Well, here I am, one week back from the big convention in Charlotte, North Carolina.

It was an interesting show. . .

The show has been running successfully for a number of years now; it is not huge or loud or anything like that, but it is a significant event nonetheless.  -And surprisingly pleasant.

Shelton, the convention organizer met Tara, Greg and I at the airport, greeting us with handshakes and a warm smile, and chatting with us for bit before going off in search of Harlan Ellison, who he'd flown in as one of the headline guests of the event.  (And who, he confided in us, he was not anxious to leave waiting.)  A nice greeting early on is one of the best signs that a show will be have a good feel.  And this one did.  -One point of interest which made me smile was that when the end of the show's first day rolled around, I didn't have to grimace.

After having exhibited at many different comic book conventions, I've become used to hearing announcements over the public address system which go something like this. . .

"The show is now closing!  All attendees must leave the convention at once!  The dogs will be released in ten minutes!"

As some of you I am sure know, this actually happens at certain shows.

-Of course, it doesn't happen quite the way my imagination envisioned it the first time I heard such an announcement.  (I always picture rabid dogs running freely around the convention floor, snarling and lunging after stragglers.)  What actually happens is that security staff appear with leashed hounds to patrol the convention floor during the night.  -Which is fine; it gives the exhibitors a reason to feel secure about leaving all their expensive wares alone until the next morning of the show.  But I must say that I do prefer not to be threatened with dogs when I purchase display space at a comic book convention.

At Hero's Con it was different; conventioneers were saluted with the cheery announcement at the close of the first day, politely asking everybody to make their way to the exits so that the exhibitors could have a chance to close up shop.  -We were then all bid a good night's rest, and the hope to see us all bright and early the following morning.

That sort of thing isn't a big deal, but it makes a difference in my mind.  And it set the general flavor of the weekend;  I met some fine people, made some new contacts, and left the three day affair feeling perfectly relaxed and awake.  I almost never leave shows like that.

Getting to Charlotte was another issue altogether, though.  -At least for my friend, Greg Beetham, the artist of Xeno's Arrow.

Having had nearly no sleep the night before our flight in from Canada, he showed up at the airport with his beard in a friz, his green jacket crumpled, and dark sunglasses on his tired eyes. The resulting effect conjured about him the unfortunate and remarkably evocative appearance a South American arms dealer might have if portrayed by a Hollywood film producer.  Greg then had the further misfortune of fumbling on his way through customs;  When asked by the officials if he had anything to declare, he shook his head and told them, "Nah.  I shipped it all there three days ago."

Greg was promptly locked in a small white room with no windows and a H.A.L. 2000 camera pointed at him with a small sign beneath it informing him that his conversations were being recorded.  They grilled him for 45 minutes, and after determining that he was not selling drugs or arms or heaven knows what else, and that he was probably nothing more than a harmless comic book artist, they let him go with a stiff warning to never do it again.

After this little side-track, Tara, Greg and I found our senses heightened to the announcements airing every five minutes throughout the Charlotte airport, directing travelers to not let their luggage out of their control for even a moment, to not agree to carry luggage from strangers, and to immediately report any suspicious behavior to airport authorities.

I've never heard messages like that in Canadian airports, and upon later reflection, it occurred to me that the U.S. had been dropping bombs on somebody else's country recently, had armed troops in who knows how many other parts of the globe, and had earned more than enough enemies world-wide to easily create the kind of national paranoia required to put all their airports on 'Yellow Alert'.

I won't bother making any judgmental comments on this state of affairs, but I will say that I found the whole police-state veneer rather eerie.

Anyway, Greg was not convicted of arms dealing, and the three acting members of the Wayward Tour chalked up our whole experience as being a rather successful convention.

Our next stop is San Diego!  (Now there's a show which promises to be crazy!  I hope we all get a good night's sleep before that monster starts!)

That's all for now.
 

Take care!
 

Mark