Capricon 38
Westin Chicago North Shore Hotel, Wheeling, IL
February 15 to 18, 2018

In an interview with the Capricon newsletter, Goat Droppings, Dave McCarthy, the fan guest of honor, spoke of Capricon as a family reunion. Well, yes, if your family has about a thousand members of different ages and interests, all of them, like Dave, intent on having a good time – which as far as I can tell, we all did.

This year’s convention theme, “Expanding Universes,” referred to the way written works, television shows, movies, games, and new media form a creative loop with each other: hence the eight-like loopy logo for Capricon 38. Guests of honor, besides McCarty, were Timothy Zahn, author; Sarah Wilkinson, artist; Monica Valentinelli, gaming; and Matt McElroy, special guest.

Although I am tunnel-vision devoted to print, I could have spent my weekend exploring any of those other creative avenues. Plenty was on offer: panels, an always-busy gaming room, a starship bridge simulator, anime, crafts, cosplay, children’s programming, an art show, a dealer’s room, music, filk, and two floors of evening parties.

In a world growing crowded with commercially organized genre events, Capricon remains a volunteer-run “literary” (book-focused rather than media-focused) science fiction convention. Everything seemed to flow smoothly, and even the weather cooperated with no cold snaps or major snowstorms, just heavy flurries on Saturday.

I missed Thursday evening’s activities, which included panels on topics as varied as brewing alcohol, military science fiction, and a critique of Blade Runner 2049, along with an ice cream social and opening ceremonies.

Friday, February 16

Because mass transit doesn’t quite reach the Westin Hotel, my husband dropped me off on the way to work at 7:30 a.m. I consigned my suitcase, got some coffee, wandered around, met friendly people in the Green Room, got my badge, and began the busy task of attending panels and having fun.

“Working Toward Social Equity in Speculative Fiction” considered demographic changes in the US and how that is being reflected in literature: slowly and with bumps in the road, according to the panelists.

I couldn’t stay long, though, because I had to moderate a “Rapid Reading” with four other authors. The audience never outnumbered the panel, alas, but we had a fine time getting to know each other and forging friendships.

The panel “Imaginary Races Doesn’t Erase Racism,” considered what an author can or should be trying to accomplish in their writing, and panelists suggested that over-reactions and an erroneous sense of scarcity in science fiction affect the way works are received. Next I was on the panel for “Exobiology for Dummies,” moderated by the voluble Bill Higgins; I discussed how as an author I invent the biological aliens that serve my story.

I attended “Diversity Backlash,” where Dave McCarthy spoke a lot, and for good reason. He had been a Hugo administrator for several years, including 2015 when “No Award” prevailed in an unprecedented five categories. He summarized the history and said he hoped that the attempts to “game the system” and “hijack the award for political purposes” was the dying gasp of a small minority.

McCarty moderated the next panel, “Someone Is Wrong on the Internet,” a playful look at good topics to debate, good tactics, and the art of the rant. I was on the panel and suggested a few rantable topics, such as the Oxford comma or evaluating history.

By then it was late afternoon. I took some time to check into the hotel, cruise through the Art Show and Dealer’s Room, and buy a small gift for my husband. I spent the rest of the evening at a gathering called “Writers and Donuts,” hosted by Richard Chwedyk, where we noshed on donuts and discussed writing. Then I attended various parties until midnight. The festivities were still going strong, but I was tired.

Saturday, February 17

After a light breakfast in the Con Suite, I began Saturday by attending a panel on “Care and Feeding of a Debut Novelist,” since I am one, and learned I can expect my life to get much busier. “Characters That Don’t Suck” considered craft and techniques for stock, static, and dynamic characters. Then I went to an author reading. Ada Palmer told how the 18th-century novel Jacques the Fatalist by Denis Diderot affected her story-telling choices in her Terra Ignota series; the first novel, Too Like the Lightning, won a 2017 Hugo.

