Experiment #4: Cat's Convention Commandments (Patreon)

Cat's Convention Commandments, or, How to Be a Good Panelist

Greetings, Laboratory Folk! I write this from the most wonderful, peaceful, aesthetically pleasing and definitely not-at-all soul crushing spot in the world—after hours in the departure terminal at Denver International Airport. I’ve just spent a long weekend being authorial at Comic Con and while my brain is a churning river of slush and nonsense and questions which are really more comments than questions, I am nevertheless devoting myself to the cause of mad fiction and/or science and/or love of the game on this hot mountain night. 

We’ve had three months of craft discussion, so let’s turn our microscope on something a little more on the business end of things.

Given how I’ve spent my weekend, I thought we might sit down, you and I, and have a bit of a talk about how to panel. It’s something that doesn’t come up in the lives of those who do not frequent conventions where one might find multiple Deadpool costumes, but if you publish much of anything, or are an enthusiastic enough fan, or a critic or a cosplayer or an academic or a strong female partridge in a vulnerable tree, you will absolutely be expected to be fantastic at being on a panel right out of the gate, with no one to patiently Gandalf you toward such skills. 

Now, where’s my pipe?

The following are notions culled from some thirteen years of being on panels, moderating them, watching them, and slowly turning audience members into readers of my books. Because the system does work—if somebody sees you being clever on a panel, they’re much more likely to check out your books or be your friend or visit your blog or follow you on social media and so on. You can get farther faster by performing well in these odd little rooms at odd little hotels than you can just be writing something great alone. It’s a fantastic tool. 

It’s also a weird, artificial environment that isn’t easy to navigate, and it’s made all the harder by how people talk about panels, which has nothing to do with what panels actually are. Panels are always presented as discussions, debates, controlled arguments that, it is implied, will reach some kind of conclusion. This is, of course, not remotely what happens on any given panel. No one is going to suddenly light upon The Solution to the question of strong female characters or settle once and for all whether magical realism counts as fantasy at AwkwardCon 42 in Des Moines, Iowa. 

No. Panels aren’t discussions or debates, though some discussion and debate will take place. They’re performances. They are entertainment. At most cons, they are the bulk of the entertainment on offer. Short improv scenes done by a pre-selected cast with suggestions from the convention committee rather than the audience. And like theatrical actors, some of us will spend decades performing the exact same panel to different audiences, trying to find a way to make it seem fresh every time, with varying degrees of success. Ask me about fairy tales one more time. I dare you. 

This is why panels are always more fun when the panelists are allowed to just talk to each other and have a conversation rather than the interview-style format where a moderator asks everybody the same question in order and then moves on to the next one. Because when there is dialogue and banter and conflict, then the performance feels more real and exciting, and the speakers have something to play off of, rather than having to recite a rehearsed answer without any interaction with the people sitting right next to them. In a conversation-style panel, things may get rowdier, but something unexpected could happen, and the audience is so much more engaged. In an interview panel, nothing unpredictable can possibly go down, because most writers have a set of answers they’re very good at giving by their third or fourth time up there, and it’s not very dynamic to watch five people slightly rephrase something they’ve said many times before without deviation or hesitation. Just like a story, without conflict, there can be no interest. So if you’re a moderator, let them argue, and if you’re on a con committee, choose specific topics rather than general (What’s Up with All the Shoes in Fairy Tales, Seriously? not Fairy Tales and Fantasy) put people who disagree (but are not awful) together to create a maximally tolerable experience for an audience who have probably sat through three or four panels that day alone.

