Editorial
Blogging the Nebulas

Homecoming

As I sit in the Phoenix airport, ready to leave the Nebulas behind, other faces and voices come to mind.

Talking with: Paul Witcover about the difficulties of marketing fiction; Alan Rodgers about the good old days when we'd hang out at World Horror Cons and compete to eat as many ribs as humanly possible; Rick Bowes on the symbolic meaning of orchid placement: Sarah and Dan Hoyt and Alan and Rebecca Lickiss about how we'd really like the publishers to pay us after they publish our stories: Barney Dannelke about a killer anthology idea he's trying to sell; Margo Lanagan about why Australian young-adult books seem to be so much darker than American ones (or so it seems to me); and more, many more.

But there are others with whom I've had great conversations in the past, but just didn't get to catch up with this time around. For example, I didn't get to talk to Kelly Link or Gavin Grant until I was already heading for the hotel shuttle bus.

There were so many people worth talking to here, and so little time. Science fiction is like that, but then—so is life.

One last anecdote: While talking into the wee hours of the night after the banquet with Mark Kelly, we touched on our own Nebulas past. I realized that I began attending them much later than I could have, because for some unexplained reason I believed them to be open only to nominees and guests. But you don't have to be a nominee, a SFWA member or even a writer or editor to attend. All are welcome. So when next year's Nebulas roll around in New York, whoever you are, if you have any interest at all in science fiction, please come.

Because if you blog, I may not have to.
—Scott Edelman, Sunday, at 2:00 p.m.The Harlan Show

So … after hearing his praises sung by Connie, Richard and Neil, Harlan took the stage to a standing ovation. He raised the Grand Master trophy over his head, displaying it much the way a prizefighter would the heavyweight belt. Once the applause died down, he was, surprisingly, momentarily speechless, but he quickly recovered, and spoke of how, as a writer, he had long ago learned to find the telling detail of character.

He’d realized that ages ago, when interviewing Steve McQueen, who was the actor I hinted at yesterday who gave Harlan the nickname of "Huckleberry." McQueen had driven Harlan four miles into the high desert in a dune buggy that broke down and stranded them. While walking back through the blistering desert, Harlan collapsed of heat stroke, and McQueen carried him on his shoulders for the last two miles. Harlan felt that was the instant that showed the man’s true soul, regardless of whatever else the actor had done in his life.

He shared other less gentlemanly incidents that told tellingly of the characters of people he knew, and how he’d come to realize, as he debated whether he even wanted to accept an award from an organization with which he has had such a contentious history, that he had seen a telling detail of character of his own. He had seen a pettiness in himself, and recoiled from it, and wanted to try to move forward at this stage in his life following the rule: Don’t be petty.

And so he came here to thank those who loved him and honor those who had come before him as Grand Master, his friends such as Isaac Asimov and Alfie Bester.

He suggested other writers whom he felt should have received the award long before him—such as Thomas Disch, Barry Malzberg, Kate Wilhelm and J.G. Ballard.

And he thanked the editors who had helped him along the way, such as Larry Shaw, Jim Quinn, Don Wolheim, Hans Stephen Santesson, Ejler Jakobson and Anthony Boucher.

Harlan’s speech was warm and gracious, and as the banquet broke up we all headed to the evening’s parties, the consensus was that this had been one of the most entertaining Nebulas in memory.

But now we come to what you really want to know—who won the betting pool I mentioned in the previous entry? The cash prize went to Ellen Datlow, and she won because she correctly guessed the answer to the tie-breaking question, which was the number of minutes Harlan would speak. Her guess: 30 minutes. The actual length of the speech? Twenty-nine minutes and 31 seconds.

I guess after all these years, Ellen knows Harlan better than anybody.

I’ve checked out of my room and I’m now in the lobby, ready for some final schmoozing while I wait for the airport shuttle to take me back to the real world. Check in later today or early tomorrow for some final thoughts …
—Scott Edelman, Sunday, at 11:00 a.m.The Morning After the Night Before

Now that I’ve had the five hours of sleep that I usually get each night at these events, I once again have the ability to type coherently. (Though some, I’m sure, would beg to differ.) But now that I feel that both my brain and fingers are working again, here’s a taste of last night:

We assembled around the outdoor pool at 6:00 p.m. for a cocktail party prior to the banquet. I spent most of my time there chatting with William F. Nolan, who was being named Author Emeritus that night. Nolan is known primarily for writing Logan’s Run, but there is so much more to the man. We talked about the over-the-top acting abilities of Rod Steiger, as well as his own acting role opposite another over-the-top actor, William Shatner, in The Intruder. We discussed Roger Corman, and Ray Bradbury’s big-screen adaptations. But what impressed me the most was to hear him quote at me something that I have long been quoting to others—the response James M. Cain gave to interviewers who asked that writer how he felt about Hollywood ruining his books. Cain would point to the shelf of his works and say that Hollywood hasn't ruined anything—his books were still right there. Anyone who can beat me to the punch with that anecdote proves himself to definitely be on my wavelength.

