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I’ve had many people ask me about Taos Toolbox, the speculative fiction writer’s workshop I attended this past summer of 2010.  Here’s the scoop on what my experience was like.  Please note, however, that every year will inevitably be different, both in terms of participants, lectures, and details.

Taos Toolbox is a two-week residential workshop in the high mountains above Taos.  It is run by Walter Jon Williams, who teaches with one other writer (for my year, this was Nancy Kress, who will also be teaching in 2011).  During this time, each attendee has the chance to have two pieces critiqued.

My Taos Toolbox classmates

Pros of Taos Toolbox:

1. The shorter time (2 weeks) is easier to fit into life without massive restructuring.

2. Participants can work on either short stories OR novels.  Both lengths are addressed in lecture.  In my year, I’d say about two-thirds of the attendees presented the first section of a novel plus a synopsis for at least one of their two pieces.  However, I opted to turn in two different short stories and also received valuable feedback.  So there’s flexibility here.

3. Walter Jon Williams and Nancy Kress are both experienced writers AND teachers.  Not everyone who can write can teach, but these two certainly can.  I learned a great deal about many aspects of craft and business during my two weeks.

4. Because the two teachers are teaching together and present for each other’s lectures, that means you get two different views on many subjects.  Walter and Nancy are perfect for this because they don’t have the same writing process at all.

5. The location is gorgeous and secluded.  You really do feel like you’ve gotten away from it all.  But there was (in my year, at least) still internet and cell service, so you’re not completely cut off.

6. As with other workshops, by the end of the two weeks the group had really bonded and I now have many new wonderful writer friends.  We’re still regularly in touch both one-on-one via email and social media, and through our email list.  I see Danielle every few weeks for coffee.  We’re planning other writing and critiquing events and hang out at conventions.  We even read each other’s blogs (hi guys!)

Potential Downsides:

1. Yes, it’s a wee bit expensive.  But do remember that your fee covers the instruction and critiques from two top pros, most of your meals (except for a few dinners), and your lodging.  Personally, I felt like it was worth every penny.

2. The altitude can be a killer, so be warned.  In retrospect, I wish I had come a day earlier and slept in Albuquerque for a night to help my body adjust.

3. It’s intense and involves a lot of critiquing.  A lot. Happily I learned a lot from all the critiques, whether on my own or other people’s work.  However, if you are not comfortable receiving criticism, this might not be the workshop for you.

Format and Logistics:

Every weekday, we’d gather at 10am and usually meet until around 3 or 3:30pm, with a lunch break somewhere in the middle.  During this time, we’d listen to two lectures, one from each teacher, and go through that day’s critiques, Milford style.  Each student had a two-minute time limit on critique-giving, although Walter and Nancy could speak for as long as necessary.  We were also assigned various writing exercises.

Afterwards we’d have free time to write or critique.  Many people took advantage of the free time to go down to Taos for sundries or take hikes in the surrounding mountains.  There was also much hanging out, playing music (Rich brought his guitar), soaking in the hot tub, and movie watching.  (Walter does a plot breakdown of The Maltese Falcon that shouldn’t be missed.)  We were provided with three meals a day during the week, and everyone had their own room.

I will add that I was unsure if I was qualified enough to attend the workshop, being unpublished and never having attended other workshops in the past.  Obviously it worked out well for me, and I’d encourage you to apply if you’re interested and let Walter and Nancy decide if you’re at a level that could benefit from the instruction.

Topics of Instruction:

  • Cleaning up prose
  • Story and structure
  • Writing in scenes
  • Plotting (WJW and NK have fairly different approaches to this.)
  • Literary elements and rhetorical devices
  • Plotting elements and maintaining suspense
  • Narrative modes
  • Analysis of specific works
  • Opening Scenes
  • Writing description
  • Characterization
  • World building
  • Business and contracts
  • Commercial fiction, genre, and issues specifically relating to spec fic

I would say that overall, the greatest focus was on plot and structure (and related topics).