Your job, as a panelist/performer, isn’t to answer questions or settle definitively who the best starship captain is, or even to advertise yourself and wave your book around (if you’re good, that will take care of itself). It’s the same as an improv actor’s: keep the scene going. Keep the conversation going. Keep the energy up. This doesn’t mean dominating the conversation and talking constantly. It means being aware of the panel as a whole and contributing to it in whatever way will keep the conversation moving and the dynamic between panelists sparkling. That can mean jumping in to fill an awkward silence or shifting a trite question from the moderator into something more interesting, but it can mean also asking a fellow panelist a question rather than monologuing yourself, or suggesting someone with more expertise than you go first, or making a joke at your own expense. It might mean running interference for an over-eager panelist to allow the quieter one to get a line in. It might even mean biting your tongue when someone says something you really want to call them out on because it would start a massive awkward shitshow that will make everyone in the room want to disappear into their uncomfortable chair. If you’re the only one talking, you’re not keeping the conversation going, you’re killing it and replacing it with a one man show. If no one is talking, the conversation is dead. The moderator can only do so much, as they’re (most of the time) not supposed to venture their own opinions. The panel as a whole is the most important thing—is it fun to watch, will people remember it, will they talk to anyone in the bar about it afterward.

So here are some helpful bullet points. Call it Cat’s Convention Commandments or something similarly alliterative. Most of these are actually pretty applicable to just con-going and socializing generally, whether or not you’re on a panel.

1. Thou Shalt Be Polite (within reason)

Don’t talk down to your fellow panelists or interrupt everyone and call their cats names or flog your own books constantly or turn up drunk or make rude gestures or repeat something another panelist just said like they didn’t literally just fricking say it or talk over others or insult anyone’s intelligence or throw water pitchers or get in a fight over who is the prettiest or generally behave like you were raised by the programming committee of AssholeCon. It’s not the internet, so don’t be a troll. I say within reason because there are circumstances in which interrupting might be warranted (like if someone is so wrong it’s interfering with the rotation of the planet or if they are themselves being crazy rude or if they’ve been droning on for five solid minutes and they finally take a breath), and if you know someone reasonably well and the rude gesture is really funny, that can totally work, and hey, maybe their cat started it, I don’t know your life. 

2. Thou Shalt Behave As Though It Is the 21st Century 

Hey, look, I know SJWs are the death of comedy and everything, but it’s pretty hard to be accidentally racist or sexist or homophobic because everyone knows when they’re about to be a huge dick. So all I’m saying is maybe don’t be a huge dick. Because it’ll make the panel memorable—but mostly what the audience will remember was that you were a huge dick and so your books are probably dick books or you are a fan of other huge dicks or you cosplay as a massive cock or you have a YouTube series where you you hurl slurs at your kitchen appliances or something. It’s really pretty easy: don’t say anything specifically designed to hurt someone or a group of someones or place yourself above anyone else because it’s mean. And if that’s not enough reason, then because it does not profit you long term, as amusing as you might think your edgy opinions about Rudyard Kipling being the greatest Indian writer might be. Being the Guest of Honor at AssholeCon is a lonely goddamned gig and in the end you’ll end up giving a panel on Why Nobody Wants to Be Around Me Anymore to an audience of no one. Along the same lines, don’t touch any of your fellow panelists or get into their personal space unless you are already friends and you already know they'd be okay with it and it’s really funny. Don’t dismiss anyone’s opinions for any reason except those opinions being dumb and wrong. Clever and sharp comes in all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors, and so does dumb and wrong. Engage with the opinions, not the identity of the person expressing them. 

3. Thou Shalt Be Funny (when appropriate and possible)

This is, of course, easier said than done. How to be funny is an entirely separate essay, and in the history of comedy no one can agree on how that essay should go. But the fact is, if you can make the audience laugh, you have successfully increased the entertainment value of the panel and endeared yourself to everyone in the room for a few seconds. A good rule of thumb is to roll 70/30. 70% making fun of yourself, 30% making fun of things which are not yourself but also not somebody you’re going to see in the bar later or in violation of #1 or #2. Self-deprecating humor gets people on your side, and makes you appear to be witty and wise and experienced rather than an annual attendee of AssholeCon, membership paid in full. You’ll learn this with practice and time. You’ll develop bits you can slot into the varying conversations of panels you’ve been on before, and you’ll hone them until you know just how to deliver the punchline. But don’t be afraid to crack a joke. References and quotes are good, but you only need a little. No need to do the whole Balrog scene with full blocking. Again, this is a performance. When people laugh, everyone feels good and feels like they’ve made a connection with you. If you can be funny, you win. Which doesn’t mean jumping into someone’s sad story with a DEAD FATHERS AM I RITE comedy routine, but it can mean gently lightening a tense moment, or diffusing anger between two squabbling panelists, or relieving an awkward silence. 

