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BotCon
So last weekend, I went to Botcon, in Lexington, Kentucky. I forgot my camera, so I haven't any pictures yet, but I'm trying to build a collection from various sources.
I had originally intended to get out into Lexington and see a bit of the town, but I was unprepared for the amount of work that would be expected of me. Friday, I started working literally the minute I walked into the hotel, and Saturday was a 15 hour day capped with more than a few shots of Jaegermeister purchased by enthusiastic fans and the Transformers marketing team. Sunday was another punishing day, starting at 7:30 am and chugging along nonstop until I got on my plane at 5:55 that evening. And even then, there were some fans on the plane with me that I ended up chatting with.
I think I got about 7 hours of sleep the entire weekend. I was so jazzed when I got home that I couldn't sleep until after midnight. I took today as a sick day because I needed to down time to recover.
I left the hotel/convention center twice, both times well after sunset. Once for dinner with the Hasbro team and once to go out and get hammered with folks I'd met at the con.
The hotel itself was linked to the convention center and the local sports arena - a vast complex of polished marble flooring, endless dark carpets, and parquet floors waxed to a high shine. A maze of escalators and locked doors shunted people from place to place. If nothing else, the hotel management was expert at crowd control.
I don't recall meeting or speaking to anyone who wasn't directly linked somehow to the convention, except to check in and out of the hotel and my flights. I don't think I even ever actually spoke to a bartender (this trip was paid for by Marketing, which meant that if I wanted a drink, I had to find one of the Marketing folks).
On both Friday and Saturday, I sat on panels - one focused on the newsletter and comics I've written, and one focused on Hasbro and the toys. I fielded only a few questions, and stammered my way through the answers. To say that the panel experience was nerve-wracking is an understatement of the highest order. I expect that if I continue going to these things, I'll get used to it, but until then it's going to leave me wet-palmed and weak-kneed.
Easier was answering questions face to face at the Hasbro booth in the dealers' room. Signing autographs is a strangely humbling experience; certainly it motivates one to develop a more concise and legible signature. I kept finding myself struggling when asked to sign the convention comic because I didn't want to cover any of the art, or the title of the book.
One begins to understand after an experience like this how celebrities get so crazy. On more than one occasion, I found myself surrounded by people who were curious about every detail of my job. These folks wanted not only to understand how I do what I do, but seemed to be looking for a way into my skull so they could see out through my eyes.
This is not, I realize now, because I am special. Certainly I do something that is special to people (myself included), but it is not a quality inherent in myself that makes it special. I have a talent for written expression, sometimes, and a passion for the stories I tell that helps make them what they are. What makes my work on Transformers special, however, is rooted as much in the love the fandom brings as it is in the energy I put into it.
We are, after all, what makes a celebrity special. Without an audience, an actor is just a man with too much time on his hands and no one to speak to but himself. The same is true of a writer, no matter what praise he may hear for his work.
Even so, in the moment, with people asking you to put your name to something and treating is as valuable for the weight of ink it bears, with people asking you again how do you do what you do, it becomes difficult not to feel as if you are something more than you are. I am not a humble man (not by a long shot), but I like to tell myself I'm not overly proud either. Certainly I take pride in my successes, but I hope not too much. The attention and praise of strangers is not something that destroys humility so much as it refocuses pride; shifts it from pride in one's accomplishments to pride in oneself. You begin to forget that your success is a result of a partnership you have made with your audience. You begin to think you are hot shit. You forget that you are a conduit for an evolution of the ideas of other men, and begin to believe yourself a creator.
This is what St. Gregory meant when he gave us his worst of the seven deadly sins. Even the greatest artist is only a brush in the hand of the Word. The man who forgets that his works are built on a foundation not of his making has become vainglorious, and probably insufferable to be around. I don't buy that God is working through me when I write an awesome Transformers bio, but certainly nothing I write is original enough for me to claim I am solely responsible. So even as I struggled to feel comfortable in the face of a surfeit of praise, I found my ego getting a little out of control. I hope that I did not dominate the conversation (any more than I normally do), and that I left the people there with a positive impression. Certainly I spoke so much and at such length that I had to excuse myself on a couple of occasions to get a drink – just so I didn't lose my voice.