At 7:00 p.m., the organizers shepherded us all into the banquet room, which is where I joined the group of comrades with whom I’d chosen to sit: Ellen Datlow, Paul Witcover, Eileen Gunn, John Berry, Holly Black, Theo Black, Margo Lanagan, Richard Bowes and Ellen Klages. We had five nominees at our table, and so hoped that someone would be bringing back a trophy that night. Still, that didn’t keep us from wagering on the outcomes that evening. We each tossed $5.00 into the jelly-bean-filled centerpiece (the jelly beans in honor of Grand Master Harlan Ellison). The one of us who correctly guessed the winners that evening would walk off with the pot. (Please don’t let anyone else know—people might think less of us.)

Connie Willis began the evening by removing from her purse the duct tape, wire and hammer I mentioned earlier with which she promised to maintain order, and then recounted tales from the 23 other Nebulas she had attended. Highlights included the speaker (who shall remain nameless) on whom 75% of the audience walked out, the time the banquet food took so long to arrive that Ben Bova phoned out for pizza delivery, and the time Howard Waldrop and Gardner Dozois competed to see which of them could shove an M&M in his nose and then shoot it the farthest. Then she shared with us 10 tips for surviving Nebula ceremonies. You’ll understand after reading the three incidents above why two of those tips were "Sit close to the door," and "Don’t eat or drink while talking to Gardner Dozois."

Peter Heck took us through a solemn ritual that is sadly part of the ceremonies each year—the reading of names of those who had passed away since the previous Nebula ceremonies. Once again that list contained the names of too many friends and colleagues.

SFWA President Robin Wayne Bailey presented the Author Emeritus trophy to William F. Nolan, who told us about the new adaptation of Logan’s Run that was going to begin filming in Vancouver in October with director Bryan Singer. He promised that he would shake the hand of any one of us to came to visit him on the set, "provided they let me on the set." Nolan announced the winner of the Short Story Nebula, Carol Emshwiller, who was not present. Gordon van Gelder accepted the trophy on her behalf. (For a full list of winners and the titles of their stories, scroll down to last night’s entry.)

Eric Flint and David Weber explained why Andre Norton was so important to us all, and how her influence will continue, and then presented this year’s Andre Norton Award to Holly Black. So as we’d hoped, our table won a trophy after all.

Diana Gabaldon announced the winner in the Novella category, but not before getting our attention with an obscene limerick which I dare not repeat here for fear of having this site blocked to younger Web surfers. Kelly Link rose to accept what would be the first of two Nebulas that night.

Nancy Kress cut to the chase, announcing the Novel nominees without preamble, anecdote or limerick. The winner, Joe Haldeman, was gracious as always, and was pleased to win for a book that didn’t have the word "forever" in the title.

Then Connie Willis took the stage to announce the Grand Master Award, saying first that she felt like Stephen Colbert at the National Press Club. She teased us with references to the Harlan Ellison Thanksgiving story, the Harlan Ellison parking lot story and many others, but rather than share the details, she got serious and told us that Harlan was like George Gershwin. As with Gershwin, whose works are recognizable within three notes, Harlan’s stories are also unique, and immediately recognizable.

Harlan’s agent, Richard Curtis told us of the many late night, early morning, and holiday phone calls Harlan has made to him, and explained that though he was sure that Harlan is a genius, "though you have not yet been certified, there is no doubt in my mind that you are certifiable." Neil Gaiman told us that that when looking at Harlan’s words and the reputation that has become married to them, "What is important is not the personality. What is important is the work."

And then Harlan took the stage for the main event, which I will only tease you about at this point by telling you that you’ll learn later which famous actor nicknamed him "Huckleberry"—because at this point, I have to start packing.
—Scott Edelman, Sunday, at 8:00 a.m.
And the Winners Are …

The Nebula ceremony has ended, and before the partying begins, I thought I’d quickly share two things.

