Still laptopping so this'll be brief. Or maybe not…
It's such an odd, not-unsatisfying sensation to feel Comic-Con drawing to a close each year. The pace of life suddenly slows like someone dialed it down and you wanna go, "No! Not yet! How about if we go for another hour?" But at the same time, you know it's got to end and by 5 PM this afternoon, everyone was ready for it and most had ended it for themselves already by going home.
At five sharp, a thunderous voice announced over the P.A. system that the hall was closed and a large cheer and ovation erupted. Were we cheering that it was over? Of course not, you silly. We were cheering that we'd done it again; that all of us, by making whatever silly contributions we made including sheer attendance, had created this extraordinary event one more time.
Last night, I spoke at a dinner celebrating the earlier days of the con and especially the life of one of its founders, the late Richard Alf. I said there that I loved those days when the total convention attendance was about what we had in the room yesterday for Quick Draw! But I also love these days. I can complain about people who stop dead in the middle of aisles to do photo-ops and videos, or about the folks with microphones who annoy the hell out of all who venture near them. I can also overlook them or write them off as a necessary downside to the tremendous creative energy in that hall.
The number one complaint that gets voiced to me, though no one ever phrases it this way, is that there's too much good stuff and you can't do it all. You can't get into everything you want to see. You can't navigate the entire hall. You can't find everything or everyone you want to find.
I am well aware that as a guest-of-honor and the moderator of umpteen panels per year, my convention experience is not like everyone else's…but that's almost the point. No one's convention experience is quite like anyone else's and if yours wasn't tailor-made for you, you may just need to do a better job of tailoring next time.
There was a time years ago when I did not realize this and I could feel my enthusiasm for the con atrophying. I learned to reconfigure my attitude about the event and to stop doing things just because I felt I was supposed to do them. In my case, the errors included viewing the con as a tool to aid my career rather than to vacation from it,
sitting behind a table for long stretches to sign things I'd worked on and wandering the hall every single minute I wasn't parked somewhere for a "signing." One of the reasons I do all them panels is because I want to be there but to have something to actually do.
But that's just me. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's just me.
An attendee came up to me as I was hiking from Panel #14 to Panel #15. It was his first convention. Not just his first Comic-Con International. His first convention, period. He was having a great time, he said, and he asked me if cons were all like this. I said no. Most have their merits but only this one is like this one.
What's more: At that very moment, tens of thousands of people on the premises were experiencing completely different conventions — ones that would bore him or me — and each was having a totally distinctive Very Good Time. I think what I enjoy best about the con is just being around so many people who are so damned happy to be there. I hope you were one of them this year…and if not, that you'll be one soon.