Why I'm Boycotting WHC 2007.
I have been going to the World Horror Convention as a participant in the programming since 1998. I have been a contestant in the Gross Out Contest since that very year-in fact, it’s probably the thing that launched much of my success as a writer. In 1998 I had barely published a word - with a few short stories under my belt, no real understanding of the business beyond my Hollywood agent’s expertise (and he was pushing me to write for television and film), and only a tiny clue that attending this particular convention would gain me business contacts and gigs because it was a convention geared towards professional writers, editors, and publishers. Not so much with the fans, but of course, they were also omnipresent, especially for the mass-autograph signings.
The very first story I ever wrote that I sent out, I sold at a pro rate. David N. Wilson pushed me to do so, and I figured hey-if it made me money the first time-it might make me money again. Since I *had* to spew creatively, and creativity rarely makes any sort of artist working an artform (music, writing, painting, whatever) any kind of dough to live on, I had a keen sense that I could make this a business. And I have.
But it all started with that World Horror Convention in 1998, which I was convinced to go to by Alan Beatts and jlassen, with the assurance it would help me make those connections and actually get people to read my stuff.
I had trouble connecting with the predominantly male attendance. I think I may have been one of the 10% of females there, and of that 10%...maybe 3% were actual writers, and not the wives of writers. I was introduced to several publishers and editors, and like any foolish newby writer I even had manuscripts in hand - but of course, this was not going to work. I couldn’t hand them to them and be taken seriously. No, you must submit the old fashioned way. But how would I get them to remember me, the little guppy, in a sea of sharks?
I vaguely recall a ruckus at a party in one of the rooms, where a bunch of writers were doing stupid human tricks. “I have one,” I piped up, and to the shock and amazement of all watching…I did (what has become known as) The Trachea Trick. This so disturbed people, that it made Ed Lee giddy like a small school boy who’s had too much chocolate, and he led me around the room, out to the balcony, showing each and every person my carnival freak act. Jack Ketchum was discussing pigeons at the time, and this so alarmed him that he (and he never is) became speechless.
So far, the only name I’d made for myself was that random party chick that could wiggle her trachea.
I began delving into the program book. I noticed a large block of time reserved for The Annual Gross Out Contest. The caption read: Contestants will sign up on site, and read 5 minutes of their most visceral work to a panel of judges and an audience. Prizes will be awarded. Bingo! I thought…this is my chance. I didn’t think I had anything particularly visceral on me, and I’d never done a public reading, but even if I sucked…even if the story sucked, they’d still remember my name. They’d be forced to pay attention to 5 minutes of my writing. That was the key.
I sat in my hotel room for an hour, practicing a passage from my short story, Coal Black Water. A particular river scene that involved a girl falling into her own mother’s intestines.
I arrived at the room, unprepared for the actual problem associated with the contest itself - the judges. They were Richard Laymon, Ed Lee, John Pelan, and Jack Ketchum. I knew I could impress a bunch of random people, but those people? Heck no. They were real writers. I wasn’t. And I was a girl. There were about 50 people in that audience at the time, and all of them were men. I clutched my liquid courage (read = martini) and signed my name to the list.
When I got up to read, people began to laugh at the seriously awful parts - the serious areas of disgustingness that is mean to revolt you in the plot of the story itself…and the judges behind me were wincing audibly (yep, audibly). This is going well, I thought. I later learned that if they didn’t laugh, they’d throw up…and I’d much rather have them laugh. In those days there were no props, no fancy costumes, nothing but the story you were telling. It was all I had to prove I could write.
I won second place. Ed Lee proudly bestowed a cricket licket and several packages of Lar-vettes (Cheddar cheese flavor) upon me. After it was all over, Richard Laymon walked up to me and shook my hand, and said, “That was the most poetic piece of viscera I’ve ever heard. We should keep in touch.” Jack Ketchum, Ed Lee, and John Pelan, as well as Dick all became my greatest cheerleaders over the years since then… Dick offered me an opportunity to be in one of his anthologies that only had two slots available for new blood - myself, and Geoff Cooper. “Just make it dark,” he said. And we did. Somehow the work was worthy because we got in.
