Gerald R. Lucas

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I had not read Jack McDevitt until I heard he was coming to this year’s Crossroads Conference. I’m embarrassed because I’m supposed to be up on all things science fiction. His novel Seeker won a Nebula award in 2006 for best novel (and most of his other novels have been nominated), and I have come to thoroughly enjoy his writing. I did manage to read two of his novels before meeting him.

I met Jack McDevitt early on Saturday morning. I was hurrying to hear him speak, and I saw him rushing out the door. He was going the wrong way. I said, motioning toward the door, “I think this is where you want to be.” He smiled: “I know. I’m just going to get my wife.” He did, and I began deciding how I was going to photograph the day. Yes, I was not really there as a writer, but as a volunteer photog. He soon returned with his wife Maureen. I snapped away while he gave the audience advice on how to publish. He reminded me of professors I most enjoyed in graduate school: ones who were no-nonsense – who just wanted you to know what you needed to know to be successful.

It wasn’t until the panel at 11:30 — “The Long and Short of It: Crafting Fiction” — where I finally introduced myself. I was scheduled to act as moderator, but this was a role I thought would require little more than my introducing the panelists. I was wrong. Since the panelists did not have prepared statements, they expected questions. Therefore, I put on my best Neal Conan hat, something I’ve done many times before. While the session was well attended, it took a while to get the audience asking questions that were actually germane to the panel’s topic. So, I ran things. No big deal, since I’m an academic conference veteran, but I did hope to take photos.

Afterward, I finally got to talk with McDevitt. I had many questions about his work, but I didn’t want to seem too forward or obnoxious — you know, fan-like. I think he sensed my enthusiasm, but he invited me to lunch anyway!  I graciously accepted, and he, Maureen, and I went downtown to Market City Café. We talked about sf, politics, and life. He asked me questions, and we had a pleasant meal. At one point, he said to me: “Jerry, life is good.” At that moment, I totally agreed. I just wish Autumn could have been there.

Next stop was the Golden Bough for McDevitt’s reading. Eric was waiting, but not many festival-goers were. I was disappointed in the low turnout, but it was a real pleasure to hear McDevitt read. He reminded me a bit of Asimov, though less Brooklyn Jew. He read two AI stories — “The Candidate” and “Henry James, this One’s for You” — both out of his Outbound collection. They are near-future stories about artificial intelligences: the former is George Washington running for president again and the latter is, well, you should read the story. There were only a couple of people in the audience, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the event. How often do you get a Nebula winner reading to you one-on-one? I’m glad I went to the bookstore, too, so I could get a book for McDevitt to sign: Time Travelers Never Die. I hope to start it this week.

After the Golden Bough was the book signing at the conference. I got Time Travelers signed. Since I enjoyed the stories from Outbound, I wanted a copy of that, too. I purchased a book from Lauretta Hannon (blog entry about that coming), so I only had $10 left. I told McDevitt that I was going to find an ATM, and he said “How about just taking the book?”

“No,” I replied, “I couldn’t do that.”

“OK,” he searched for one of his business cards and handed it to me: “you can send me a check.” What a guy.

So, I have two books inscribed by my current favorite sf writer. I attended his last panel, but had to duck out quickly afterward to photograph Steve Almond. Jack McDevitt came into the chapel, and I was able to say good-bye.

What a great experience. Thanks to Jack and Maureen for being so gracious with me — just a sf fan. You know I’m gonna have to read all of his books now, right? That’ll make up for my finding his writing so late.