Recently, I was a Florida Supercon, surrounded by people dressed in all sorts of costumes from various shows and comic books and media, famous and obscure.
I was not in costume. I was in jeans and a t-shirt, as I was there to present at a panel regarding a writing project I’m involved in.
So, of course, in all this visual cacophony, someone walks up to me and says, “Mister, you should so cosplay next year as George R.R. Martin!”
You might have heard of George R. R. Martin. Famous author, Game of Thrones books. Pissed off millions of fans by killing off all the sympathetic likable characters halfway into the saga, etc…
He’s also one other thing. He’s very much REAL.
How do you cosplay a living, breathing human being? Not a character on a TV show, or a zombie from a movie. Not a Browncoat, a Redshirt, a Cylon, a Borg, one these gray-skinned candy-corn-horn wearing freakazoids that seemed to be everywhere (Home Schooled? Home Spun?), something with a giant key, some other thing named Masterchef or Master Chief, or some blond kid in a white plastic bag on his head and a dog with stretchy arms.
A real, live, human. Aren’t there rules about cosplaying real people? As in, you get in trouble being someone you’re not?
Still, someone like that is usually one of the Guests of Honor at events like this. And Guests of Honor get into the VIP areas…
VIP areas have snacks… and places to sit…and are quiet.
“Why, yes, I am working on the next book, and I expect it will be ready before next spring. No, I can’t tell you if Daenerys will live or die just yet. You don’t want me to ruin it for you just yet, do you really?”
Yeah, I could do this. I could do this very well indeed.
Of course, on my way out to my car after I’d presented my panel, one young lady (dressed as some sort of anime Japanese schoolgirl sailor and carrying a six-foot broadsword – trust me, you learn not even to look twice after a few minutes at these things) ran up and asked to take my picture. I let her. Then she asked if I’d ever attended HEMINGWAYFEST in Key West. I assured her I hadn’t.
“Man, you should go. You look amazing. You’d make a killing down there…”
Hemingway? Really? i was just getting used to being a live author. Now I can be a dead one, too?