#nerdconstories

Hank has several things in which he talks about why Nerdcon probably won’t be continuing past this year. I felt emotionally about that prior to actually attending the convention, but now that it’s over, I am overwhelmingly emotional and want to do nothing else but word vomit about how I feel for a little.

I don’t have the time to go through Hank’s video to review all of the points he mentions, so right now I’m just going to say what’s in this post here. (Side note--I’m totally not trying to call you out. Everything you talk about is entirely valid, and I definitely agree with a lot of it. Please don’t, please no one, think that I’m trying to be rude or hateful. Your post was just very well thought out and listed a lot of points I see as very universal reasons for the lack of attendance, and so it is easy for me to go through your post in order to think more deeply about how to approach this topic.)

I’d like to note, before I go on--I’m sixteen, with little to no business experience. I’m going to try and speak pragmatically, but this won’t be previously researched, and I don’t have prior knowledge. So, disclaimer.

The first point they mention is that they can’t monetarily afford to go to the convention, and that they have classes the Friday of, and it just wouldn’t work out. I feel like half day passes were discussed last year, and I also feel like there were reasons why they weren’t feasible--but I also feel like they would be overwhelmingly beneficial if they were. $100 for both days, $55 or $60 for half day. It would make it easier both money-wise and obligation-wise.

The second is that they don’t know many of the featured guests. I, personally, love that there are so many smaller attendees, and that you get to discover all of these people who you probably wouldn’t have otherwise. I, also, love seeing people I know at things. Last year (2015 Nerdcon) garnered a lot of attendance because of Welcome to Night Vale, and I think that the fact that there wasn’t a similar big name detracted the value of the convention for some people. The fact that Hank wasn’t going to be there, the fact that Maureen Johnson wasn’t going to be there, the fact that WtNV wasn’t going to be there--all of these things were a reason, I think, that it wasn’t as popular. I also think that this is something that might be rectified going forward.

The third is that there wasn’t anything big going on this year that would differentiate it from the last year. I see this--I knew I was going to the second one from pretty immediately after I left the convention center, because I loved it lots and was in a position of privilege enough to where I could know something like this--but it was not something I considered a negative. That some of the guests were the same was great, because I’d loved those guests. That some of the events were the same was great, because I’d loved those events. The experience would be different because it would have to be, and it’d be great because there was no way it couldn’t be. This is maybe naive, but it also was and is how I feel. I think this ties in a lot with what Hank had talked about in the video--the second Nerdcon: Stories was not advertised well. There wasn’t much marketing done. I agree, but also think that if Nerdcon were to continue again for another year, this is something that could perhaps be rectified.

The fourth is that so many of the greatest things about Nerdcon came from the spontaneity of it. And definitely, they did. But I also think that it is impossible to have so many creative and intelligent people in the same building for hours on end for two days and not have things like that happen. Potato for president. The Maureen Johnson army. Paul’s gorgeous serenading of Patrick Rothfuss during the lip sync. Jake the Sound Guy. David and Nella the ASL interpreters (I could make a whole post about how great this convention was about those three people, and I just might). My friend loved the Wildcard panel, which was built for spontaneous, crowd-fed ideas. There wasn’t as much of that as there was last year, and I think that’s because they were trying for more performances, more programming. A balance of the two would be great--last year was very geared toward the first, and this year was more geared toward the latter. Third time’s the charm.

The last is that the con is very passive. What they point out is that WtNV and Dessa specifically didn’t perform, only spoke--and that’s something that Nerdcon (perhaps over)corrected this year. It was more active. I love panels, and I loved how it felt like a community, and like I was learning, but I understand that I am maybe in the minority there. But the community creates the active feeling around it, and the community is something that Nerdcon focuses so much on. And I love that.

They mention at the end that conventions, for whatever reason or another, don’t do well in Minneapolis. There is no way for me to fix this aside from suggesting a move, but I have absolutely no idea the logistics behind and around something like that. Maybe there are many, maybe there are none. 

Nerdcon: Stories also has to fight with Nerdcon: Nerdfightaria for attendance this year, something that wouldn’t be an issue next year, seeing as NC: N is pretty strictly a one-time thing.