What I Learned:

Do I think my writing improved due to my Taos experience?  Yes, indeed.  One of my critique group members back at home even commented on the difference.  My understanding of the various elements of writing fiction has been deepened in a variety of big and subtle ways.  For example, when I arrived at Taos, I was relying on intuition and my experiences as a reader to work with plot.  It feels like I was fumbling around in the dark compared with how I think about plot now.  My awareness of some of my most pressing issues has been heightened, and I now have tools to deal with these weaknesses and to gradually improve my skills.  I’ve also become more comfortable experimenting with my writing, which I think will ultimately speed up my learning process.  Combine all of these writing lessons with the fabulous friends I made, and I think of my time at Taos as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Final Note:

If you apply to Taos Toolbox before the end of the year, Walter is offering a discount on the cost of the workshop.  So if you’re interested, consider applying early.  Walter and Nancy are accepting applications for 2011 starting on December 1.

More questions about Taos Toolbox?  Please feel free to email me or ask away in the comments.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here, have a picture:

Have a wonderful celebration today!  And don’t forget the pie.  Pie is key. 🙂

On the wall right inside my front door hangs a map of the world, stuck by a great number of little pins.  The red pins represent ME, places I’ve visited.  The black pins represent my husband.  The white pins are places we’ve been together.

Here is a close-up of Europe on this map:

Lots of red pins, huh?  I visited every place with a red pin within a five-year time span, between ages 22 and 27.  I didn’t have a salaried job, I didn’t have paid vacation.  Most of the time, I didn’t have anybody who wanted to travel with me.  I had an extremely tight budget during those years.  Consider, too, that I started my business when I was 24 and was working completely for myself before my 26th birthday.  No safety nets there, let me tell you.  So how was I able to travel to all those European countries?  (Eighteen of them, nineteen if you count the one I’ve added since that time.)

Priorities, plain and simple.  One of my highest priorities in life was to travel around Europe, and therefore I did what I had to do to make it happen.

This is probably not the last time you’re going to hear me using that word, either.  I have this theory about life, that it’s all about priorities.  Sure, people start off with different advantages and disadvantages, I’m not denying that.  And some things are literally impossible to accomplish, or at least have such a very low probability of happening that it’s almost the same thing.  For instance, I am just plain too old to enter certain professions that depend on youth or a certain current level of physical fitness (unfortunate but true fact: sometimes healing takes a really long time).

But not as many things are impossible as we think. And once we begin to contemplate the realm of the possible, everything shuffles down to priorities.  My priority was to travel in Europe, so I structured my life accordingly.  I had a very strict budget, passing up on buying stuff I really wanted like clothes and dinners out so that I could save money for travel.  I passed up regular salaried jobs for a number of reasons, but not the least among those reasons was my desire to have what I considered a reasonable amount of vacation time to allocate to travel.  I learned how to be self sufficient and more outgoing so I could travel by myself.  I took some risks.

As we get older, we often gain certain obligations: spouses, children, aging parents.  But even with these connections, which have their times of joy and their times of heartache, ultimately my life is my own.  I’m the one who’s going to look back on my lifetime with happiness or regret; I’m the one who’s going to have to live with the choices I’ve made, whether they were good or unfortunate.  Maybe, as a consequence of other choices I’ve made, I’ll have to wait and have a longer-term plan to achieve certain of my life goals.  But it’s still all about priorities.

I’m not writing this post to make you feel bad if you haven’t travelled.  Maybe you don’t even want to travel, and that’s a perfectly fair choice.  What I want to tell you is that if you really want something, whether it’s to travel or to be an artist or to achieve happiness in your own special way, think about a way to make it happen.  Strive, try, and be happy in the freedom of your choices.  And if in the process, you realize your priorities are different than you originally thought, rest easy, reset, and try again.  That’s the last great things about priorities: they can change.

 

 

Housekeeping

It’s vacation time!  Remember when I was supposed to go to the UK in August, but then the trip got cancelled?  Yeah, well, this time I’m going for real.  (Knock on wood.)

However, because I love you guys SO much, I’ve pre-written essays to be published while I’m gone. (Tuesdays and Thursdays, you may have noticed, are my posting days.)  Next Tuesday’s essay is one I’m particularly fond of, so come on by and enjoy.  I’ve enabled the auto-publicize thingie-ma-bob that should tell you via Facebook and Twitter when I’ve got something new up, or you can take a moment right now (yes, right now) to subscribe via RSS, Livejournal, or email.

I won’t be responding to comments until my return, but never fear, I will eventually get to them.  I’ll be back in time to play Q&A on my informational post on Taos Toolbox.  A slightly jetlagged Q&A, but hey.

Play nice while I’m away!

Someone Else’s Story

Today I’m going to write about someone I don’t know.  I’ve never met him and I don’t know his name.  We have a mutual friend, which is how I know about him.  For simplicity’s sake, I’ll call him Bob.

