Live from my couch: The WorldCon experience you didn’t ask for…
By: N.A. Betts
Writing is invaluable. To spin stories that stand the test of time, and echo long after we are dust, is an experience reserved for the chosen few. And yet, that sacred calling was not enough to spare me the agony of missing WorldCon.
The anguish has not subsided. FOMO is real. It’s something Special Reporter Alex Scheuermann bravely warned us about on the June 9th edition of The Porridge Report. His foresight is now my lived reality. For those still nursing wounds from the WorldCon weekend, let us commiserate together, virtually (of course), as we reconstruct the tragedy of my absence.
By mid-week, the literary elite, the schmoozers, the book bros, and the fledgling hopefuls descended upon the West Coast. I too prepared, needing to refresh my Twitter feed at speeds that would shame Addley, my non-caffeinated, feline intern. I briefly wondered where to pick up my badge, before remembering there would be no glossy lanyard. No laminated proof of existence. Just the cold blue glow of my phone screen.
Then the photos came. Dinners. Panels. Parties. Alleged friendships. Each image was a dagger. My social battery drained by events I wasn’t even attending. My mind spiraled: what great sin had I committed to deserve this exile? (Besides, of course, not buying a ticket.)
I sought solace in livestreams and second-hand summaries. One panel even froze on my laptop at precisely the moment someone was about to reveal “the secret to self-publishing success.” Another was outright inaudible, save for one attendee’s persistent throat clearing. Was this cruel fate, or simply the convention’s attempt to recreate the authentic in-person experience? We may never know.
But as the weekend dragged on, numbness gave way to clarity. Those smiles I saw online? Masks, all of them. Surely every attendee, while clinking glasses, while cheering for their favorite author, while embracing their “best online friends in the entire world”, was haunted by one thought: If only I were there.
Not “I” as in themselves. “I” as in me.
A quick poll I conducted (sample size: myself) confirmed this suspicion. Ninety-nine percent of attendees admitted that their joy was significantly diminished by my absence. One percent refused to comment, but the silence spoke volumes.
Is this narcissistic delusion? Or is it the unspoken truth of fandom? The evidence is inconclusive, but the devastation is undeniable.
And so, I must apologize. To the organizers, who surely felt their spreadsheets ring hollow without my data. To the attendees, whose autographs are now meaningless in the absence of my admiration, and to literature itself, which now faces an indelible scar: a WorldCon without me.
I vow to do better. To rise again. To one day reclaim what was lost: a lofty hotel room, fluorescent lighting, and, above all, a sorely missed badge and its myriad of colourful, trailing ribbons.
Until then, I remain…
Virtually yours,
Nick
N.A. Betts
N.A. (Nick) Betts is a Canadian author of epic fantasy with a love for timeless storytelling. A Veteran of the Canadian Armed Forces, he crafts sweeping tales of good versus evil, drawing inspiration from Tolkien and other classic works of the genre. His stories are filled with tropes such as coming of age, self-discovery, and found family, while exploring themes of physical perseverance and mental resilience.
When he’s not busy creating new worlds, Nick can be found enjoying professional wrestling, diving into stories of the unexplained, or relaxing with some good jazz. He lives just outside Edmonton, Alberta, with his wife and their two cats, Bandit and Carter.
*All Porridge Report articles are satire and should be taken with humor in mind. If offense is taken, please let us know in the comments and we will rectify.
Leave a Reply