After lunch with a new friend, I attended the fun-sounding panel “How to Piss Off Dave McCarty.” Any question related to Hugo voting software provoked a bitter, heartfelt, entertaining rant. At “Who’s the Boss?” a panel about working on joint projects, Eric Flint offered a cold-hearted analysis of Hollywood and its sometimes sophomoric behavior. That made co-panelist Monica Valentinelli, who has had her own adventures in that realm, exclaim, “I love you so much right now!” The next panel, “Science Fiction Cover Art: A History to Modern Day,” covered a lot of ground despite loose organization, and panelists anguished over how little value was paid to art in the early years of the genre.

By then I’d been serious for too long, so I attended a concert by the a capella group Sassafras with its tight harmonies, heard some of Kingon Pop Warrior’s music and her powerful voice, and then laughed a lot at SpaceTime Theatre Troope’s improv comedy, led by Bill Roper.

After that, I wandered from party to party until 1 a.m. Again, celebrations continued after I was snug in bed.

The Best Overall Party Award, voted on by attendees and presented at Closing Ceremonies, went to Bar Fleet, hosted by the U.B.S. Abandon crew. I can attest that it lived up to Bar Fleet standards for libations and dance music, although it faced stiff competition for the title of “best.”

Sunday, February 18

I was among the five people at the start (more stumbled in over the next hour) of a 10 a.m. panel on “The Critical Eye” about how to write a review, “a creative response to a creative work.” The next panel, “The Singularity: Mechs or Shapers?” suggested that we will only identify whatever the singularity is – a disruption or AI breakthrough of some sort – after it happens.

“The Expanding Universe of Fandom” compared large commercial cons like Dragon*Con, which draws 80,000 people, comic cons, and media cons to smaller fan-run literary cons like Capricon: huge versus up close and personal. Eric Flint observed that, like fan-run cons, some of the big commercial cons had their uses for professional authors, including reaching readers. The commercial cons’ success, he said, reflected the growing popularity of genre among the general public, although some fans bemoan them: “There’s a strain in fandom that resists and almost resents the fact that it’s won.”

The Closing Ceremonies followed, but they had just begun when my husband called from the parking lot. He’d come to pick me up, and my weekend of fun with a thousand-member fan family was over. It was time to go home and rest, full of enthusiasm to read and write a lot more.

Capricon 39 will be held February 14 to 17, 2019, again at the Westin North Shore, with the theme of “Strange Beasts Arise.”

I wrote this in 2014 when I was living overseas where there were no Girl Scouts. Thin Mints, when we could somehow get them, were like money in the bank, unlike bitcoins.

Little-known fact: Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies can be used as currency among American expatriates. Technically, these Thin Mints are a community currency, an alternative form of exchange among a group with a common bond: in this case, Americans without a Girl Scout troop nearby. Cookie sales begin every February — without us. Our hearts ache.

Contrast these cookies with bitcoins, a cryptocurrency, a peer-to-peer payment system using Bitcoin software exchanges on the internet. The facts demonstrate Thin Mints’ superior value:

Bitcoins are a form of public-key cryptography involving alphanumeric strings. Thin Mints are crispy chocolate wafers dipped in a mint chocolaty coating. Chocolate covered chocolate!

Bitcoins can be stolen. We have no Thin Mints, just sweet memories and sad longing, and they can’t take that away from us.

Bitcoins have been used on the black market for illegal drugs, tax evasion, and gambling. Thin Mint profits build girls of courage, confidence, and character who make the world a better place.

Bitcoins suffer an extremely volatile exchange rate. Thin Mints, like all Girl Scout Cookies, continuously change and improve. In 2007, two 10-year-old Scouts, Madison Vorva and Rhiannon Tomtishen, began a campaign to make sure that the cookies use only sustainably produced GreenPalm-certified palm oil, protecting both human rights and rain forest habitat for the endangered orangutan; the girls won the United Nations Forest Heroes Award in 2011.

Cookies sold by brave, confident girls, real-life heroes: that’s what we miss. Keep your cryto-cash. Give us minty chocolate wafers! Please.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I took this photo of a relic of St. Valentine in Santa Maria en Cosmedin Church in Rome. I hadn’t expected such a find, and in fact there are many more similar wonders in Rome. This invites more thought about the purpose of relics, especially given my interest in the Middle Ages.

