I don’t get it. I do not get why over and over, repeatedly, no matter what I say, what I tell them, some people will not understand something relatively simple.

What I’m talking about here is the concept of a convention. I don’t care what it’s called, a convention like Left Coast, Bouchercon, Worldcon, Norwescon, Malice Domestic, Orycon is a specific form of social and genre gathering. It’s not hard to comprehend and it’s not new – Worldcons began in the thirties, people, and with the internet and speed of human communicatin nowadays, it’s not that fragging difficult to figure out what something is.

I get that it’s an odd and/or new concept to a lot of people. God, of course it is. That’s FINE. Hell, my first convention was a Star Trek convention in the early 1970s. That’s a different form of bear for many people – it’s sneered at often by the literati of the genre (hey, of whom, I am one, yes) but thank god for it because Trek cons led me to SF fandom, led me to friendships and conventions and meeting a world full of people. Led me to mystery fandom (started in large part by sf fans who also loved/read mystery) and those conventions.

So WHY is it that people simply refuse to comprehend what a convention is? Not DON'T comprehend – that I get. It’s a unique thing, the idea of a genre gathering, a bunch of people who organize themselves into a weekend celebration of the thing they enjoy, in this case sf or mystery fiction. The puzzler is those folks who once told, still refuse to understand the fan-based nature of the event. That it’s not about learning to write, not about getting published, not about finding agents. Those are all hugely valuable things for writers and would-be writers to do. Don’t believe for a second I don’t think that. But a) there are dozens of those things out there every week/month/year. They are different. They are NOT the same as conventions. Why is that so frakking impossible for people to comprehend? They WON'T comprehend - to tell by the insistence and time-consuming emails I get involved in explaining over and over.

In some cases, it’s because they were misinformed (“I came to Seattle for the writer’s conference.”) Their agent/editor/best friend told them it was a writer’s event and their a/e/bf could not be wrong. EVER. And to explain what it is, rather than what it isn’t takes some effort. I still don’t think it’s that hard to grasp – I spent part of this morning looking at program from two different 2006 mystery conventions still posted; the titles of the programs are a good indication of the focus of the convention.

I’ve tried. Over and over. On the LCC website I have something that reads “What is LCC?” which explains fairly clearly, I think, what we are and what we are NOT. I say we are not offering workshops. I say, this is a gathering for everyone in the genre. I say this is not a “conference”. I explain who attends. I explain what we do. I specify what we don’t do.

On that page is also something reading “how to be on program” which I ask people to read. If you check the “I wanna be on program” box, you get email from me that practically BEGS you to read THAT FIRST. So you will understand at least how I do it. This year, this time. And it says again we ain’t a writer’s conference so do not offer me writer’s conference topics. And is explains how I do it – the questionnaire and stuff. And still they refuse to hear me.

Then there are this “but it’s ME!” people. This one is old and familiar. The “why aren’t you excited that I’m considering gracing your event with my presence” people.

Now look, you know that writers impress me. That I am appreciative, at times in awe, of the talents of these people who so often have helped me pass the time, made me think, laugh, cry, snort, made life better, at the very least have made a bad day easier, at the very best, saved my sanity. I honor authors. I think one way I do that is by working on conventions, okay? I do convention stuff for ME and people like ME, but it is a way of thanking the community, including writers, and my great friends, fans and writers both, for what they bring into my life.

That said, yes, I still am impressed by writers but I don’t gasp and fall into a faint because a writer wants to attend a convention I’m working on or running. When I was part of the Bouchercon team in ’94, and our guests included Marcia Muller and Tony Hillerman, we were blessed. Not only because these are super writers and down to earth people but because they are so unimpressed with themselves and they made our jobs that much easier. I’ve told some of you about how when I got the rare “it’s ME” sort of communication, my first move after getting off the phone was to call Marcia and tell her about it. She was as amazed as I was that there were authors out there who were King of the World. That I should be more impressed by them than by the others who were coming to Bouchercon. That I should make exceptions, change the way I did things, say “yes” when everyone else had gotten “no” because, well, after all, THIS person was a Big Deal. You know, when you’re measuring against Tony Hillerman who gives you a call and says “so what can I do for you?” or talking with Marcia, whom at that point I’d known for well over 15 years, or when you’ve got dozens of the finest writers in the country (and a few from yonder) being gracious, cooperative, friendly, helpful, supportive and just flat out nice, it’s really hard to take these other folks seriously. You think “why is he acting like this? Does he know what he sounds like?” You wonder “is she reading her press clippings a little too seriously and really believes she’s the next [fill in the genius] incarnated?” But mostly you think” why is this person acting this way?” Because they are being rude, arrogant and snotty and there is not reason for it. And it’s not going to do them any damn good.