4. Thou Shalt Be Authentically and Genuinely Yourself

I once got a round of applause for saying I thought Heinlein kind of sucked at a science fiction convention. I was just so sick of having to praise him without critical thought like we were in church and the priest had just intoned in the name of Asimov and Heinlein and Bradbury, let us pray. You are on a panel because someone thought you had something valuable to say, so, keeping #2 in mind, share your real opinions. Don’t hold back because you think Everyone In Fandom Believes X. Don’t be afraid to say something authoritatively if you really know what you’re talking about. Don’t be afraid to disagree with someone who you admire or who has been doing this longer than you. Don’t be afraid to call out violators of #2. Don’t be afraid to take a position and defend it. Don’t be afraid to throw out something controversial. It will always make the panel more interesting. Note that I say controversial, not Overheard at AssholeCon. “Heinlein isn’t all that” or “I never liked Wrinkle in Time” is controversial. “Women can’t write hard science fiction” is overheard at AssholeCon. You are worthy to be up there (I mean, probably. I was on a panel about writing sex scenes with someone who claimed she was qualified to be there because she had had sex before, so that happened.) and you are smart and good, so don’t pretend to like shit you don’t or be too cool for things you actually love because you think you have to fall in line. More people probably agree with you than you think.

5. Thou Shalt Read the Room

You have eyes. You can see when the audience is falling asleep. You can see when they’re uncomfortable. You can see when they’re engaged. Try to constantly calibrate so that everyone is having a good time. If it’s bombing, throw out something funny or weird or controversial, change the topic without being a huge dick about it, undercut someone else being a huge dick, or otherwise try to wake everyone up and keeping things moving. If no one is interested, don’t keep doing the same thing that made them lose interest. If people are into everything about what’s happening, keep doing that. If you get stuck with a bad or unprepared moderator and they’re floundering, help without taking over by asking questions (see #6) and expanding as much as you can on whatever basic-ass question that poor mod threw out as much as possible to give others enticing places to jump off from in their own remarks.

6. Thou Shalt Not Make It All About You

Sometimes you’ll be on a panel with a number of people who aren’t talking much, because they’re introverts or new at this or have a sore throat or what have you, and you’ll have to do most of the heavy-lifting as far as keeping that conversation moving. But don’t do it unless it’s clear you’ll all gonna drown if you don’t start paddling. Ask questions, stop in the middle of your monologue and ask someone else what they think of what you just said, at least try to engage everyone else if you find yourself alone in the extrovert club. You’ll make friends that way, too. Everyone likes to be asked questions. It makes them feel valued and interesting and well-disposed toward the asker. Also, per panel, unless specifically asked by a moderator or audience member, you get two, maybe three mentions of your own work before most people will start to get annoyed, and if all you’re doing is holding up a copy of your book or art, two is pushing it. And don’t build yourself a little fort of copies around your end of the table. Gross. You are there to be charming and funny and smart, and if you pull that off, you don’t need to do more than mention what you’ve done in your introduction, because people will want to find out more about you.

