Really?

So I wrote the other day about the speech guidelines for the upcoming Hugo Awards ceremony. Quite a few people in the genre have commented about the issue, including author and critic Ian Sales, who stated:

Really, Ian? I'm an American and the Worldcon is in Britain, so I simply have to "deal" with my concerns over these speech guidelines curtailing discussions of politics in our genre?

Just so no one misunderstands, Ian later states that he is clearly referring to free speech issues:

It's nice to believe that the science fiction and fantasy genres—and indeed, all of literature—are based on the free-flow of ideas and words. But this has never been true. There are certain people and themes and motifs and beliefs we are supposed to accept without questioning if we want to be a part of the genre, and likewise certain people and views who are not supposed to be a part of genre discussions. And if you dare to raise a point which the dominant genre voices disagree with, they simply dismiss your concerns as if what you're saying couldn't possibly matter.

That's what Ian Sales is doing by saying that free speech is a US argument. He is too smart a writer and critic to be dismissing views like this, but there he is, still dismissing away.

As Damien Walter said in response to Ian's comments, this year's Hugo Award speech guidelines "seem to be about stopping an embarrassing scene" when the genre might need just such a scene because of the issues we're dealing with.

So true. Sometimes the genre needs a scene. Unfortunately, the scene many in the genre want is merely more of the same old same old.

 

Don't silence the genre at the Hugo Awards ceremony

I'm writing a bit blind here because I'm not a finalist for the Hugo Award and haven't seen the speech guidelines Worldcon is evidently sending to this year's nominees. I first heard about them from Mary Robinette Kowal on Twitter and received confirmation from other Hugo finalists that the guidelines do indeed exist.

To my knowledge no previous Worldcon has created guidelines about what the Hugo winners should say at the award ceremony. The guidelines appear to be in response to the controversies around this year's Hugo Award process and are supposed to create "a safe space for all nominees" at the ceremony.

Which is, in theory, a great ideal. After all, none of us want personal attacks and nastiness spewed from the Hugo Award stage. But the guidelines evidently also reference political views and that disturbs me.

Like many people in the genre, I have strong views about the gaming of this year's Hugo Awards. I also believe passionately about the direction our genre needs to take and dislike the political views and statements of some of this year's nominees.

But I don't want any of the winners censoring themselves at the award ceremony. I want to hear what the winners truly think about the state of today's science fiction and fantasy genre. The Hugo Award ceremony is a very prominent stage for the ideas and beliefs which shape our genre for both good and ill. I want every winner to speak truthfully about what they see in our genre today.

Does that mean attacking and vilifying people on the stage? Hell no. Does this mean I'll agree with what everyone will say when they receive their Hugo Award? Probably not.

But I want to hear their true views on our genre.

 

Is trouble brewing with the 2015 Worldcon in Spokane?

I've written before about the learning tool that is genre gossip and rumor. As Neil Gaiman wrote in his classic Sandman graphic novel series, "Only a fool listens to rumors. Only a fool ignores them."

While attending Readercon earlier this month I heard several rumors about Worldcon which disturbed me. Specifically, one person told me that Sasquan, the 2015 Worldcon in Spokane, Washington, was failing to meet its membership goals. Another person said that if I was going to purchase a supporting membership to Sasquan I should do so soon because they would be raising prices due to lagging membership numbers. A third person told me she knew of several people who weren't going to Sasquan because it's too expensive to travel and stay there.

I don't know if any of this is true. Perhaps this is merely the standard grumblings one hears a year out from every Worldcon. But as someone who is considering whether or not to attend Sasquan, I decided to do a little digging. Here's what I found.

Last month Sasquan released its first progress report and reported that—with only a year and two months to go before their Worldcon—their membership stood at 1171 for attending members and 896 for supporting members. 

Contrast this with Loncon 3, which a year and a half out stood at 1448 attending members and 716 supporting members, and nine months out stood at 3360 attending members and 579 supporting members.

Perhaps Loncon 3 isn't a good comparison for membership numbers since that Worldcon is being held outside the United States. I also checked the progress reports from Chicon 7 and LoneStarCon but their initial reports don't give exact breakdowns on purchased memberships like Loncon 3 and Sasquan do.

However, the Renovation progress report 1 states that they had 710 attending members and 312 supporting members a year and a half out from their Worldcon, which isn't that far below what Sasquan has a year and two months out. So it's possible Sasquan is simply following the standard process for membership signups for a US-based Worldcon. (If anyone has a breakdown of Worldcon registration numbers from a year out, please send them to me.)

