Fun is sometimes a four-letter word.
People ask me "well, did you have fun?" a lot. After conventions, after signings, after anything that would have involved me appearing in a professional capacity. I generally smile and say I had a very nice time, but that's not always enough. Some people want to know, for sure and for certain, that I had fun. That I am riding my giddy inner parade float off to Candy Mountain, land of sweet sugary joyness, and not counting the minutes until I can take off my shoes and stop trying to interact with humans.
This is difficult for me.
Here is what I do for fun at a convention: I cruise the dealer's room, sometimes for hours, looking at things I have no intention of buying, spending too much money at the same time. I go back to my hotel room and eat M&Ms while watching cartoons on whatever kid-oriented channel the hotel includes as part of its cable package. Sometimes, when I have a few hours of downtime, I attend a concert or get someone to drive me to the nearest Target, where I buy cranberry juice and Diet Dr Pepper and more M&Ms.
Here is what I do not do for fun: everything else.
I love being a guest at conventions. It's one of my natural environments. I grew up at cons, I'm good at cons, I always have a nice time. I always have a good time. Even at the con where I had an allergic reaction so severe that I spent literally three hours in my hotel room huddled around the toilet bowl and crying, I had a good time. But I don't have much fun. Fun is not the reason I am there. Like the girls on reality shows who aren't there to make friends, I am not there to enjoy myself: I'm there to work.
When I am a guest at a con, I am there to help you have fun. I'm there to listen and speak and sign and sometimes give hugs. I'm there to hand out ribbons and admire tattoos and do whatever is asked of me, because I'm working. I am at work. My job is awesome and enjoyable and I am so, so lucky to have it; sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to have it. I wouldn't change it for anything. But every time I do something I consider "fun" (latest example: chasing lizards around the rocks at Disneyland), I am reminded that no, I am not at conventions to have fun. And that's a good thing.
I am making more fun for you.
This is difficult for me.
Here is what I do for fun at a convention: I cruise the dealer's room, sometimes for hours, looking at things I have no intention of buying, spending too much money at the same time. I go back to my hotel room and eat M&Ms while watching cartoons on whatever kid-oriented channel the hotel includes as part of its cable package. Sometimes, when I have a few hours of downtime, I attend a concert or get someone to drive me to the nearest Target, where I buy cranberry juice and Diet Dr Pepper and more M&Ms.
Here is what I do not do for fun: everything else.
I love being a guest at conventions. It's one of my natural environments. I grew up at cons, I'm good at cons, I always have a nice time. I always have a good time. Even at the con where I had an allergic reaction so severe that I spent literally three hours in my hotel room huddled around the toilet bowl and crying, I had a good time. But I don't have much fun. Fun is not the reason I am there. Like the girls on reality shows who aren't there to make friends, I am not there to enjoy myself: I'm there to work.
When I am a guest at a con, I am there to help you have fun. I'm there to listen and speak and sign and sometimes give hugs. I'm there to hand out ribbons and admire tattoos and do whatever is asked of me, because I'm working. I am at work. My job is awesome and enjoyable and I am so, so lucky to have it; sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to have it. I wouldn't change it for anything. But every time I do something I consider "fun" (latest example: chasing lizards around the rocks at Disneyland), I am reminded that no, I am not at conventions to have fun. And that's a good thing.
I am making more fun for you.