Bob is going to have heart surgery in the near future.  It’s a risky, you-might-not-survive-this sort of surgery.  I picture Bob being young-ish, in his thirties or maybe forties.  Apparently he had at least a bit of warning, so he’s been doing some of the things he’s always wanted to do: jumping out of a plane, traveling, spending time with loved ones, etc.

He wrote an e-mail to his friends to give them information on the surgery and tell them what they could do to help.  And he asked his friends for something important to him.  He asked them to go and do some of the things they had been putting off.  Go live some of your dreams, he said, and do it for me.

Every time I think of Bob and this story, I get teary-eyed.  Here is a man forced to face his mortality.  It would be completely understandable if he turned inward and focused on himself during such a difficult time.  But instead, he looks out to the people he cares about, and he puts his energy towards trying to have a positive impact on their lives.  Even if, for him, it might be the end.  He has made meaning out of his illness.  And in so doing, he has succeeded in touching lives, even lives of people he doesn’t know.  Like me.  And maybe you too.

So yes, do what Bob asks.  Go out and take advantage of the opportunities you find.  Instead of putting off, figure out how you can make a cherished dream happen.  Maybe not all of your dreams, maybe not your biggest dream, even.  Just one.  Go to a baseball game for the first time, or learn how to cook beef bourguignon, or fall in love.  Look at the stars through a telescope, or go see the Taj Mahal, or test drive a car you could never afford.  Lend yourself for an afternoon so that Bob’s meaning grows.

And then, think about how to create your own meaning.

Photo by Paul Bica

I have a family history of cancer.  My mom died of breast cancer, and her dad died of prostate cancer.  I was convinced that I would inevitably get cancer as well, and that I would probably die of it.  I knew that I must have one of those cancer genes I’d heard about that skyrocket the chances.  My doctor suggested a DNA test and I was horrified at the very idea.  More bad news?  No thanks.

Fast forward to earlier this year, when 23andme was having an incredible sale on their DNA test.  I decided to purchase one in spite of the fact that the very idea filled me with dread.  I figured the test would either tell me what I already thought I knew (aka I had some horrible cancer gene) or it would tell me I didn’t and it would be good news.  I had prepared myself so thoroughly for the worst that I could take the risk of having the test done.

I got the results a few months ago.  I don’t have any of those cancer genes.  Not only that, based on my genetics alone, I actually have a lower than average chance of ever getting breast cancer.  That’s right, lower than average.  While it’s true that there are other risk factors to account for here, my little story of doom collapsed in on itself at this news.

My story is not uncommon.  The facts we think we know are not always what is true, and the stronger the fear surrounding an issue, the more likely we are to fail to see clearly.  I’m scared of death and especially of dying young, and so it takes very little effort for me to create an entire repertoire of stories to support this possibility.  Unfortunately, these fears create visions of the world that can hold us back and cause great unhappiness.  They keep us living in some imaginary wasteland instead of enjoying the present.

Fear of failure is another one I see all the time.  “Oh, I can’t possibly write a novel.  I can’t possibly travel to a foreign country.  I can’t possibly have a happy romantic relationship with a partner who respects me.  I can’t open my own business or find a job I like.  I can’t change.”  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

I’m here, not dying young of cancer, to tell you that you can.  The scope of human potential is infinite.  Yes, you may fail.  Yes, I may die young.  I’m not willing to let that chance keep me from living now.  Are you?

How to Try to be Happy

To celebrate my birthday this year, I had a Data barbecue party.  In lieu of gifts, I asked each guest to be prepared to share some interesting knowledge with me.  They could tell me about something about which they were an expert, or something they had read recently, or go on Wikipedia and randomly pick a few facts.

The party turned out surprisingly well, and I was fascinated by the variety of data presented to me.  One friend brought some rope and taught me how to make some basic knots; another gave me a list of Amazon’s top-selling titles ranked by their readability scale; a nurse practitioner friend of mine shared strange and cool facts about the body.  The information itself was interesting, but equally interesting was the choice of subject that each of my friends made.

One of my friends talked to me about happiness.  He had been involved in a personal happiness research project over the past several months.  His gift was telling me the number one most effective technique he had found for increasing personal happiness.  (Which, by the way, ranks in top gifts received ever.  Who needs a bunch of stuff if one knows how to be happy, right?)

