The Hugo Losers’ Party was an awful lot of fun. There was a lot of going EEEEEE at the statistics (I came fourth) and excited gushing, and FRUIT. And also little chocolates and tiny chocolatey cake things, but I was most excited about the fruit. I got to meet E. Lily Yu (who is lovely) and finally talk to Jenni Hill for more than three seconds, and have a conversation with HUGO-AWARD WINNING NOVELIST ANN LECKIE, who is kind of amazing in person and looked pretty happily dazed. Kate Elliott and I had a long conversation about editing as a learned skill, particularly editing other peoples’ work; and I had a brief conversation with Roz Kaveney about how she and Kameron Hurley need to divide up the genre between them to make ambitious messes with genre furniture.
But mostly there was a lot of sitting around in circles eating fruit and drinking drinks (Tansy Rayner Roberts, Alisa Krasnostein, Rhiannon Rasmussen, Kate Elliott, Ann Leckie, Foz Meadows, Jenni Hill) and talking about how amazing the winners were and how brilliant Kameron Hurley’s and John Chu’s and Sofia Samatar’s speeches were.
Then I went back to my hotel room, quite late in the evening. And found Aisha already there. And I was rather hyper from copious amounts of caffeine and there was a lot of bouncy talking and at some point we thought it was a good idea to record the tininess of Tiny Shower for posterity.
And I tried to pack. It involved a lot of pushing on the suitcase. The suitcase needed duct-tape, because the seams split. Fortunately, I travel with twine, duct tape, and electrician’s tape.
And mostly a penknife with a flashlight and compass attached, yes, I may be weird. BUT YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’LL NEED.
(Mostly I need the bottle-opener for other people. And the scissors.)
Monday morning comes too soon
I recall waking up at 0530, while Aisha was doing something, muttering “Dawn. Fuck that,” and rolling over to go back to sleep. I had an 1100 panel – with Aisha, too – on “Critical Diversity in Science Fiction,” and somehow we made it to the green room in advance of the panel, where we met Fábio Fernandes and Erin Horakova before repairing to our panel room, where we were joined by our moderator Andrew Butler. I had caffeined up, and was possibly a blithering hyper idiot: mostly I remember that the panel opened with a mic test that sort of turned into, in Erin’s words, “the inadequate filking panel.”
I’m not sure how much of the meat of critical diversity we actually managed to cover. It was Monday morning. Forgive me: I was out of it.
even more people
Afterwards, some of us repaired to lunch with Maureen Speller and Paul Kincaid, at a table on the Boulevard that just kept expanding to incorporate more people as they drifted up against us and stopped. I know at one point the table included Aisha, D. Franklin, Zoe, me, Maureen, Paul, Erin, Fábio, Lal, David Hebblethwaite, Kev McVeigh, and STILL MORE PEOPLE…
…then I left for the fan village to try to meet up with Niall and Nic, and got sidetracked by meeting Kate Elliott and Rhiannon Rasmussen and Michelle Sagara, and some others (including Alex whom I’d met at Liverpool last year. Sorry, Alex! I have forgot your last name) and had a long discussion about books and book reviewing and things.
I did finally fetch up against another table, encompassing Niall and Nic and Erin and Abigail and Aisha and OTHER PEOPLE whose names I do not now remember or never caught, and had much fun discussions. At this point, though, I was punch-drunk. I don’t really remember what we were actually talking about, apart from Tiny Shower and DubCon jokes.
Eventually I extricated myself – with great sadness – from the convention, collected my bags from the hotel, and got the DLR to the Ibis Docklands Canary Wharf, where I had a room for the night so I could sleep before traveling home. The Ibis Docklands Canary Wharf is a red-coloured Ibis and is Slightly Less Budget. The shower was not inhumanly small! I had a whole comfortable double bed to myself, not a tiny plank of a bed. And god, I slept.
I had no idea how long it would take me to get to Heathrow in the morning, though, so I ended up getting up far too early to trek across London, and fetched up at LHR before check-in and bag-drop for my flight even opened. But it was all good! Once I made it through security I had a delightful breakfast of ham and cheese croissant, followed by vanilla croissant, at a café called Cappuccino. Very tasty.
I slept on the plane. My mother picked me up at the airport. I got home, unpacked, shoved things into the washing-machined, showered, and went to bed for five hours. I woke up long enough to eat tea and check my email, and went back to sleep for another fourteen hours. And it was glorious.
And that, my friends, is the story of my adventures.