los Angeles a couple of weekends ago. As always, it felt like the most delightful holiday, with the Green Room (where there is home baking and an ice box full of cans) as an odd room of one’s house, that one only has access to for a few days every year, into which friends one doesn’t see in any other circumstances wander. It was certainly the best of these wonderful events as far as I was concerned, and after over a decade of them, the bar’s been set pretty high on that. There was just a great atmosphere, almost of renewal. You know how Lost, in season four, suddenly seems like the most vital thing again? American Who fandom, at least in terms of who comes to Galley, is now like that. When the very first panel on the first day is packed out, it’s obvious something is going on. I think Torchwood has something to do with it. It’s hit big in America in a way we over here haven’t really understood thus far. At times this felt like a Torchwood convention with a bit of Who attached. I would not bet against a Torchwood Hugo nomination this time round. (But you know my record on entertainment betting. Though I did make some money on the Oscars this year: thank you, Tilda.)

But okay, I should try and summarise events. Basically, each day: wake up way early, brain altered by jet lag; enormous and luxurious breakfast; alter brain with good coffee; start encountering a variety of interesting folk, with ongoing subplots of their own, many of whom want to hug you; perk up brain enough to do a panel about something, at which the audience will play an interactive part, and a part of what the audience is thinking will be mulled over, worked through, examined in detail; sign autographs and thus meet the audience directly in quick bursts, and they’re lovely; enormous and luxurious dinner with different set of mates every night; alter brain with beer; get to bed in the early hours, body now resigned to trauma at this time every year, of which jet lag is such a small part that it hardly matters. Repeat for three days. And on Monday, collapse into moodily trudging around in search of anything in L.A. Wonder when autograph panel is.

I hosted Just A Minute onstage again. Sophie Aldred defeated three writers this time. Sophie wants a kind of Champions League playoff, with the previous winners: Colin Baker and Gary Russell, pitted against her. We need one more, I feel. And possibly some transatlantic sponsorship. Asking Rob Shearman to talk for a minute about anything is probably a bad idea. His categories of things to avoid really should include Bitterness and Sly Irony. My wife did karaoke, belting out ‘Son of a Preacher Man’ in her professional style. I then failed at ‘Cabaret’. Actually, it’s more accurate to say I stood there muttering at the screen. I’m trying to put it behind me.

I really enjoyed the Squee and Gender and Sexuality panels, because, alongside a lot of laughs, we worked through some really interesting stuff. And hearing assembled fangirls (so many girls this year, that demographic finally starting to swing round) all going ‘squee’ at once was music to my ears. That’s what a writer wants an audience to do in reaction to his work. Never mind picking it apart like a dead chicken, give me Beatles screams!

I was pleased to haul myself onstage and guest on a live edition of Doctor Who: Podshock. Audio being my ideal medium at that time in the morning. It was weird to meet two of the hosts of that show in person. Ken and Louis look nothing like their voices. Ken especially should have a little bushy beard.

As always, the convention is also a chance to hang around with my gangs. It was a pleasure to induct James Moran into the league of Who writers…

By the way, James has done an interview with the Geek Syndicate podcast here:

http://cdn3.libsyn.com/geeksyndicate/gsepisode66.mp3

Moffat and I spent a great deal of time lounging around together, beer (sometimes Apricot flavoured beer) in hand. He was feted wherever he went, obviously. I believe he healed the sick and cured the lame. Seriously, it’s good to see how much this fandom has embraced him. And how often. Rob gets hugged a lot as well. Despite the bitterness. And James is always talking about how surprising it is to be so hugged. I just get a lot of firm handshakes.

Some people I should mention: Tara O’Shea, who’s always our companion at these conventions, and just the most delightfully sunny and sociable person. She’s a fan salonist, in that she brings together groups of interesting people and forms them into gangs. I wish she lived next door. In this town, she’d start managing bands. Handsome Timmy D hauled crates of beer into the hotel lobby and donated them to the company. He’s also one of the most regular posters on the Down Among the Dead Men mailing list (for Bernice fans), and always good value in the bar. Graeme Burke, Mike Doran and my old friends in their orbit always give me a gang to go back to and a good dinner.

And on the Sunday night, we went across town, slightly wobbly, to have dinner with fellow comics and TV writers Allan Heinberg, Mark Waid, Javier Grillo- Marxuach and Doselle Young. Javier and Mark had already popped in to the convention, and, as happens at Galley, ended up on panels. Javier, excitingly, is in the process of preparing the TV version of his Middleman comic, which I await with great anticipation. It’s a joy to have friends in that town one can talk snappy dialogue with. Doselle was kind enough to take us back to the venue, and we sat up for a while amongst the ongoing party, talking about, erm, boxing and stuff.

All in all, we had an amazing time. It’s a shame the magic door that leads from my lounge to the Green Room will be locked for so many more months.

Picocon, the other weekend at Imperial College, was good fun. But it’s actually bigger than Microcon, in Exeter, so how does that work? I was guesting with (novelist) Liz Williams and (new Dad) Cory Doctorow. I got there with two minutes to spare before my panel, and delivered a bit of a wandering rant about everything I could think of, managing to insult whole continents on the way (I can’t remember how I came to pick on the Legion of Super Heroes, no not the comic, the actual Legion). Then I joined the other two for a serious discussion on the subject of ‘Futurism Sucks’ which became a collective wandering rant about global warming. ‘Which is better, humbly accepting our fate as greenhouse gas sinners and living in medieval wetness, or trying to solve the problem? There’s only one way to settle this: fight!’ The Picocon organisers also presented fun entertainments such as dunking crap merchandise in liquid nitrogen and then smashing it (I ducked from a flying fragment of Quentin Tarantino) and fighting with your actual fish (‘I’m using a sardine as a main gauche’). And me and Third Row Fandom won the pub quiz! Again! But for many the highlight of the weekend was meeting the girls who did the freaking out in front of the end of Doctor Who season three in that YouTube video which, for many, has defined and represented squee for our time. ‘It’s… you, isn’t it?!’ gasped one stunned admirer.

And hey, there’s a full-on Torchwood convention in London this Spring! This is going to sell out in minutes, isn’t it?

http://www.jamesmarsterslive.com/therift/index.shtml

Ah, the times we live in. Until I see you next, which should be very swiftly, depending on Captain Britain interview news that’s imminent, Cheerio!