I spent this past weekend at San Diego Comic Con with my agent and five of my delightful agent-mates, and it was spectacularly weird and awesome. I freely admit that I expected it not to be my thing—after all, I know nothing about comics and have probably never read a comic book in my life. But it turns out that like Walt Whitman, Comic Con contains multitudes. There were the TV people and the movie people and the makeup people and, most importantly, the book people. I fit in just fine.
Here are some of the things I experienced this weekend:
1) Some of the people I was with really wanted to go to the Twilight panel, so I submitted and stood in the extremely long line with them. After a little while, the fabulous Myra McEntire and I went across the street to the Hilton for a bathroom break. On our way out, we turned the wrong way and came out a side door, and Myra suddenly grabbed my arm and said, “OH MY GOD, THAT’S ROB PATTINSON OVER THERE.” And indeed it was. I had my enormous camera with me, but I am not a fan of RPatz, and I proceded to really disappoint Myra by refusing to play paparazzi and go closer to snap photos. So she took the camera and did it herself. See?
2) I wandered the exhibition floor. It was a lot like being in a crowded New York subway car, except everyone was carrying swag bags as big as their torsos and trying to move in different directions all at the same time, plus about 25% of them were wearing costumes. I heard one lady say to another, “If you’re going to wear it every year, $800 really isn’t that much for a Jedi costume.” I heard another lady shout, “That was me! With the six boobs, right? Yeah, that was me!” Then I visited the Random House booth, and one of the publicists recognized my name and said, “I heard you wrote a book about a town full of redheads. That’s not really true, it is?” Yes, Random House man. Yes it is.
A few photos from the floor:
These are not action figures—they’re life size.
3) I attended a whole bunch of panels, some more awesome than others. One of them was titled “A Wrinkle in Time” but bizarrely, nobody mentioned the book even once. I am still confused. (Mostly, that panel consisted of Orson Scott Card and David Brin yelling at each other about whether the United States is experiencing a Renaissance or is headed into a Dark Age.) I got to hear Marti Noxon and Jane Espenson speak about television writing, which was too fabulous for words. I got to hear Alison Brie rap for about ten seconds. I got to see Martin Starr spend his whole panel taking iPhone photos of his fellow panelists. I got to hear a whole slew of wonderful young adult authors talk about books and writing and life and general excellence. (Thank you for your awesomeness, Leigh Bardugo, Myra McEntire, Rae Carson, Melina Marchetta, Scott Westerfeld, Tahareh Mafi, James Dashner, Lish McBride, and Kami Garcia.) I got to see the fabulous Stephanie Perkins moderate a panel on paranormal romance, where an audience member asked the most sexist question in the world. And most importantly, I got to hear James Marsters (SPIKE!) and Nicholas Brendan (XANDER!) talk about Buffy. Proof is below. Then there was a Buffy sing-along and I nearly died of joy.
4) Speaking of Buffy, I was walking home from a panel with my agent and her husband on Friday when we PASSED JOSS WHEDON ON THE STREET. All of us just sort of fell silent and smiled, and he smiled back, and we all kept walking. And then we promptly freaked out as soon as he was out of earshot. We probably should have said something, but honestly, I can’t imagine what I possibly could have said to Joss Whedon. Also, Seth Green (OZ!) ate dinner at the table next to us, and I may have shrieked out loud like a really embarrassing fangirl when I saw him.
5) I got to hang out with my glorious agent-mates. Behold the awesomeness:
I bet you’re tired of reading text now. So here are a whole bunch more pictures of weird stuff. Enjoy.