Every year, for the last 44 years, Memorial Day Weekend is a big deal as sci-fi, fantasy, and otherwise 'interesting' folks converge in the Central Ohio Convention Center in Columbus, Ohio. MARCON, or Multiple Alternative Reality Convention, is a gathering for fans, readers, writers, and anybody who is interested in comics, sci-fi, and fantasy. The three-day event is one of the most enjoyable I go to in a year, but it is also one of the strangest. Let the tale begin:
I step off of the bus, the stench and the chatter no longer surrounding me. I look up, see the concrete atrocity that is the convention center, and start to wander towards a door. Locked. Next door, still locked. I wander the entire half-mile length of this randomly assembled building until I reach the hotel. Finally, an open door.
I am early, as I need to register as a panelist, yet I am nowhere near being the first to arrive. Even though panels will not start for about two hours, people are all over the center and the hotel, ready to go. It is a Friday, at three in the afternoon, for god's sake, but apparently these people do not work. No, instead they prep their costumes, meet their old friends, and get ready to party — in a purely Klingon fashion, that is. I make my way though the crowd, hoping to find the green room, only to be taken aside by dozens of groups trying to recruit me. I must resist.
I finally make it to the green room, show my ID, sign in, and get a nice little badge. Looking at the table I see the first of the four con food groups, caffeine. I head over, fill up on Mountain Dew, and head out for my first panel. Tonight I am talking about time travel in fiction and reality. I am really out of place.
I sit down to the panel, surrounded by three high-level physicists and one acclaimed literary critic. Me, I am simply a student who has a passing interest in time travel and have published one story involving it. I swallow, introduce myself, and just hope nobody questions why the hell I am there. During the introduction I am asked that very question. Why does that always happen?
As the panel starts, we talk about the actual physics that make time travel possible; HOLY COW, I am really in over my head. Finally, after about 30 minutes of me sitting there staring at my hands, I am able to talk about something I know: the literary aspect of time travel. Finally I have a place in this panel, and finally I am actually contributing.
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