But I also noticed something else which gave me pause—Sasquan didn't even release their first progress report until June of this year while previous Worldcons have released their first progress reports much earlier in the process. For example, LoneStarCon released two complete progress reports by the summer a year out from their Worldcon, and Chicon 7 and Renovation both released their first complete progress reports in April the year before their convention.

All of this may be making too much of nothing. I've heard for years of the declining attendance at Worldcons and this may be merely a symptom of a greater illness. But when three separate people raise a genre issue with me, it's also something which catches my attention.

A few thoughts on Readercon

I returned this weekend from a long vacation, which included a stop at the Readercon convention. I enjoyed seeing authors I've met before, including Chesya Burke, K. Tempest Bradford, David Mercurio Rivera, Nicole Cushing and Kameron Hurley. I also enjoyed meeting a number of amazing genre people for the first time, including Sheila Williams, Sofia Samatar, Ken Liu, Carrie Cuinn, Amal El-Mohtar, Sarah Pinsker, Rose Fox, Daniel José Older and last but definitely not least, Samuel R. Delany.

I will definitely try to attend Readercon again and I recommend it for anyone who loves the literary side of the genre. But I also echo Tempest's frustrations with the con, specifically the lack of Andrea Hairston’s books in the dealer room. I always look forward to purchasing books when I go to conventions and I was shocked Hairston’s books were not available.

As for certain white people at the con not being able to tell apart the various people of color, what the hell is wrong with you folks? As Tempest says:

"Here’s the thing: at cons, we are all wearing name badges. Thus, it is not at all shameful for you to look at said badge to confirm that you are, indeed, addressing the person of color you think you are. Especially if you have not ever met said person of color. It’s okay. But assuming that the Asian man standing in the room must be the Asian man you’ve heard of and asking him to sign a thing? No, people. No."

I recommend people go read Tempest's entire post. It's a must-read.

A few thoughts on art and the ageless

Note: Lately I've been thinking about both my own writing and the entire creative process. Why do we strive to tell stories? What makes a piece of art worth sharing? These thoughts caused me to dig up this essay I wrote a while back.
 

There's an art which comes while doing archaeology in the August heat of Alabama. Sweat drips off the forehead in consistent, even drops. New-dug clays hint at a decay just beyond perception. Clouds scud the sky without reference to any unseen, human horizon.

To understand the ageless importance of the arts, do archaeology with me on this bluff overlooking the Tallapoosa River. Dig a ten-foot-deep excavation pit, exposing a child buried two thousand years ago. Most of what was buried with the child is gone — clothes, food, a shell necklace that disintegrates to the barest touch of air. But even though the child's bones have decayed to mere outline, art lives here. It resides in the delicate clay cup resting between the child's right arm and ribs.

The cup is art. Barely two inches wide, the cup evokes memories of the small bowls from a Japanese tea ceremony. And instead of the earth tones of most ancient pottery, this cup glows a soft blue. What artist created such a rare, subtle dye? Who was this child to be buried with such a piece of art?

For thousands of years people lived on this bluff. Within a week nothing will remain. A rock quarry is digging up the site because there is gravel below the top soil — and gravel sells for a million dollars per square acre. There will not be time to excavate most of the site. The cup from this child's burial might become the only remnant of an entire people.

Art resides within us. Like the gravel below this bluff, art supports all our dreams and ideas. Art is archaeology, revealing truth once the surface has been removed. Everything created leaves its mark on humanity's ground — the dark outlines of births and burials; the foundations of homes and dreams long gone. Art is the search for what rests below.

Throughout human history, in every culture and time, there have been artists whose excavations went deep into human life. Poets like Emily Dickinson. Painters like Van Gogh. Their art both revealed the buried pillars of our world and became the new supports of an ever-changing world.

This cup was never alive; this child was. But the art of the cup is our connection to this child, to the child's people, and to ourselves. To all we were and all we might ever be.

Time carries off the old lands we knew as surely as a rock quarry. Art remains and builds us a new place to live. And that land will be as deep as the death mask of Tutankhamen. As solid as the plays of Shakespeare. As penetrating as the novels of Zora Neale Hurston. As visual as the photographs of William Christenberry. As quiet as the poetry of Li Bai.

And as ageless as a cup by an unknown artist, nestled in the nook of a dead child's arm.