First, Toastmaster Connie Willis had no need to use the duct tape, electrical cord or hammer that she placed upon the podium at the start of the evening with which to restore order in the event things got out of hand. All of the participants were on their best behavior. (And you know who we mean.)

Secondly, of course, here are this year's Nebula winners:

Short Story
"I Live with You," by Carol Emshwiller
F&SF, March 2005

Script
Serenity, by Joss Whedon
Universal Pictures, September 2005

Novelette
"The Faery Handbag," by Kelly Link
The Faery Reel: Tales From the Twilight Realm, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling, Viking Press, August 2004

Andre Norton Award
Valiant: A Modern Tale of Faerie, by Holly Black
Simon & Schuster, June 2005

Novella
"Magic for Beginners," by Kelly Link
Magic for Beginners, Small Beer Press, July 2005; F&SF, September 2005

Novel
Camouflage, by Joe Haldeman
Serialized in Analog, March-May 2004; also Ace Books, August 2004

When the partying is over later tonight, I’ll give a more detailed account of the evening, including some of Connie Willis’ tips for surviving Nebula ceremonies, and why Harlan Ellison is like George Gershwin.
—Scott Edelman, Saturday, at 11:00 p.m.My Big Fat Greek Editor

Before heading off to lunch with Michael Cassutt, whose regularly scheduled column will replace this blog some time Monday, I ran into Gordon van Gelder in the halls. Gordon, the editor and publisher of Fantasy and Science Fiction, somehow lacked the exhausted look common to most new parents. But it occurred to me that it was all an illusion. Since I only ever see Gordon at conventions, and the natural state of con-goers is one of exhaustion, maybe I've never seen him when he wasn't tired. Have I ever seen a fully rested van Gelder with which to compare? Perhaps not.

We talked mostly about the upcoming biography James Tiptree, Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon, by Julie Phillips, which will be published by St. Martin’s Press in August. He and I have been discussing the progress of the book (which Gordon has been shepherding into print) for years. I’ve finally had a chance to read the galleys, and it’s a powerful work, taking me further behind the scenes of Sheldon’s life than I’m entirely sure I wanted to go. (Do we ever really want to find out how fully human our heroes truly are?) Don’t be scared off by that, though—I do recommend it highly. In fact, I’m making my prediction now, even though it’s only May, and there are many other books in the pipeline before 2006 draws to a close, that it will win the 2007 Hugo Award for Best Related Book. (And I hope that saying so will not jinx it for Julie.)

Then Michael Cassutt and I headed off to lunch at My Big Fat Greek Restaurant. We talked about Harlan, of course, since I believe there’s an unwritten rule that no two science-fiction writers can gather together without taking his name in vain. We discussed the way things used to be, the way things should be and whether there was anything we could do about it. I don't think that we came up with a solution—we were both so hopped up on club soda and lemonade that I can barely remember—but one thing that we agreed on was that Barry Malzberg was one of the funniest writers in science fiction. Ah, if only you could see him the way that we see him!
—Scott Edelman, Saturday, at 2:00 p.m.Waffling at the Asimov's/Analog Breakfast

I just got back from Ducks restaurant, where Asimov’s editor Sheila Williams and Analog editor Stanley Schmidt announced the winners of their magazines' 2006 Readers Poll Awards. Once the nominees and guests had stuffed themselves with enough eggs, bacon and waffles, the editor handed out not only certificates, but also cash awards.

Asimov's

Best Novella: "Diving into the Wreck," by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Best Novelette: "Second Person, Present Tense," by Daryl Gregory

Best Short Story: "Children of Time," by Steve Baxter

Best Poem: "Newton's Mass," by Timons Esaias

Best Cover: Michael Whelen, January

Analog

Best Novella: "Sanctuary," by Michael A. Burstein

Best Novelette: "NetPuppets," by Richard A Lovett and Mark Niemann-Rosa

Best Short Story: "Alphabet Angels," by Ekaterina Sedia and David Bartell

Best Fact Article: "Mission to Utah," by Wil McCarthy

Best Cover: George Krauter, November

—Scott Edelman, Saturday, 11:00 a.m.The Other Side of Midnight

It is a few minutes before midnight, and the hotel bar has stopped serving drinks, which is the signal for us all to disperse. As I head back to my room, my throat is hoarse, a condition that over the years I’ve grown to think of as convention throat. So many people to talk to, and so little time!

