I’ll bet you think it’s easy to sally forth and wind up behind a table at a horror convention and sign autographs for cash. Well, it basically is pretty simple. The flying is the hardest part. It takes forever if you start adding up the time from portal to portal as we used to say. I usually add two hours to the departure time because I hate panic. So, I wind up drinking coffee that costs more than most of my schoolbooks in 1952. And because I fly courtesy of sponsors or convention organizers, I never ask for first class tickets and that means I wind up flying with the people I am going to meet at the conventions.
When I first started doing these things, only a few years ago, I was hesitant about who these horror fans might be: serial killers in waiting? Wife beaters? The badly socialized? Actually no. They turned out to be people very much like me before 1980 when Friday the 13th went and changed my whole life. I have stayed current, thanks to Facebook, with many of them and look forward to seeing them at the next venue. They are much more entertaining than I am. (To me, at least). I also get great pleasure out of meeting actors and artists from other horror films, people whose lives have been spent on the shiny end of the camera. I love the way the fans crowd around them, asking what it felt like to be Michael Myers or Jason or an American Werewolf in London. Truth be told, fans love the actors much more than the people who gave them their lines. Back in the soap days, when I would walk out of the ABC studio in the evening, the fans with their cameras would ask me if I was anybody. My wife once replied on my behalf, “No, he’s just a writer.” They scurried away, hoping to catch a moment with Vickie Buchanan or Clint or Erica Kane.
So, I am packing my goodies—photos for autographing, stickers (a new item I just added to my travelling kit) and all my vitamins and nutritional and herbal goodies that have kept me active all these years.
See you in Lexington this weekend?