The fans – and it's important here to note that these are Transformers fans, not Forest fans (I don't think I have any of those, and don't expect I ever will) - with whom I spent the most time speaking, while certainly excited by what they've read of mine, also had a lot of good ideas. When I requested it, they were willing and able to give me a few pointers on what I could do better. It's gratifying to know that people are reading and thinking about the things I'm working on. I hope they all know how really valuable it is to me to know that people like my work, that they read it and save it and that it's important to them.
This is the real goal of any writer, isn't it? Not fame, no, but recognition and affection for the words on the page. I guess it's really the goal of any person; any time you can be certain that something you've done affects another person's life in a positive way, you feel successful.
Transformers fans seem overwhelmingly to be smart, friendly, positive people. I experienced none of the ugliness or negativity I've run into at other conventions. Even those individuals with a beef were able to express themselves in a constructive manner. As a group, they make you feel honestly part of something special, both as a fellow fan and as one of the managers of the fantasy.
More so than most other geeks, this is a self-aware fandom with a highly developed sense of irony. Sure, a lot of these dudes are detail-obsessed Asperger babies, but the same is true of any fandom; and even the really hardcore guys are a hundred times less socially retarded than your average Trekkie. These guys are mostly the type of people I've been friends with for my entire life. I couldn't have been more comfortable around a group of people than if I'd stayed home and gone to a party with the same group of people I've been going to parties with for the last seven years.
The simple fact of the matter is, these people are just excited that Transformers is still a going concern. There have been as many or more bad cartoons and toys as there have been good (but even the bad stuff has its defenders). Despite that, the single defining characteristic of a Transformers fan is his hope for the future. Next year will bring a new toy line and a new cartoon; if the one this year sucks, then maybe that one will be better. These are people who cheer simply because they are in a group together, having fun, and all is right with the world. It's hard not to be happy when your hero is a librarian who grew up to be a forty foot tall version of Superman.
On the last day, after a weekend of close quarters, I found myself trading good natured insults as often as I answered questions. I even arm wrestled a couple guys (one of whom I beat; the other of whom hurt me bad). I left feeling like you do after a good rave – exhausted, yeah, but loved. As if everything is going to be all right.
I had originally intended to get out into Lexington and see a bit of the town, but I was unprepared for the amount of work that would be expected of me. Friday, I started working literally the minute I walked into the hotel, and Saturday was a 15 hour day capped with more than a few shots of Jaegermeister purchased by enthusiastic fans and the Transformers marketing team. Sunday was another punishing day, starting at 7:30 am and chugging along nonstop until I got on my plane at 5:55 that evening. And even then, there were some fans on the plane with me that I ended up chatting with.
I think I got about 7 hours of sleep the entire weekend. I was so jazzed when I got home that I couldn't sleep until after midnight. I took today as a sick day because I needed to down time to recover.
I left the hotel/convention center twice, both times well after sunset. Once for dinner with the Hasbro team and once to go out and get hammered with folks I'd met at the con.
The hotel itself was linked to the convention center and the local sports arena - a vast complex of polished marble flooring, endless dark carpets, and parquet floors waxed to a high shine. A maze of escalators and locked doors shunted people from place to place. If nothing else, the hotel management was expert at crowd control.
I don't recall meeting or speaking to anyone who wasn't directly linked somehow to the convention, except to check in and out of the hotel and my flights. I don't think I even ever actually spoke to a bartender (this trip was paid for by Marketing, which meant that if I wanted a drink, I had to find one of the Marketing folks).
On both Friday and Saturday, I sat on panels - one focused on the newsletter and comics I've written, and one focused on Hasbro and the toys. I fielded only a few questions, and stammered my way through the answers. To say that the panel experience was nerve-wracking is an understatement of the highest order. I expect that if I continue going to these things, I'll get used to it, but until then it's going to leave me wet-palmed and weak-kneed.
Easier was answering questions face to face at the Hasbro booth in the dealers' room. Signing autographs is a strangely humbling experience; certainly it motivates one to develop a more concise and legible signature. I kept finding myself struggling when asked to sign the convention comic because I didn't want to cover any of the art, or the title of the book.
