The LASFS: A Generation or Two of Powerhouse Nerds
Ok, since I took the weekend off, I should probably update this post. As promised, the yummy details of the meeting at the Los Angeles Science Fiction/Fantasy Society (LASFS) are as follows. Grab your bibs. You’ll want to catch the drool from these tasty nerdbits.
The society was formed in 1936 in America as a safe haven for American science fiction/fantasy writers to gather and share their works. At that time, writers were being treated like grass floor mats and given less for their books than Snookie’s IQ. Seeing this as a massive ‘no bueno’, LASFS made themselves so annoyingly prominent that a law was passed to protect writers. That law still stands today. Now, little pee-on authors like myself don’t have to worry so much about being picked last for dodgeball –so to speak. A big hearty ‘thank you’ to the heavy-hitter Fantasy Gurus that made that possible.
Now that the vague history lesson is marinating in your craniums along side last night’s episode of Robot Chicken, let’s start our meal. First up is the appetizer of warm receptions for the newbies –myself and my editor, Ray Garcia. We could not have been greeted any bettter. Unless there were red carpets. And sexy cabana boys for me, with Angelina Jolie for Ray. With feathers. ANYWAY… I did not get the gift of cabana boys, nor did Ray get the pouty lips of Angelina, but the club members did bestow upon me the gift of fresh lemons from an old and beloved lemon tree shading the front door. Sadly, when LASFS moves, they will not be abl to take the tree with them, so they will attempt to grow a new one at the new site using seeds from the patron tree.
I took a seat with my little novel in hand, and listened to the meeting. At times, it reminded me of a Helena’s guild meeting with random quips thrown out from the attendees, and lots of laughter. There were some stale moments as well –as most meetings usually have. I had entered a friendly atmosphere where even a grommit like myself could throw in my measly two cents and buy a plastic bag for a quarter. (I’ll have to ask about the “And a quater!” reference next time.) As a special treat, a tasty entree of dialogue between Larry Niven (author of “Ringworld”) and Dr. Pournelle (author of “Lucifer’s Hammer”) fed the group with all sorts of grand advice, as well as reminiscences about the building and the history built up there-in beneath the massive kick-you-in-the-balls strong center beam.
After the meeting, I spent a few dollars on a purchase of “The Last Unicorn” — one of the first fantasy movies to influence me in my life. (I remember having watched that film before I could fully comprehend language.) Ray let himself be happily captured into a conversation with Dr. Pournelle. He ushered me over so that I could share in the golden fortunes from the cookies of wisdom that is Dr. Pournelle’s advice. After we parted ways, the gentleman that sold me “the Last Unicorn” said he would pass along my information to the coordinator of LOSCON –the Los Angeles Science Fiction Convention (held at the Marriot Hotel at LAX this November). This came with a supreme opportunity to possibly be on a panel at the convention. SQUEE! I will do it for free, and bring my own table if I have to. Just knowing that they may invite me as a new author to talk about the writing process and publishing punched me full in the face and broke my nose. Yet it is a good pain. To be a guest on a panel would be a dream come true. Plus it would give me an excuse to go shopping for a killer outfit.
Now for dessert. Will they read my book, you ask? Yes. Yes they will. The president of this branch of LASFS accepted the copy I had been toting around, and said she would try to get through it this week. The Itara Trilogy is my baby, and my life’s work. I am praying for a good review. Hopefully she will give said review and not tell everyone to throw cabbages at me. Although, it would be nice to make a good coleslaw out of. I’ll bring it to a potluck at the new clubhouse.
And that, my friends, is your dose of Nerdnip related to “Itara: Son of C’reseth.”