I’ve had countless opportunities from John, whether or not the anthologies happened or no, and he still remembers a Lovecraftian bent I did on a historical story that he’s always reminding me to finish up as a novel. Jack Ketchum is one of my dearest friends - we bounce poetry off one another all the time. Ed Lee has given me his seafood recipes. We all have a tremendous amount of respect for one another.
None of this would have happened (or at least not so quickly, I wager) without the Gross Out Contest in 1998. Sure, I would have pursued my goal regardless, but the connections and friends I made as a result not only helped launch my career as a serious writer, but gave me the encouragement I needed to take no prisoners and write. And finish writing. And sell the writing. And write some more. Not to mention, I vowed to attend that convention every year after that, and I did…up until now.
I was very excited when it was announced that the convention would be held in Toronto, a city I’ve always wanted to see, and finally…finally it would be out side of the US.
Brian Keene asked me if I would consider co-hosting the Gross Out Contest with him, and having had such a blast doing it last year, I excitedly agreed. It was his doll and pony show, of course, and I was just along for the ride - but Brian gets it, and we both knew we could strive to top last year’s pinnacle of success (thank-you again, Bill Mosely, for your poignant reading from Goon).
Having been to countless WHC’s in the past, I simply did what 70% of the writers who are like me (broke) do - I committed to be there, but waited to buy my plane ticket, and the membership. Worst case scenario is always paying extra to buy your membership at the door - but you always commit yourself ahead of time to the programming, so people can count on you being there. No one I have ever known (save a person with severe medical reasons) commits to the programming and then bails on the convention. No one. It’s just not done.
I have had a lot on my plate. I even forgot the convention wasn’t in April or May, when it usually is - and realized it was actually at the end of March rather abruptly last week. I was busy looking up flights, hadn’t registered yet, nor even checked with Cemetery Dance to see if Barfodder would be out in time to promote at the convention - which would be the second reason for going. The first being my commitment to co-host the Gross Out Contest with Brian. A quick ping to Rich Chizmar, and he said he’d let me know. It seemed like all my ducks were in a row.
Then I began receiving frantic emails from various convention goers about the Gross Out Contest being cancelled. It was posted over at Shocklines, as well as mentioned in a number of blogs I read. I fired off an email to Brian, but it bounced. I am one of those rare folks who actually can’t access myspace at the office, because it redirects to hotjobs (as in, if you are looking at myspace at work, you should be looking for a new job), so I couldn’t email him via myspace either. I saw two message notifications from him and the titles were clear: The Gross Out had been cancelled.
Then the official reports and reasons became clear. Apparently, if you are not registered for the convention, you cannot sign up to be a part of the contest. If you don’t sign up prior to the con, you can’t be in the contest. That means that if you register for the convention at the door you can’t be in the contest. I further found out that if you hadn’t registered already (deadlines have past) you could not participate in the programming at all. The programming never even gets finalized until a week before the convention. Right about now, I’d be getting an email from a list passed on from convention hosters past to the new hosts, of a long list of emails of past participants in programming. OR I’d have gotten several mailings (snail mail) to remind folks that a) the deadlines were approaching and b) we know you’ll want to email us if you want to participate in programming regardless of if you have gotten your membership or not and c) general interest in the events they have planned…
I now realize I’ve received none of these things. I also realized that even if I had gone ahead and registered at the door, I wouldn’t have been able to even co-host with Brian-something that’s been planned for a year-because I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in the programming as penalty for paying at the door. So I’d have to pay MORE to get in to a convention I couldn’t promote my work at, participate in the programming at, or honor a commitment to co-host an event at.
