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Mythcon in the works
Jul. 18th, 2007 03:25 pmI haven't written much about Mythcon planning, which has been taking up a lot of my time lately. It's not a very exciting story, and as a very small convention it doesn't have a lot of programming. Back in April we accepted 27 papers, and by that time we were already well on the way to evolving what became seven panels and choosing panelists. I'm the chairman, and the job of program scheduling seemed to fall on me.
Eventually, one day at a Stanford noon student concert (where eating one's lunch or reading a book are acceptable), I sat down with a list of the 27 + 7 and a pad of lined paper, and started to rough out a schedule. The papers were scheduled by practical matters - all the ones requiring AV in the same room on the same day, for instance - and by putting papers of related content in tracks and not opposite each other. Several of the panels featured our GoHs, so their preferred schedules became the main constraint there. It's best to have some constraints; otherwise one hardly knows where to start!
Having come up with a satisfactory answer, I transferred it off the messy pad into an Excel file with different sized boxes. So that's the master program: three sheets of paper. Then I wrote to all the panelists, who'd previously agreed to come, to confirm that this would be all right for them. A few changes had to be made. Scribbles went on the paper. After a couple of weeks, I still had not heard from three panelists, so I sent follow-up queries. Wording for this is tricky: there are several reasons you might not have received an answer. It turned out that one had sent a reply which I never received. The other two had gotten swamped or mislaid the original query, and were grateful for the follow-up. More scribbles.
So that's all on board; now the problem is the report from the papers coordinator about a few paper presenters who never signed up for membership, as they're required to do, and never responded to e-mail queries about whether they're coming. But they had sent in phone numbers with their original applications, so I took the receiver by the hands and called them. And I reached some. Still trying to decide whether to come, despite the deadline we'd given them; and still waiting to hear whether their college would pay for the trip. And the e-mails unresponded to. "Oh, I think we gave you our school e-mails, and we're graduating, so we haven't checked those in quite a while." Aargh.
Can we still fit them in, and can we give them room and board, even though the deadline's passed? Well, the word "can't" is a funny word. Sometimes it means "physically impossible" (I can't get there in an hour) and sometimes it means "it'd break rules I didn't set, enacting a penalty I'm unwilling to pay" (I can't rob a bank), and sometimes it means "would require permission of those I can't sway" (I can't get you a pardon, because you aren't Scooter Libby). But when you set the rules, and someone asks for an exception, the "can't" often disappears. You can, actually: but is the extra work burden on your committee members fair to them? Will the already-late paper presenters actually do what they are now promising? Firm but fair: try to help but don't leave your committee dangling.
Eventually, one day at a Stanford noon student concert (where eating one's lunch or reading a book are acceptable), I sat down with a list of the 27 + 7 and a pad of lined paper, and started to rough out a schedule. The papers were scheduled by practical matters - all the ones requiring AV in the same room on the same day, for instance - and by putting papers of related content in tracks and not opposite each other. Several of the panels featured our GoHs, so their preferred schedules became the main constraint there. It's best to have some constraints; otherwise one hardly knows where to start!
Having come up with a satisfactory answer, I transferred it off the messy pad into an Excel file with different sized boxes. So that's the master program: three sheets of paper. Then I wrote to all the panelists, who'd previously agreed to come, to confirm that this would be all right for them. A few changes had to be made. Scribbles went on the paper. After a couple of weeks, I still had not heard from three panelists, so I sent follow-up queries. Wording for this is tricky: there are several reasons you might not have received an answer. It turned out that one had sent a reply which I never received. The other two had gotten swamped or mislaid the original query, and were grateful for the follow-up. More scribbles.
So that's all on board; now the problem is the report from the papers coordinator about a few paper presenters who never signed up for membership, as they're required to do, and never responded to e-mail queries about whether they're coming. But they had sent in phone numbers with their original applications, so I took the receiver by the hands and called them. And I reached some. Still trying to decide whether to come, despite the deadline we'd given them; and still waiting to hear whether their college would pay for the trip. And the e-mails unresponded to. "Oh, I think we gave you our school e-mails, and we're graduating, so we haven't checked those in quite a while." Aargh.
Can we still fit them in, and can we give them room and board, even though the deadline's passed? Well, the word "can't" is a funny word. Sometimes it means "physically impossible" (I can't get there in an hour) and sometimes it means "it'd break rules I didn't set, enacting a penalty I'm unwilling to pay" (I can't rob a bank), and sometimes it means "would require permission of those I can't sway" (I can't get you a pardon, because you aren't Scooter Libby). But when you set the rules, and someone asks for an exception, the "can't" often disappears. You can, actually: but is the extra work burden on your committee members fair to them? Will the already-late paper presenters actually do what they are now promising? Firm but fair: try to help but don't leave your committee dangling.