Goodness is transferable, according to the medieval theory of relics. And who doesn’t want to be good?

During the early years of Christianity, the remains of martyrs were frequently interred in church altars to lend their holiness and protection and to work miracles.

But in the Middle Ages, saintly remains, along with feathers from angel wings, griffin eggs, or slivers of the True Cross, acquired another power: they radiated a goodness force field that could forgive sins and improve souls. Everyone wanted to keep a relic near them to cut down their years in Purgatory, and collections grew in churches, monasteries, and royal chapel-museums. Frederick the Wise of Saxony, patron of Martin Luther, gathered 17,433 relics in a Wittenberg church housed in 12 galleries along the nave, where visitors could earn 128,000 years of indulgences simply by being piously present.

It seemed logical at the time. In those days, the world vibrated with spirits, magic, and divine intervention in a way that we in the 21st century may find beyond our understanding.

For example, the Black Death killed up to half the population of Europe between 1347 and 1351, a plague brought to Europe from the East by trade and spread by rats, fleas, and sneezes. At the time, some said it was punishment by God for sins, and prayer was the cure, but the College of Physicians in Paris said that the stars had battled the sun over India, drying out a great sea; the rotting fish had poisoned the air, and the poison had caused the plague. The College prescribed burning aromatic wood so its smoke would drive away the bad air.

Those were the days. The supernatural filled medieval life. Everyone knew that magical and divine signs and prophesies could come as dreams or natural phenomena, which were minutely analyzed. Statues wept and bled. A touch from a king or queen could cure diseases; so could the charm Abracadabra. A bit of blessed bread could keep away the devil and rabies. Those who couldn’t afford the rib of a saint or the horn of a unicorn could, at least, carry a rabbit’s foot.

Religious doctrines and medical science have moved far since those days.

Some churches still maintain relics because they believe them to be potential instruments for God’s miracles, but don’t expect automatic indulgences or magic just by being proximate to one. Modern science says that the bubonic plague is caused by a bacillus, and aromatherapy is not the preferred prescription.

But making fun of the past is not the point of this musing. History can teach us as much about ourselves as about others. The history of relics shows the extremes that people will go to and the things that they will believe in their search for goodness and health. And today, who doesn’t want to be healthy and good? What extremes do we take for it?

Sources:
The Original Catholic Encyclopedia: Relics
Catholic Answers: Relics

P.S. It’s also possible that St. Valentine is in Madrid, Spain, as this article by Felicity Hughes explains.

My novel Semiosis was released last week on February 6. Here are a few things I wrote about the novel and the ideas behind it. If you’re interested in reviews of the book, you can find them here at the Semiosis website.

I wrote a column about the novel for John Scalzi’s Big Idea series at his blog, Whatever, asking who is in charge of the plant where you live?

At the Tor/Forge blog, I answer the question of whether your neglected houseplants want revenge. Short answer: no. Consider the fate of the osage orange…

For Mary Robinette Kowal’s website, I share “My Favorite Bit” about Semiosis. I describe how to imagine a big scary monster.

At the Chicago Review of Books, I talk about where science fiction writers get their ideas, specifically how Semiosis started with an episode involving my houseplants, and how I developed that observation into a novel.

On an entirely different subject — that is, not the novel — at the That Was Awesome! Writers on Writing Tor blog, I discuss Ted Chiang’s “Story of Your Life” and why, as a translator, I would utterly love to translate aliens, and why personal experience has made me believe in the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis.

I’ll be signing my novel Semiosis at 7 p.m. Thursday, February 8, at Anderson’s Bookshop La Grange, 26 S. La Grange Road in Chicago’s western suburbs.

More information about the event and bookshop is here.

If that were not enough, the restaurant around the corner, forteensixteen, has offered to host an after-signing party. It will feature a cocktail inspired by the book called “Human Survival,” and draft wines and beer for $5 all night — in addition to their regular food and drink menu.

If you’re in western Chicagoland, I hope you can come! I’m already thirsty.