pool, bring along a swimsuit. (The skinny-dipping days of the 1970s and 1980s Worldcons are long gone.) If you’re entering the masquerade, make sure you pack your costume in a way that won’t break or otherwise harm it. If you plan to participate in the Regency dance (yes, every Worldcon has a Regency dance, don’t ask me why), you might bring the appropriate Regency costume.
If you’re on any medication, bring enough to see you through the convention; it’s murder trying to fill a prescription in a strange city on a weekend.
I wouldn’t bother bringing a laptop. First, there’s too much to do (and you’re paying quite a bit to do it) to waste time with your computer—and second, most of the people you want to chat with and send e-mail to are already at the con. (And most downtown hotels in major cities will charge incredibly high connect rates, measured by the minute if not the second.)
Bring any books you want autographed. This is your one chance all year to find 80% of the major authors in the field in one place, and they’re all there for your convenience. Ditto any magazines.
Bring any guide books you may have purchased. Why try committing them to memory?
If you’re into photo memories, bring your camera, or camcorder, with enough film, tape, disks, and batteries that you won’t have to go out to purchase any.
Bring cash and/or credit cards. No one in a strange city wants to cash your checks.
Above all, bring the one item I never do without, the most important single item you can bring (besides money, that is): a small blank notebook—paper or electronic, makes no difference—that fits easily into a pocket.
Why?
Well, to begin with, before leaving home you’ll write down the titles of all the books you’re looking for in the huckster’s room, as well as the dates of all the magazines, to make searching through the dealers’ room a little easier.
You’ll want to write down the room numbers of all your friends—and that could come to a cool 100 numbers right there. Impossible to remember them all.
As you find out when and where the parties are, you’ll want to write down the times and room numbers of each. That’s dozens more numbers and times.
You’ll want to write down those events that you absolutely don’t want to miss. Still more times and places.
You might also write down the addresses and phone numbers of all the restaurants you want to visit (and on a busy summer weekend in a major city, almost all the better ones, inside and outside the hotel, will require reservations.)
If you’re a hopeful writer, you’ll want to write down whatever it is you have sold, or promised to send, to which editor. Even if you’re not, it helps to write down anything you promise to send/sell/trade with other fans.
If you’re trading addresses, either street or e-mail, with new friends, you’ll want to write them down.
So be sure you bring that blank book. You’ll fill it up soon enough.
SAVING AND SPENDING MONEY
Worldcon isn’t cheap. There are a few ways—not many, but a few—of saving money. To wit:
Car pool to get there. With gas prices going through the roof, and airfares ditto, the cheapest way to get to any Worldcon (at least, any Worldcon on this continent) is to car pool.
You’ll hear stories of fans sleeping ten and twelve to a room. They are not an exaggeration, but it seems a bit excessive to me. Still, if you’re traveling on a budget, it makes sense to share a room with perhaps 2 or 3 others.
The price of an attending membership goes up every few months. The initial price is about a third of the at-the-door price. If you’re late buying your membership—and the lead time is two years—there’s a way around this. Surf the net and find someone who has an attending membership and can’t use it; it can be sold and transferred to you prior to mid-July of the year the Worldcon is held . . . after that, it has to be done at the door. (Example: someone who bought his membership early at $80 wants to sell; the price is currently $200 if you buy from the convention; you offer to split the difference, the seller agrees, you get an attending membership for $140, you save $60, the seller makes $60, and everyone’s happy.)
If you see a second-hand book or magazine you want in the hucksters’ room and it’s too expensive for your budget, make an offer. Half the time you’ll find the huckster is willing to deal.
And now a couple of proper ways to spend money:
The maid who makes up your room doesn’t work a 7-day week, so for the best service, and just to be fair, leave a buck or two on your pillow every morning when you go out for the day, rather than leaving $10 or $15 in a lump at the end of the week.
Most parties don’t want your money. But a few hospitality suites will have a bowl out with a note asking for donations. Put a couple of bucks in, or you may never be asked back.
Okay, that’s pretty much it—a way to vote for your favorite stories, books, editors, artists, movies and fanzines, and mingle with like-minded fans and writers at our grandest annual event.
Remembering Giants
There is a great Secret History of Science Fiction to be written, one that exposes all the scams, lies, dirty-dealings, illicit affairs, and the like—but while I know more than my share of it, someone else will have to write it. I prefer pleasant memories of our giants, and I thought I’d share some with you before they’re all forgotten by me and others.
* * * *
The late Robert Sheckley was my good friend, and even my collaborator in the year before his death.
Bob had an infallible way of beating Writer’s Block He set himself an absolute minimum production of 5,000 words a day. If he couldn’t think of anything else, he told me, he’d write his name 2,500 times. And on those days he was blocked, he’d sit down and force himself to start typing. And to quote him: “By the time I’d typed ‘Robert Sheckley’ 800 or 900 times, a little subconscious editor would kick in and say ‘Fuck it, as long as you’re stuck here for another 3,300 words, you might as well write a story.’”
According to Bob, it never failed.
* * * *
E. E. “Doc” Smith was the first pro I ever met at a con. Sweet man, very fond of fandom, very accessible to anyone. I always thought his greatest invention (other than the Lens and the Lensmen) was the seasonal Ploorians. Doc’s daughter, Verna Trestrail, was a good friend, and I used to see her every year at Midwestcon and Rivercon. She once remarked that she helped her dad from time to time. So I asked how, and she replied that she had invented the Ploorians.
(Verna also invented the planet where Clarissa had to function in the nude. She told me that Doc bought a gorgeous painting of it—and Mrs. Doc took one look at it and consigned it to the attic for the next 25 years.)
* * * *
I met Robert A. Heinlein only a couple of times, at the 1976 and 1977 Worldcons, so I have no personal anecdotes to tell you about him—but Theodore Sturgeon had one. There was a point in the mid-1940s where Sturgeon was played out. He couldn’t come up with any saleable stories,
