Matthew Wayne Selznick

The last two days of the convention brought me some very good moments.

First, I took it very easy on Saturday. Attended two panels in the morning, then cleared my schedule in favor of running errands with Evo for that evening’s party, then hanging out with Jack Mangan and Christiana Ellis until it was time to have the last party of the week.

Let me back up a bit, first…

I complained and whined in my last post about how the publishers and, to a lesser degree, editors in science fiction have a close-minded view of podcasting, e-books, and new media in general when it comes to the future of distribution. Saturday morning, I met an editor who helped erase all my cynicism.

When asked about the future of publishing, Pyr editorial director Lou Anders held up his cell phone and (paraphrasing) said, “This, or whatever they’ll call this in five years.” He talked about kids being able to text faster than they can type, and how media and mobility are converging.

This is exactly what I’ve been evangelizing. I thanked him for being the only editor I’d heard all week who had half an eye on the future. So that was cool.

The party in the Podiobooks / Escape Pod suite was good fun Saturday night. I ditched the Hugo Awards in favor of being with my friends and having good conversations, and that was the right choice.

Then, Sunday morning. Breakfast with the gang, then Steve Eley’s last panel, some wandering around the vendor tables, and farewells. I had to dash to see Ray Bradbury speak.

So, so, so glad I did.

Ray was about a half hour late (during which time we were treated to a lengthy film following the progress of a very complicated Rube Goldberg device) and arrived in a wheelchair. I know he’s had at least two strokes in the last few years, and he’ll be eighty-six today, so there’s obviously some slack to be cut, here. I’m glad the guy is still among us, period.

He was articulate and careful with his speech, and, even with the microphone, had strength in his voice. We stood and applauded for him, a long time.

He presented a talk that explored the connections in his life that led to his writing. He talked about Forrest Ackerman lending him money to attend one of the first (the first?) science fiction gathering in New York, right before World War II, and how many connections that led to. It struck me as wonderful and amazing that these two men who have been friends for the better part of a century are still alive, and still friends. He talked about Chaz Addams doing the art for a short story, and how the two always wanted to collaborate and never did. Just the same, Addams expanded on the characters in that illustration… and hence came the Addams Family.

He related the story of Mister Electrico. I’m not going to relate the whole thing here — try Sam Weller’s “The Bradbury Chronicles”– but essentially, it’s the story of how Ray Bradbury was literally charged with a sense of wonder and a love of the fantastic one Sunday afternoon, thanks to a carnival side-show character who, the day before, had touched him on the nose with an electrified sword and demanded the young man live forever.

Man, it chokes me up right now, thinking about it, thinking about Ray telling the story, the power in his voice when he repeated those words… watching a man who is four years short of his ninetieth birthday, crippled in body but still twelve years old in mind, tell the story of how his life began. He started writing his first story the very next day.

It was astonishingly moving.

“He said, ‘Live forever!’” Ray bellowed the words, an invisible electric sword held out in his hand. I was the first person in the auditorium on my feet, slamming my hands together as hard as I could, and the last person to sit down.

Bradbury’s talk focused on how love — love of John Huston, love of Forry Ackerman and Robert Heinlein, love of Lon Chaney and King Kong, love of Edgar Rice Burroughs — how love led to connections, and opportunities, and success and fulfillment. After a week building relationships, discovering friendships, and experiencing a tiny community within the larger convention, it was the perfect message to close the convention for me. It wasn’t the end of the day for WorldCon, but it was for me.

Happy birthday, Ray — and thanks for the present on Sunday: reminding me that community, friendship, and passion matter more than anything. They say the Golden Age of Science Fiction is twelve years old. If I can keep that twelve year old boy alive in me until I’m pushing ninety, well, that’ll be something, indeed.

So now I’m home. Caught a cold — “con crud,” they call it — and so feel a little under the weather. Slept most of today. Tomorrow, back to the keyboard, and Light of the Outsider, and the rest of my career!

Good times.