His discovery was very simple, and I recognized it right away as a technique I have sometimes used myself, never knowing that I had accidentally stumbled upon Knowledge.  Now this advice is permanently lodged in my head, readily accessible in case of emergency (or just general unhappiness). Ready for it?  This is what he told me to do:

Think of five things that you’re happy about.  Do this every single day.

Read it again.  Its very simplicity is what makes it so effective.  It’s not very difficult to think of five happy things.  And it doesn’t take very long.  And yet in the process of so doing, you’re restructuring the way your brain works.

Fast forward to now.  I’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately.  For starters, I’ve been really sick.  And my tooth broke.  And it just went on from there.  At a certain point, the snowball effect kicked in when the negative thoughts built on each other, and suddenly I felt negative about things I wouldn’t normally have a problem with.  I was framing the story of my life from an unhappy point of view, and I’d lost all sense of perspective.  Eventually this led to insomnia, which just served to feed the cycle further.  Rinse, wash, repeat.

Or maybe not.  Because instead I remembered my friend’s present to me.  Before bed I took a soothing hot bath and told my husband every single good thing about the past year I could possibly think of.  Not just five, but all of them.  Luckily, once I get started I’m very good at thinking of positive things.  I think this skill might be part of the reason why I’m happy a lot.  (Also because little things make me pretty happy, and after a while little things add up.)

I slept soundly that night, and the next day I felt ten times better, and therefore much more able to deal with the real challenges I was facing.  The next night, I only thought of a couple good things, but that was enough because I had spent the whole day framing my life in a more positive way.  I had believed what my friend told me at my party, but it took dramatic results for the knowledge to really sink in.

Do I think that anyone who tried this technique would get equally fast and dramatic results?  No, probably not.  I’ve spent years programming my mind to think more positively, after all.  But I do think it’s a worthwhile exercise.  People spend so much time worrying and hurting and complaining and seeing the bad side and being self-critical.  Setting aside a few minutes for happiness sounds pretty reasonable.

Have you thought of five things that make you happy yet?  Feel free to share them in the comments.  Or e-mail me and tell me about them.  Or keep them to yourself.  As long as you think them, that’s what matters.

 

I’ve talked in general about disappointment, I’ve mentioned the rigors associated with beginning to write.   Today I’d like to talk about some of the upsides of being a writer, and specifically of living the “writing life”.

What is the writing life?  The answer varies from person to person.  For some writers, it can mean getting up at 5am to write for two hours before going to work and then coming home in the evening to play with the kids.  For others, it can be working part-time and spending the extra hours writing.  Some writers are the full-time caretakers of their kids and also write.  And some writers are writing full time.

I don’t mean to romanticize the writing life or downplay any of the real difficulties involved in being a writer.  Sometimes, though, it’s good to remember the positives.  So without further ado, here are some of the side benefits of being a writer:

1. Schedule flexibility: Writing doesn’t need to happen during business hours, so this means you can squeeze it into your schedule however you please.  Sure, the squeeze might be difficult to manage at times, but it’s amazing how versatile some writers become.  You have the early 5am writer mentioned above and the late-at-night I-don’t-start-writing-til-midnight writer.  Some writers work during school hours and some write in ten minute increments around their other obligations.  There are the weekend warrior writers and the write-every-day-without-fail writers.  Ultimately, you get to decide what works for you.

2.  Working from home (or anywhere else you want): Some people don’t like working from home, but I love it.  It means I get to hang out with my dog, be surrounded by useful books and reference materials, and pop in a quick load of laundry while I work.  I also love that I can grab my laptop and work from anywhere.  The muse struck me in Maui, so I sat outside on the lanai and wrote a story.  I feel like getting out of the house, so I pop over to a local café.  Flexibility of location is a major perk.

3.  Writing community: This is one of my favorite fringe benefits.  I love writers.  Yes, I am completely biased, but the writers I’ve met have, on the whole, been intelligent, curious, and supportive.  They are my fellow dream spinners, tale tellers, and idea unfolders.  The process of narrative is about creating meaning and order from chaos, and the people engaged in such a process tend to have thought about aspects of life and the world very deeply.  Also writers often know lots of random and interesting facts, so they make great party guests.

4.  Research: Mmm, research.  A wonderful and enabling reason to go on non-fiction shopping sprees on Amazon, spend way too much time surfing the internet, or make a trip to a shiny university library.  Plus research gives you an excuse to try activities you’d never otherwise do or travel to places you wouldn’t have gone (budget allowing, of course).  Plus sometimes you learn more than you expected.