One begins to understand after an experience like this how celebrities get so crazy. On more than one occasion, I found myself surrounded by people who were curious about every detail of my job. These folks wanted not only to understand how I do what I do, but seemed to be looking for a way into my skull so they could see out through my eyes.
This is not, I realize now, because I am special. Certainly I do something that is special to people (myself included), but it is not a quality inherent in myself that makes it special. I have a talent for written expression, sometimes, and a passion for the stories I tell that helps make them what they are. What makes my work on Transformers special, however, is rooted as much in the love the fandom brings as it is in the energy I put into it.
We are, after all, what makes a celebrity special. Without an audience, an actor is just a man with too much time on his hands and no one to speak to but himself. The same is true of a writer, no matter what praise he may hear for his work.
Even so, in the moment, with people asking you to put your name to something and treating is as valuable for the weight of ink it bears, with people asking you again how do you do what you do, it becomes difficult not to feel as if you are something more than you are. I am not a humble man (not by a long shot), but I like to tell myself I'm not overly proud either. Certainly I take pride in my successes, but I hope not too much. The attention and praise of strangers is not something that destroys humility so much as it refocuses pride; shifts it from pride in one's accomplishments to pride in oneself. You begin to forget that your success is a result of a partnership you have made with your audience. You begin to think you are hot shit. You forget that you are a conduit for an evolution of the ideas of other men, and begin to believe yourself a creator.
This is what St. Gregory meant when he gave us his worst of the seven deadly sins. Even the greatest artist is only a brush in the hand of the Word. The man who forgets that his works are built on a foundation not of his making has become vainglorious, and probably insufferable to be around. I don't buy that God is working through me when I write an awesome Transformers bio, but certainly nothing I write is original enough for me to claim I am solely responsible. So even as I struggled to feel comfortable in the face of a surfeit of praise, I found my ego getting a little out of control. I hope that I did not dominate the conversation (any more than I normally do), and that I left the people there with a positive impression. Certainly I spoke so much and at such length that I had to excuse myself on a couple of occasions to get a drink – just so I didn't lose my voice.
The fans – and it's important here to note that these are Transformers fans, not Forest fans (I don't think I have any of those, and don't expect I ever will) - with whom I spent the most time speaking, while certainly excited by what they've read of mine, also had a lot of good ideas. When I requested it, they were willing and able to give me a few pointers on what I could do better. It's gratifying to know that people are reading and thinking about the things I'm working on. I hope they all know how really valuable it is to me to know that people like my work, that they read it and save it and that it's important to them.
This is the real goal of any writer, isn't it? Not fame, no, but recognition and affection for the words on the page. I guess it's really the goal of any person; any time you can be certain that something you've done affects another person's life in a positive way, you feel successful.
Transformers fans seem overwhelmingly to be smart, friendly, positive people. I experienced none of the ugliness or negativity I've run into at other conventions. Even those individuals with a beef were able to express themselves in a constructive manner. As a group, they make you feel honestly part of something special, both as a fellow fan and as one of the managers of the fantasy.
More so than most other geeks, this is a self-aware fandom with a highly developed sense of irony. Sure, a lot of these dudes are detail-obsessed Asperger babies, but the same is true of any fandom; and even the really hardcore guys are a hundred times less socially retarded than your average Trekkie. These guys are mostly the type of people I've been friends with for my entire life. I couldn't have been more comfortable around a group of people than if I'd stayed home and gone to a party with the same group of people I've been going to parties with for the last seven years.
The simple fact of the matter is, these people are just excited that Transformers is still a going concern. There have been as many or more bad cartoons and toys as there have been good (but even the bad stuff has its defenders). Despite that, the single defining characteristic of a Transformers fan is his hope for the future. Next year will bring a new toy line and a new cartoon; if the one this year sucks, then maybe that one will be better. These are people who cheer simply because they are in a group together, having fun, and all is right with the world. It's hard not to be happy when your hero is a librarian who grew up to be a forty foot tall version of Superman.
On the last day, after a weekend of close quarters, I found myself trading good natured insults as often as I answered questions. I even arm wrestled a couple guys (one of whom I beat; the other of whom hurt me bad). I left feeling like you do after a good rave – exhausted, yeah, but loved. As if everything is going to be all right.