Right about now I’m mumbling fuck you, assholes under my breath. I have yet to hear from CD on whether I’ll have the galleys this month, or if the book will be out in time for the convention. Even if it will be, I won’t be there. Why bother? I won’t be able to promote it. I won’t be able to read to my fans from it. I won’t be able to discuss random and sometimes ridiculous or riveting panel topics with fellow panelists because I won’t be ALLOWED on a goddamn panel. All this, because I haven’t registered yet, or would wind up paying at the door.
Due to the lack of people that are actually registered in this new and proper and WHC07 way, which is completely different from every year past, there aren’t enough judges who are able to participate because they are blocked from the programming participation. There aren’t enough contestants because they can’t afford to buy their memberships until they get to the door, and that’s against the convention’s rules for participation in the Gross Out. I can’t even co-host it because I can’t participate! So Brian’s decision to cancel the contest is fully justified. And I wouldn’t go to WHC07 in Toronto if they paid my airfare, hotel, AND membership fee.
Oh yeah, and wtf is up with not having a poet guest of honor? Wtf is up with choosing a hotel that is more expensive than most of the US hotels have been for convention rate? WTF is up with not being able to participate in the programming if you pay at the door even if you contact programming organizers in advance as has always been the case in years past, and who stopped considering most people who attend the convention are actually coming from the US, and flights to Toronto are NOT CHEAP, so a lot of folks will wait for last minute fare sales to book?
Alright. Maybe saying fuck you, assholes was a bit harsh, and ridiculously Scorpio of me. This was not directed at any one committee member or planner or what have you. I don’t even know who’s on the darn committee, and at this point I don’t care - whoever made these decisions did not think them through.
I’m not telling you all to boycott the convention. I am telling you, that I’m boycotting it. It’s no longer the convention that makes it easy for writers, editors, and publishers to connect. It’s now the convention that makes it impossible to attend and participate in.
The demise of the tradition of the Annual Gross Out Contest saddens me greatly, because I know there are new writers out there, just like I was back in 98 that just need to get a little exposure, or have a little fun, or break the ice a little, in order to get their business done. Or 100 fans and peers who just want to cheer them on and laugh their heads off.
In short, The Dick would not be pleased.
I welcome your comments. I have heard there is a strong alienation of small press authors, as well. Given I don't know the skinny on that one, I won't speculate. I'll keep to what I know.
The very first story I ever wrote that I sent out, I sold at a pro rate. David N. Wilson pushed me to do so, and I figured hey-if it made me money the first time-it might make me money again. Since I *had* to spew creatively, and creativity rarely makes any sort of artist working an artform (music, writing, painting, whatever) any kind of dough to live on, I had a keen sense that I could make this a business. And I have.
But it all started with that World Horror Convention in 1998, which I was convinced to go to by Alan Beatts and jlassen, with the assurance it would help me make those connections and actually get people to read my stuff.
I had trouble connecting with the predominantly male attendance. I think I may have been one of the 10% of females there, and of that 10%...maybe 3% were actual writers, and not the wives of writers. I was introduced to several publishers and editors, and like any foolish newby writer I even had manuscripts in hand - but of course, this was not going to work. I couldn’t hand them to them and be taken seriously. No, you must submit the old fashioned way. But how would I get them to remember me, the little guppy, in a sea of sharks?
I vaguely recall a ruckus at a party in one of the rooms, where a bunch of writers were doing stupid human tricks. “I have one,” I piped up, and to the shock and amazement of all watching…I did (what has become known as) The Trachea Trick. This so disturbed people, that it made Ed Lee giddy like a small school boy who’s had too much chocolate, and he led me around the room, out to the balcony, showing each and every person my carnival freak act. Jack Ketchum was discussing pigeons at the time, and this so alarmed him that he (and he never is) became speechless.
So far, the only name I’d made for myself was that random party chick that could wiggle her trachea.