5.  Challenge: I love a good challenge.  In college, I sometimes said the reason I’d decided to study music was because it was difficult enough that it kept me continuously engaged and striving to be better.  Writing is the same way.  There’s always something new to learn, some new technique to try, some aspect of your writing that can be improved, a new story to tell.  I’m constantly able (and even encouraged) to stretch my brain and explore my capabilities further, which means I stay excited about the work.

6.  Regular Creation: I had to end with this one, which is, of course, not a side benefit but rather a main cause of becoming a writer in the first place.  One of the best parts of being a writer, in my mind, is the satisfaction that comes with writing a daily word goal or time quota, finishing that story or novel, or brainstorming a new promising idea.  The writing life ultimately revolves around—you guessed it—sitting down and writing.  And if you love the process, then it can be a rewarding life indeed.

Thinking about a benefit of the writing life that I’ve missed?  Comment and let me know.

I was flipping through the November issue of Locus a few days ago, ensconced on my couch and trying to get over an unpleasant cold, when I came across Gardener Dozois’s review of “Dream of the Arrow,” a mainstream story by Jay Lake that was in Subterranean’s Summer 2010 Issue.  Mr. Dozois says this story is:

…a story good enough to suggest that Lake’s talents may be wasted working in the genre, as he has the literary chops to make it as a significant mainstream author instead.”

Since I’ve become more educated in the field, I have grown accustomed to the speculative genre being dismissed and marginalized.  I had no idea of any such stigma before my decision to pursue writing seriously, in spite of spending nearly twenty years making a beeline to the science fiction section of any library or bookstore I happened to enter, but I’m certainly not arguing that it doesn’t exist.  Usually when I encounter such sentiments, I blink, shrug, and move on.

But I was actually shocked when I read the above quotation in Locus.  For those of you who aren’t deeply involved in the science fiction and fantasy community, Locus is the trade magazine of the field, and Mr. Dozois is a highly respected writer, editor, and anthologist in the field.  He’s won twenty Hugo awards for his work in professional editing, which should give you some idea of his stature.  And yet, even so, his comment seems to imply that genre writing is in some way not as inherently worthwhile as mainstream (aka literary) writing.

Let’s unpack this quote a little further, shall we?  If it were merely a question of suggesting that Lake might consider a career as a mainstream author due to his particular talent for it, I wouldn’t have paused.  I have no doubt Lake has the abilities to become a literary author if that’s what he wants to do (whether or not he would achieve critical acclaim for it is another question, but not one connected to his abilities as a writer).  There is also no discussion of the possible merits of Lake’s speculative novels being shelved in the general fiction shelves as have books by such crossover successes as Susanna Clarke, Isabel Allende, and Kazuo Ishiguro.

What we get instead is the idea that Lake is wasting his talents working in science fiction and fantasy, and with this idea, I must respectfully disagree.  As a reader, I want variety in my speculative fiction, and I want to read speculative books written by authors with literary chops.  I balk at the implication (perhaps unintended) that writers only work in the science fiction field because they don’t have the ability to do otherwise.  The last thing our field needs is internal ghettoization; we get enough flak from the outside.

I’m proud to be a science fiction and fantasy writer, and I don’t write in those genres because I think it’s easier.  For me personally, writing in the speculative genres is more difficult (world building, I’m looking at you).  I don’t feel the need to apologize for the kinds of stories, worlds, and structures I find interesting and compelling.

Now Lake, of course, can do whatever he wants.  An author makes the decision on what genre to write within based on any of a number of factors (financial gain, critical acclaim, artistic inspiration or satisfaction, etc.)  If Lake wishes to make the leap over into mainstream fiction, I would certainly support that decision (and really, it’s none of my business).  But if he spends his entire career writing in the speculative genres, I believe his creative contribution will be just as valuable.

Two years ago, I had no idea that science fiction and fantasy conventions existed.  I only had a vague sense of the beast known as “fandom” and I didn’t know what anyone was saying about any of the books I was or wasn’t reading.  When I imagined a writer’s life, it pretty much consisted of me in front of my computer screen typing.  And in fact, that is exactly what I did with my first novel.  I sat in front of my screen and typed.  I didn’t talk about it much, considering how all-consuming a project it was.

