From The Department of Things-You-Should-Know-About: Crazy Bee Girl
This is probably the most wonderful story evar about an encounter with A Famous Person.
I have met a few Famous People in my time. Sometimes I was charming. Sometimes I was pathetic. When I met John Brunner, I was so much of a fangirl that he hated me for the rest of his life, even though he had actually forgotten who I was and why he hated me. (Well, OK, that's a bit of overstatement. But saying "John Brunner disliked me for the rest of his life and every time he saw me, he made a face like he smelled something bad even though he couldn't quite place me" is entirely too wordy. But I digress.)
In any case, this is a wonderful story, she tells it brilliantly, and you should all read it and enjoy it. It will put a little sparkle in your day.
And if you want to put a little more sparkle in your day: teroyks tells me in a comment to my entry "We Helped Vera" that John Scalzi really got people donating, including a publisher. So tell him he's a star, because he is.:)
And because someone will ask (and because I'm such a narcissist that I can't help injecting myself into every entry...oh, no, wait...this is my blog--or my not-a-blog--so it's actually...oh, never mind, I digress already), so I'll tell you about how John Brunner hated me for the rest of his life.
It was 1975, and I was taking Jim Gunn's summer course on Teaching Science Fiction at the University of Kansas. I can't remember if it that was the very first time the course was offered or the second, but I had just gotten my Bachelor's and this was my first course as a grad student in the M.A. program in the English Dept. We had quite a great line-up of pros coming to talk to us thanks to BYOBCon in Kansas City. I mean, imagine this: Gordon Dickson, Wilson Tucker, Robert Bloch, and Harlan Ellison--all at once, in an evening--talking to a classroom of English teachers, and me.
Later on, near the end of the course, John Brunner arrived and I almost died of excitement just knowing he was on the way. A year earlier, I had written him a fan letter telling him that Stand On Zanzibar was the best book ever written, and he had replied telling me I had made his day. So when he arrived, I was all aflutter. And I mean, aflutter. I was 21 and I was fluttering. I hung on his every word. I didn't do anything spectacularly stupid, I was just a fangirl and by the time he had finished with us, he was so happy to put me in his rear view mirror that he couldn't leave fast enough.
Fifteen years later, I was at the worldcon in the Hague, where the programming was, well, less than wonderful for many of us. I had two panels and one of them was on translation. I wasn't a translator. John Brunner was the moderator. He was less than thrilled to see me but he obviously didn't know why. What he said when I introduced myself was, "Yes, I believe we've had, uh, a few run-ins." I didn't try to remind him where we had met or tell him that it wasn't exactly a run-in.
This time, I didn't flutter and I was actually a good panelist. He felt more slightly kindly toward me after it was over but he still had a wary look in his eye, as if he weren't sure he could trust my good behaviour.
In 1993, he and his second wife were in New York City and Ellen Datlow and Keith Ferrell, who was editor-in-chief at Omni at the time, invited me to dinner with them. When John saw me sitting at the table, he looked a bit wary again--he wasn't sure I was safe--but apparently couldn't quite remember who I was or why he should be careful. I was a good dinner companion. No, really, I was. I didn't flutter. Afterwards, he and his wife left and that was the last time I ever saw him.
Now, isn't Crazy Bee Girl's story a whole lot more entertaining? Told ya.
I have met a few Famous People in my time. Sometimes I was charming. Sometimes I was pathetic. When I met John Brunner, I was so much of a fangirl that he hated me for the rest of his life, even though he had actually forgotten who I was and why he hated me. (Well, OK, that's a bit of overstatement. But saying "John Brunner disliked me for the rest of his life and every time he saw me, he made a face like he smelled something bad even though he couldn't quite place me" is entirely too wordy. But I digress.)
In any case, this is a wonderful story, she tells it brilliantly, and you should all read it and enjoy it. It will put a little sparkle in your day.
And if you want to put a little more sparkle in your day: teroyks tells me in a comment to my entry "We Helped Vera" that John Scalzi really got people donating, including a publisher. So tell him he's a star, because he is.:)
And because someone will ask (and because I'm such a narcissist that I can't help injecting myself into every entry...oh, no, wait...this is my blog--or my not-a-blog--so it's actually...oh, never mind, I digress already), so I'll tell you about how John Brunner hated me for the rest of his life.
It was 1975, and I was taking Jim Gunn's summer course on Teaching Science Fiction at the University of Kansas. I can't remember if it that was the very first time the course was offered or the second, but I had just gotten my Bachelor's and this was my first course as a grad student in the M.A. program in the English Dept. We had quite a great line-up of pros coming to talk to us thanks to BYOBCon in Kansas City. I mean, imagine this: Gordon Dickson, Wilson Tucker, Robert Bloch, and Harlan Ellison--all at once, in an evening--talking to a classroom of English teachers, and me.
Later on, near the end of the course, John Brunner arrived and I almost died of excitement just knowing he was on the way. A year earlier, I had written him a fan letter telling him that Stand On Zanzibar was the best book ever written, and he had replied telling me I had made his day. So when he arrived, I was all aflutter. And I mean, aflutter. I was 21 and I was fluttering. I hung on his every word. I didn't do anything spectacularly stupid, I was just a fangirl and by the time he had finished with us, he was so happy to put me in his rear view mirror that he couldn't leave fast enough.
Fifteen years later, I was at the worldcon in the Hague, where the programming was, well, less than wonderful for many of us. I had two panels and one of them was on translation. I wasn't a translator. John Brunner was the moderator. He was less than thrilled to see me but he obviously didn't know why. What he said when I introduced myself was, "Yes, I believe we've had, uh, a few run-ins." I didn't try to remind him where we had met or tell him that it wasn't exactly a run-in.
This time, I didn't flutter and I was actually a good panelist. He felt more slightly kindly toward me after it was over but he still had a wary look in his eye, as if he weren't sure he could trust my good behaviour.
In 1993, he and his second wife were in New York City and Ellen Datlow and Keith Ferrell, who was editor-in-chief at Omni at the time, invited me to dinner with them. When John saw me sitting at the table, he looked a bit wary again--he wasn't sure I was safe--but apparently couldn't quite remember who I was or why he should be careful. I was a good dinner companion. No, really, I was. I didn't flutter. Afterwards, he and his wife left and that was the last time I ever saw him.
Now, isn't Crazy Bee Girl's story a whole lot more entertaining? Told ya.