I began delving into the program book. I noticed a large block of time reserved for The Annual Gross Out Contest. The caption read: Contestants will sign up on site, and read 5 minutes of their most visceral work to a panel of judges and an audience. Prizes will be awarded. Bingo! I thought…this is my chance. I didn’t think I had anything particularly visceral on me, and I’d never done a public reading, but even if I sucked…even if the story sucked, they’d still remember my name. They’d be forced to pay attention to 5 minutes of my writing. That was the key.
I sat in my hotel room for an hour, practicing a passage from my short story, Coal Black Water. A particular river scene that involved a girl falling into her own mother’s intestines.
I arrived at the room, unprepared for the actual problem associated with the contest itself - the judges. They were Richard Laymon, Ed Lee, John Pelan, and Jack Ketchum. I knew I could impress a bunch of random people, but those people? Heck no. They were real writers. I wasn’t. And I was a girl. There were about 50 people in that audience at the time, and all of them were men. I clutched my liquid courage (read = martini) and signed my name to the list.
When I got up to read, people began to laugh at the seriously awful parts - the serious areas of disgustingness that is mean to revolt you in the plot of the story itself…and the judges behind me were wincing audibly (yep, audibly). This is going well, I thought. I later learned that if they didn’t laugh, they’d throw up…and I’d much rather have them laugh. In those days there were no props, no fancy costumes, nothing but the story you were telling. It was all I had to prove I could write.
I won second place. Ed Lee proudly bestowed a cricket licket and several packages of Lar-vettes (Cheddar cheese flavor) upon me. After it was all over, Richard Laymon walked up to me and shook my hand, and said, “That was the most poetic piece of viscera I’ve ever heard. We should keep in touch.” Jack Ketchum, Ed Lee, and John Pelan, as well as Dick all became my greatest cheerleaders over the years since then… Dick offered me an opportunity to be in one of his anthologies that only had two slots available for new blood - myself, and Geoff Cooper. “Just make it dark,” he said. And we did. Somehow the work was worthy because we got in.
I’ve had countless opportunities from John, whether or not the anthologies happened or no, and he still remembers a Lovecraftian bent I did on a historical story that he’s always reminding me to finish up as a novel. Jack Ketchum is one of my dearest friends - we bounce poetry off one another all the time. Ed Lee has given me his seafood recipes. We all have a tremendous amount of respect for one another.
None of this would have happened (or at least not so quickly, I wager) without the Gross Out Contest in 1998. Sure, I would have pursued my goal regardless, but the connections and friends I made as a result not only helped launch my career as a serious writer, but gave me the encouragement I needed to take no prisoners and write. And finish writing. And sell the writing. And write some more. Not to mention, I vowed to attend that convention every year after that, and I did…up until now.
I was very excited when it was announced that the convention would be held in Toronto, a city I’ve always wanted to see, and finally…finally it would be out side of the US.
Brian Keene asked me if I would consider co-hosting the Gross Out Contest with him, and having had such a blast doing it last year, I excitedly agreed. It was his doll and pony show, of course, and I was just along for the ride - but Brian gets it, and we both knew we could strive to top last year’s pinnacle of success (thank-you again, Bill Mosely, for your poignant reading from Goon).
Having been to countless WHC’s in the past, I simply did what 70% of the writers who are like me (broke) do - I committed to be there, but waited to buy my plane ticket, and the membership. Worst case scenario is always paying extra to buy your membership at the door - but you always commit yourself ahead of time to the programming, so people can count on you being there. No one I have ever known (save a person with severe medical reasons) commits to the programming and then bails on the convention. No one. It’s just not done.
I have had a lot on my plate. I even forgot the convention wasn’t in April or May, when it usually is - and realized it was actually at the end of March rather abruptly last week. I was busy looking up flights, hadn’t registered yet, nor even checked with Cemetery Dance to see if Barfodder would be out in time to promote at the convention - which would be the second reason for going. The first being my commitment to co-host the Gross Out Contest with Brian. A quick ping to Rich Chizmar, and he said he’d let me know. It seemed like all my ducks were in a row.