It wasn’t until after I completed my rough draft that I began to learn about the social side of writing.  I learned that I was supposed to attend these events called “conventions”.  And given that I had decided to throw all in on the writing dream this time around, I dutifully bought a plane ticket and headed out.  I had no idea what to expect.

A year and a half after that first convention (Wiscon 2009, for those keeping track), I pretty much do know what to expect.  And having just returned from World Fantasy and having the convention scene firmly in mind, I’m going to share what I’ve learned.

Go to panels. People will tell you they never go to panels because they’re too busy hanging out with friends in the bar.  Don’t feel bad about this.  Go to the panels that you find interesting.  You’ll probably find less of the panels interesting later on, since you’ll have already attended many of them, so take advantage of them now.  Someday you will know enough people that you too can spend the entire con at the bar.  The fact that you don’t magically know that many people after one day (or a couple of cons) doesn’t reflect negatively on you.

Corollary: when you do start spending all of your time hanging out at the bar, enjoy it to the fullest.  Sit at the bar with glee, before it too becomes old hat.

Find your people. At every convention and conference I’ve attended, I end up spending the most time with a few people who I think are the most awesome people ever.  They might be people you knew ahead of time, although they often aren’t (they’re often the people the people you knew ahead of time introduce you to, though).

Corollary: Try not to smother your people.  That’s why you’ll ideally need more than one.  This is another good reason to attend panels and readings, giving them space, and then you can catch up with them later.

Don’t be afraid to talk to people. I know, I know, if you are an introvert, this is the most painful thing ever.  But everyone else is also there to meet people, so most of them will be nice to you.  This is yet another good reason to attend the panels and readings, because then you’ll have an automatic topic for conversation if this sort of thing is hard for you.  Sometimes the best opportunities for talking come at in-between times: in the meeting room right after the panel ends, or when you’re waiting in line outside a reading that’s about to start, or when people are randomly hanging out in the halls.

Corollary: This doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be a stalking crazy-fan person.  The established authors, editors, and agents are there to work and see their colleagues whom they only get to see a few times a year.  You can talk to them, sure, but don’t be alarmed or surprised if they can’t talk for long.

Go to parties. No con experience is complete without shoving yourself into a hot, stinky party room, forever popular for the free booze and high skill level involved to actually hear a word anyone else is saying.  However, unless you absolutely cannot avoid it, don’t go alone.  This is a time to start out with your people (which is why you craftily gave them space earlier in the day while you were busy — you got it — attending panels).  Hopefully your people will introduce you to more people, or you can be especially bold and introduce yourself to more people.  This is, after all, the main purpose of parties (I know some people who would argue with me on this point, but I’m sticking to my guns).

Corollary:  Keep your expectations low: you are, after all, in a crowded noisy place where many of the people you are trying to talk to are sleep-deprived and intoxicated.    Or their feet hurt.  (This would be me.  If you’re ever talking to me at a con party, it’s almost a sure thing that my feet are killing me.)

Remember people. I wish I could tell you that you could count on others to remember you too, but the truth is, sometimes they won’t.  The onus falls on you to maintain the connection.  Most people being confronted with a smiling person saying “Oh, it’s so great to see you again!” will in fact pretend to remember you, thereby renewing the connection.  If you can help them out further by tactfully reminding them of where you’ve met before or referencing a previous conversation, all the better.  Business card exchanges can be helpful, but only if you’ve actually had a real conversation with the person.  Otherwise, they’ll just throw your card away.  Remembering names long enough to later add the person onto your social network of choice is also good (or remembering who introduced you, so you can look at their list of contacts to jog your memory).

Corollary:  People remember better when they’ve received multiple impressions of the same thing (or in this case, person).  Repeated short interactions over the course of a convention weekend can assist others in remembering you.  Also, after you attend a few conventions, you will begin to look familiar to the other regulars and they will think you’ve met even if you haven’t.  Then you can pretend to remember them instead of the other way around.

Every con is different. You’ll be in a different stage of your career, different people will be there, maybe this time you’ll know a ton more people because you just attended Clarion or joined an online workshop or whatever.  Or maybe everyone will want to talk to you because you just won a Nebula.  The trick is to be prepared to go with whatever opportunities might present themselves while remaining outwardly calm and gracious.

And there you have it, all the con-going wisdom I have gleaned in the last year and a half.  Questions?  Snark?  Completely different con experiences?   Comment and let me know.