But my throat did get a rest for at least part of the afternoon, during the program item titled "An Hour with Harlan Ellison." The indefatigable performer, energetic as ever, started off by telling one of the shaggiest of shaggy dog stories I’ve ever heard, following it up with his opinions on—

The director who wanted to remove the butterfly from the film adaptation of A Sound of Thunder, the Bush presidency, the other Bush presidency, Bill and Monica, why current college audiences remind him of Night of the Living Dead, his role in founding SFWA in 1965, his eventual rejection of it in 1977, his sleepless nights since learning of his Grand Master Award as he debated what to do about it, others now gone, such as Robert Sheckley and Avram Davidson, who should have received that honor ahead of him … and on and on and on.

Somehow it all came together. Anecdote flowed into impression segued into reminiscence in a stream-of-consciousness performance of such improvisational mastery that Charley Parker would have been impressed.

Afterwards, all of the writers and editors present gathered for a mass autographing, and I got to catch up with Sheila Williams, editor of Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine, and to sign some of my own older books and magazines. Dinner followed at Rula Bula, a nearby Irish pub, with Peter Heck, Jane Jewel, Vera Nazarian, Sheila Finch and others. We finished eating just in time for the Nominees Reception, at which all honorees were given pins and certificates acknowledging their achievements.

The highlight of the evening was when Connie Willis persuaded Harlan to sit near the stage while she and many others, such as Michael Cassutt, Ginger Buchanan, Ellen Datlow, Peter David, came to the microphone to explain what Harlan meant to them. They also shared the truth behind many of the apocryphal tales which have trailed Harlan throughout his career, such as the telephone pole story, which I would love to relate here, only it is now the other side of midnight, and with the Analog/Asimov’s Awards Breakfast seemingly only a few hours away, I’d better just call it a night.
—Scott Edelman, Friday, at midnightLobbying for Science Fiction

Even though by coming to the Nebulas I have stepped outside the normal time stream, my day began as it always begins—sitting in front of my computer making sure that the wheels of Science Fiction Weekly turn smoothly. But because I was vetting letters and upcoming reviews in the lobby of the Mission Palms hotel, my workday wasn’t as uneventful as it usually is.

Here comes Nancy Kress, and we compare our gathering with one of the microchip engineers with whom SFWA is sharing the hotel space. (Last night, their group was entertained by a strolling mariachi band and the smashing of piñatas—which is the first time I can remember that a group of science-fiction writers was beaten on the rowdiness scale.) Then Harlan and Susan Ellison come by, and while I discuss computer upgrades with Susan, Harlan autographs copies of his books for the collectors who always appear whenever he is around. And then there's Ellen Datlow and Bud Sparhawk and Tim Richmond (still hard at work on the massive Ellison bibliography, Fingerprints on the Sky, due out later this year) and so many others ...

Maybe I should always work in hotel lobbies. Unfortunately, not all lobbies are like those at science-fiction convention. If only they were.

I head over to PF Chang's for lunch with Charles Brown and Liza Groen Trombi of Locus. The menu lists specialties from Chengdu, capitol of the Szechuan province, but Charles and I had no need to sample them—we had already (on separate occasions) eaten Chengdu cuisine in Chengdu itself, visiting the Chinese science-fiction writers, editors and publishers based there. We talked of the perils of science-fiction publishing and, springboarding off the menu, talked of our visits with science-fiction fans around the world. But we linger, for it was time to get back to the hotel for some of the weekend programming.
—Scott Edelman, Friday, after lunchRadioactive in Arizona

I arrived in Tempe, Ariz., this afternoon for the annual Nebula Awards Weekend hosted by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Saturday evening will feature a Nebula Awards ceremony that promises to be memorable.

Well ... they're all memorable, so let me put it another way—this one promises to be memorable for being entertaining, in contrast to some other infamous ceremonies, such as the one in which a guest speaker was so annoying that SFWA members abandoned their banquet meals to flee for the exits. With Connie Willis as Toastmaster and Harlan Ellison as the receipient of this year's Grand Master Award, there's already a buzz: What will Connie say? What will Harlan do? Tune in Saturday to find out!

As usual when writers and editors gather, the place to be is in the bar, and that's where I found Ellen Klages and Eileen Gunn, both Nebula winners themselves last year, as well as former SCI FICTION editor Ellen Datlow. The good news, for those who were concerned, is that Datlow and Gunn appear unharmed from their recent visit to Chernobyl.

I'll have to wait until later, though, to discover whether either one glows in the dark ...
—Scott Edelman, Thursday afternoon