Then I began receiving frantic emails from various convention goers about the Gross Out Contest being cancelled. It was posted over at Shocklines, as well as mentioned in a number of blogs I read. I fired off an email to Brian, but it bounced. I am one of those rare folks who actually can’t access myspace at the office, because it redirects to hotjobs (as in, if you are looking at myspace at work, you should be looking for a new job), so I couldn’t email him via myspace either. I saw two message notifications from him and the titles were clear: The Gross Out had been cancelled.
Then the official reports and reasons became clear. Apparently, if you are not registered for the convention, you cannot sign up to be a part of the contest. If you don’t sign up prior to the con, you can’t be in the contest. That means that if you register for the convention at the door you can’t be in the contest. I further found out that if you hadn’t registered already (deadlines have past) you could not participate in the programming at all. The programming never even gets finalized until a week before the convention. Right about now, I’d be getting an email from a list passed on from convention hosters past to the new hosts, of a long list of emails of past participants in programming. OR I’d have gotten several mailings (snail mail) to remind folks that a) the deadlines were approaching and b) we know you’ll want to email us if you want to participate in programming regardless of if you have gotten your membership or not and c) general interest in the events they have planned…
I now realize I’ve received none of these things. I also realized that even if I had gone ahead and registered at the door, I wouldn’t have been able to even co-host with Brian-something that’s been planned for a year-because I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in the programming as penalty for paying at the door. So I’d have to pay MORE to get in to a convention I couldn’t promote my work at, participate in the programming at, or honor a commitment to co-host an event at.
Right about now I’m mumbling fuck you, assholes under my breath. I have yet to hear from CD on whether I’ll have the galleys this month, or if the book will be out in time for the convention. Even if it will be, I won’t be there. Why bother? I won’t be able to promote it. I won’t be able to read to my fans from it. I won’t be able to discuss random and sometimes ridiculous or riveting panel topics with fellow panelists because I won’t be ALLOWED on a goddamn panel. All this, because I haven’t registered yet, or would wind up paying at the door.
Due to the lack of people that are actually registered in this new and proper and WHC07 way, which is completely different from every year past, there aren’t enough judges who are able to participate because they are blocked from the programming participation. There aren’t enough contestants because they can’t afford to buy their memberships until they get to the door, and that’s against the convention’s rules for participation in the Gross Out. I can’t even co-host it because I can’t participate! So Brian’s decision to cancel the contest is fully justified. And I wouldn’t go to WHC07 in Toronto if they paid my airfare, hotel, AND membership fee.
Oh yeah, and wtf is up with not having a poet guest of honor? Wtf is up with choosing a hotel that is more expensive than most of the US hotels have been for convention rate? WTF is up with not being able to participate in the programming if you pay at the door even if you contact programming organizers in advance as has always been the case in years past, and who stopped considering most people who attend the convention are actually coming from the US, and flights to Toronto are NOT CHEAP, so a lot of folks will wait for last minute fare sales to book?
Alright. Maybe saying fuck you, assholes was a bit harsh, and ridiculously Scorpio of me. This was not directed at any one committee member or planner or what have you. I don’t even know who’s on the darn committee, and at this point I don’t care - whoever made these decisions did not think them through.
I’m not telling you all to boycott the convention. I am telling you, that I’m boycotting it. It’s no longer the convention that makes it easy for writers, editors, and publishers to connect. It’s now the convention that makes it impossible to attend and participate in.
The demise of the tradition of the Annual Gross Out Contest saddens me greatly, because I know there are new writers out there, just like I was back in 98 that just need to get a little exposure, or have a little fun, or break the ice a little, in order to get their business done. Or 100 fans and peers who just want to cheer them on and laugh their heads off.
In short, The Dick would not be pleased.
I welcome your comments. I have heard there is a strong alienation of small press authors, as well. Given I don't know the skinny on that one, I won't speculate. I'll keep to what I know.