Whether it was because they were arrogant, whether they didn’t like hearing the word “no”, whether it was my gender, my lack of awed tone, or my cheerful refusal to give them what they wanted, I don’t know but there were people who were stunned that I was not going to drop everything to put them on a program. I never was mean, I never did it out of spite. There are authors I dislike, there are writers whose work I think sucks frogs and none of that matters. I put everyone – then as now – on the best damn panel I could for them because that’s what it’s about. It’s about making good program, offering good convention to the attendees. That’s still how I feel.

And here I sit, dealing with email from people who don’t wish to spend the time educating themselves as to the nature of Left Coast Crime and who choose instead to inform me that they would be an asset to the event as it is “for aspiring writers”. I spend hours explaining that no, I will not send a copy of the program so you can choose what you’re going to be on because none of the other 175 or more people who joined LCC got to do that and you are not an exception. I’m still dealing with emails from publicists who seem a little flabbergasted when I don’t drop my teeth at the idea that a Famous Author might deign to attend my little event and what was I going to do about it? Even when I pointed out that said author should have been familiar with how the event goes since said author (oh boy) had been a guest of honor at a previous convention. And that I had our guests of honor all picked out (I got the feeling said publicist thought I should make said author a special guest or something) and was somehow stymied that I would only treat said Famous Author as just another attendee who would be given a shot to be on program Just Like Everyone Else. I don’t know what I was supposed to do, but I didn’t do it, that’s clear. I was supposed to React somehow with more enthusiasm. I would have put this author on the best possible program had said author joined LCC and checked the box. But I wasn’t going to create a special slot for this person – even if said author was worth huge lots of money and Very Famous. That’s why conventions are so much fun for so many of us. Because the Very Famous get to just be themselves, hang out, talk books just like the rest of us. Said author has not joined the convention.

During Bouchercon, back when, there was that author who refused to comprehend that he was not going to be put on the panel he insisted I put him on. After all, he had an Edgar. Edgars are great, but they don’t cut it for me when it comes to how well you’ll suit a panel which has other people on it. They are pretty useless in terms of program planning. In this case, the guy had a) joined late b) not followed instructions on how to fill out the form and c) believed his press clippings apparently, or his agent or publicist who told him all doors would now open to him as he had an Edgar. Well, mazel tov for him. Getting an Edgar ain’t easy, I’m sure. But it isn’t going to change my mind about you unless I am trying to offer a panel on “Edgar winners” and I cannot imagine doing that for any convention program.

Others write and say “I want to do what I did at the last convention” and I turn that down as well, most times. I don’t like repeats – especially those done only a few months ago. I have had to say at least 4 times “I’m sorry but since you just did that program with those people in September, I’m not especially interested in offering it at LCC.” And I admit I have problems with the idea; don’t YOU as a panelist want to talk about something new? I get the “it’s comfortable and we know it works” but what’s the point of repeating something that a lot of people probably already heard? There are “road show panels” but even those only work if you mix up the participants. Telling the same stories about the same topics, having the same conversation among the same people. What an absolute guarantee that people will stop coming to programs you are on. But even then, do you really want to spend the next several years only talking about ONE thing? Even if you are the Dialogue King of the Universe. Even if your work on setting has been praised all over, do you really want to be talking about setting with book five? Do you really only have snappy patter as your one star turn, and if so, don’t you think that by iteration #4, the audience will mostly have heard you divulge all your snappy patter secrets?

This time it's the ones who will MAKE IT FIT somehow. They don’t know what Left Coast Crime is. They don’t seem to care. They will find a way to be on program. They will offer their tips on how to get published, how to prepare a manuscript, what to do about writers block, how to find an agent, they will, they will, even if I say no. they will insist there’s an interest, even if I say “sorry but this is not for us; yes, we have writers and would-be writers but you are offering a topic that does not work for this convention. Go email a writer’s conference.” This is a separate category from the clueless publicist who wanted me to be excited that an author of YA fiction was available to attend and sign at Left Coast (note the missing word? Yes, this guy did NOT write mystery fiction. At all.) It’s not to be confused with the publisher who wanted me to meet some authors even when I said it would be best to fill out the questionnaire; to date, neither author has filled out a questionnaire despite my saying this to said editor at LEAST five times on five different occasions. Meeting authors and getting to know how special they are doesn’t change the way I do program. I’m delighted to meet new authors, but I need the damn form filled out.

There are also people who have bought memberships and only then have asked “will you be offering appointments with agents?” This is disappointing, as I do assume that we who are book people, people who read, are somehow superior beings. And by that I mean, in part, that I expect them to know how to read, research and ask questions.

I mind this. It takes time and I don’t think it’s polite to take up someone’s time because you are simply not in the mood or too lazy to read. I don’t know when it became acceptable to do that but when I go to a website, I try at least to read everything relevant first, to be sure I haven’t missed something before I go and write to ask a question. The huge advantage of websites is how easy it can be to find information and not have to ask.

I don’t get it. I don’t particularly want to get it. I resent the time wasted in explaining things to people that have already been explained in several ways. I don’t mind at all explaining stuff that isn’t clear but I do mind having to say over and over and over again “we are not a writer’s conference.” I have better things to do.