Okay, we made it to Fiddler’s Green without significant mishap. The nerves are gone, helped by a hefty dose of exhaustion. Waking at 3:30 for an early flight can take a lot of steam out of anxiety. Now there only remains the difficult task of selling myself, without the panic.
My experience so far is that the attendees are very pleasant, chatty but subdued. Many wear black as a sort of membership badge. They compare favorably with the regulars at game conventions, which I more regularly attend. The Gaiman fans have more sophisticated social skills.
This is good, in a way. It’s easier to approach them. I’ve actually opened conversations with three strangers, rather than sinking into my usual habit of letting someone else – in this case, Eileene – do the talking, and interjecting only when I have something significant to add. On the other hand, anyone more socially aware than gamers require some small talk warmup, so I’m sort of out of my depth. There’s a decidedly liberal bent here, so I’m safe using the politics as an opener. We’re still stinging from the presidential race. Last night, Neil Gaiman read a short story to us in place of the scheduled Nancy’s Boys excerpt. He introduced it as a story written for his daughter’s eighteenth birthday, a year and a half late, fuelled by election frustration. (When down in the dumps, he feels, one should make good art.)
I’m setting my schedule around the mythological events as much as possible, missing comic book topics when necessary. People sitting around me are more likely to be interested in Fairyland that way.