7. Thou Shalt Dress Like We Have Not Yet Transcended the Need for Corporeal Forms

I’m not saying you need to dress like it’s an office or a gala opening, I’m not saying you need to wear make-up or a tie, I’m just saying that being on a panel is an advertisement for yourself, at least as a potential awesome person to hang out with, and, fortunately or unfortunately, people do make a lot of judgements based on how a person looks. Yes, still. Yes, even in geek spaces. Yes, everyone. I’m not saying change yourself to conform to society, man. I’m just saying maybe brush your hair and be clean and decent-smelling, and chose clothes in a way that expresses something about yourself, because the clothes you choose always express something about yourself, so you might as well do the choosing consciously and thoughtfully. If you’re one of those people that finds fashion hard or irritating, just pick a couple of colors you like and get some simple shirts in those colors and black pants, or dresses that fit comfortably and make you feel nice. (A dress is sweatpants for your whole body!) If you feel comfortable, you’ll be more comfortable in speaking your mind, and if you feel like you look a little special, you’ll act a little more special, too. For those who want to wear make-up but don’t know how to apply it perfectly—just get a foundation in your shade (any store will help), put some concealer in a lighter shade under each eye, foundation all over including eyelids, black eyeliner on your “waterline” which is the under-rim of your upper and lower eyelid, a little mascara, and a lipstick just a couple of shades darker than your natural lips. It takes five minutes and you won’t look made up, just a bit more awake under the godawful fluorescent lights hotels love. If you want to go more flamboyant, you probably don’t need my help to tell you how. 

8. Thou Shalt Respect the Topic, Unless Everyone Knows the Topic Is Vastly Stupid

Just because you’d rather be on a panel about video games doesn’t mean you get to talk about video games all the way through a panel about Thomas Pynchon. Try to keep your comments on point, and if you need to go off on a tangent, remember to bring it back around to something resembling what people showed up to see. In improv, the old yes, and chestnut applies globally to the panel as a performance, even though you obviously don’t always need to agree with and amplify what your fellow panelists say. Make offers to take the scene to the next level—for example, if the panel is on (kill me now) Strong Female Protagonists, don’t be afraid to try to get at something a little less generic. Embrace the phrase “maybe the more interesting question is…” As in: “Maybe the more interesting question is why no one is terribly concerned about making male protagonists strong yet vulnerable” or “Maybe the more interesting question is why our culture is so hellbent on the superhero right now rather than just how to make a cool superhero” or “Maybe the more interesting question is who wrote this panel description in the first place?” If the panel subject is, however, egregiously awful or boring, and everyone on the panel agrees, then feel free to just toss it aside and go all in on something better, but still relevant to the original idea. If people came to see 1776, you can pinch-hit for Hamilton, but probably not Hair. I’ve had several moderators do this, and it’s fine as long as everyone’s on board. If not, you gotta dance with the Worldbuilding 101 what brought you. 

9. Thou Shalt Not Prepare Too Much

Do your research, don’t get me wrong. If it’s a panel on 19th century curtain styles and you are mostly a rug-enthusiast, by all means, hit up Wikipedia. But don’t come with a sheaf of notes and footnotes and a harried expression. You’ll just stress yourself out trying to cram all your research into the conversation organically, and the flow of the panel will be mostly at the reading-off-a-teleprompter level. By the time you’ve been doing this awhile, you won’t need to prepare much unless you’re a moderator or it’s a subject you’re not terribly familiar with, but in the beginning, the temptation is to treat it like a corporate meeting with flowcharts and upside-down slides. You’re just there to talk. Pretend you’re in a bar with friends and someone just happened to bring up complex villains. Remember that this is a performance, not a book report. You want to appear spontaneously knowledgable. I mean, that’s the goal. You won’t pull it off every time, and that’s okay.

10. Thou Shalt Be Passionate

If you feel it, show it. There is nothing humans love more than watching someone show passionate interest and investment in something. Don’t apologize for having feelings about books or movies because, my god, we all do. Care. Care publicly, care loudly, care mightily, care from the rooftops. No one goes to a con to see people be cool and detached. No one in the audience will think less of you for caring too much. They care too much, too, that’s why they’re here. If you show that things matter to you and you are passionate about the world, any silly or slightly dumb misstep you make is easily forgiven because a person who cares is a person everyone cares about. Don’t hold back because you think you have to be professional and professional means unmoved. Say what you mean and say it intensely and people will want to know you.

11. Thou Shalt Never Make More of a Comment Than a Question

This one’s for the audience. You know what I’m talking about. Yeah. I’m looking at you. Don’t do it.