There is a lot I would be willing to do in order to ensure this convention continues on again, but I understand that it maybe just isn’t feasible. I think that trying again, and maybe correcting some of the things that weren’t done this past year, would result in similar success to the first year--but I know that isn’t a guarantee, and that it probably isn’t a smart business move.

There is little I wouldn’t do to make Nerdcon: Stories come back. I cannot stress how much I love this convention, and how much it has meant to me these past two years of attending. It’s beautifully strange in the same why I am, in a way that attracts others like me. I made friends in situations that I would have usually instead not interacted with others at all. I have a new writer buddy for NaNo!

When they returned to the land, they arrived as strangers, treading across legendary ground where long-dead ancestors had been burnt on pyres and become the land itself. None of them were old enough to remember the time when their people had fled or how long ago that was. But they remembered the stories.

They settled in village of low walls and peat roofs, almost like hand-made hills, on the western coast, and set out to rediscover the land.

They found deep woods hugging the feet of highlands, rising toward impassable mountains. A deep, cold lake teemed with life in those highlands. Pioneers strove to settle those lands, to turn the highland’s peat and lake into whisky, and to live in peace with the people they called “the Axe-hands.” Many of those early settlers vanished—some of them into smoke, for they say a dragon snaked through the air in those days.

For years, the Firekeepers explored the land and expanded their maps. They found treasures from forgotten peoples and earlier times. They raised up walls that would be considered a castle in its day, and called it the Castle of Radiance.

They forged a Treaty of Friendship with the Axe-hands ... and saw that treaty betrayed.

Their war against the Axe-hands became a war against the fearsome peoples who drove the Axe-hands against them. To the Firekeepers, these terrifying clans were known as Skullkeepers. They saw everyone as either one of their own or as a skull for the taking, for the building of their gruesome temples and ossuaries. Yet fiery visions and a broken sword discovered in the southern swamps suggested to the chieftains of the age that war was not the answer. They raised up a statue made of broken swords to inspire the people not to battle, but to build.

Thus the Firekeepers chose not to eradicate the Skullkeepers but, by proving their ferocity to those macabre foes, found a way to live in a world that would always be dangerous.

Peace, however, came at a cost. The strains of war exposed cracks in the identity of the Firekeepers. Their people became a fire split in twain, and civil war threatened to destroy who they were. For years, they battled amongst themselves.

Hope came in visions brought on by revelry, piety, and study. The Firekeepers expanded their knowledge of architecture and engineering to undertake an endeavor unlike any the land had yet seen. They would stand stones in spirals and curves to harness the firelight of the sun into a calendar, a compass, and a monument to their people—one that could weather millennia.

They called it the Rose. It took generations of work to design and build. It was conceived in war and born in peace, for the Firekeepers had chosen to melt their old crowns and make new laws for a new future.

Those who drew the plans for the Rose never saw it completed. Those who saw it complete would never know a world without it. The Rose was a hymn in firelight ... and a memorial in stone.

For it was then—almost 400 years after the Firekeepers had returned to the land—that the dragon awakened again. It devoured cattle by the dozens and unhinged its jaw to swallow wooden silos whole. Bold scouts among the Firekeepers discovered its lair and plucked a treasure from its hoard: a helmet of fine metal, crafted to resemble serpents and flames. More than one would-be dragon-slayer went forth to that lair. And while their kin raised new walls at the Castle of Radiance, dragon-slayers confronted the beast with swords, with wisdom, and with fires of their own. It was not enough.

The dragon followed its foes back to the coast. The dragon snaked through the sky, its belly aglow with fire. The dragon coiled in the air above castle and home, then bellowed and breathed out flames that blackened stones and melted glass. The fire-wyrm dined on ashes that night, as was its way.

Those who survived—who fled the land again by sea—say they followed a warrior known for the helmet she wore, stolen from the dragon’s lair, adorned by scales of gold. 

And though we do not know what shores they settled on next, or what name they took for themselves thereafter, we know the stones they raised and we remember the tales they told as Firekeepers.