There are a couple of stories about Comic Con that, if I told them correctly, I think would illustrate something about how power works. Like, for instance, how worried I was about getting into the Penguin Random House party-- I'm one of their authors, but I wasn't on the list-- and how comically easy it was, because there was no significant celebrity being protected on the other side of the velvet ropes. I mean, there weren't even velvet ropes: just a check-in table in the dark downstairs of an enormous, glass-windowed library building, and then an elevator up to tables and tables of sliders, and mac and cheese, and an open bar, and people I knew, of course, because it was a publishing party. In order to go you just had to know it was there-- which, of course, many people did not.

The next night we went to a Hollywood party, hosted by Variety and YouTube Originals, and oh boy was there a line and a list. My friends and I got stopped right up against the velvet ropes-- these ones literal-- and got to watch thirty or forty minutes of people jockeying for position, both physically and psychically. (Pro tip: when we eventually got in, it was entirely because we'd been gracious while waiting, instead of bitchy and demanding about how we worked in media, which others around us had, unaccountably, decided was their best strategy. Don't antagonize the PR girls! They have to wear heels to work, they're already in a bad mood!!) 

It still took a long time to get inside, and we'd come late, so I was worried there wouldn't be any food left, but it was a Hollywood party; I should have known no one would touch it. I felt immediately the freedom of being in a room where I knew no one, and I didn't care about anyone's opinions, either. I picked charcuterie off a plate with my fingers and dropped it straight into my mouth; I ate a fried chicken slider, and another one, and drank a whiskey, and felt the blood start moving in my body again.

The DJ was good; I remember noticing it right away, and being sad that there wouldn't be more dancing. It was an industry party, so everyone was standing around looking serious and important, showing off for the other people in their Very Important Industry. A woman berated her date for taking her to the wrong party; apparently, Henry Cavill was somewhere next door.

N was the one who started the dancing. A song came on and she liked it, and she likes to dance, and we'd waited in this long line, and we didn't know anyone and didn't have anything to prove. We danced, and some women from around the party started joining in, edging up to our circle, asking with their eyes. We moved out and made room for them. A very handsome young actor whose TV show I used to love started dancing with his friends. Our circles joined, merged, became dance Spin the Bottle, devolved again into chaos. Everyone was sweating and spilling drinks. People not dancing were staring. We danced until the lights came on and they kicked us out into the night.

There's getting into the party, which requires someone's permission. Then there is making the party fun to be at, which you have to (or get to) do all by yourself. I had been feeling a little cowed by Comic Con, which is fucking enormous, and full of power structures I'm mostly not a part of. I'd also been a little annoyed by it, watching all of these industry people spend time and money to stand around and try to impress each other the same way they do in LA, being professionally bored by free food and drinks in beautiful rooms. It was such a relief to be reminded that my friends possess the only kind of power I care about, which is the power to make a party fun. It will keep working at any party. Whichever ones we end up at. 

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Speaking of fucks and how and when to give them, I wrote a big old thing about Mark Manson, who wrote The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, and whether or not self-help is the right strategy for Our Troubled Times. I finished edits on it poolside this weekend, which I guess is both luxurious and not, because, you know, all the editing meant it took me a while to get in the pool.

There are also some spots left in my Writing for the Internet: Publication Pitch Crash Course! If you're local, I would love to see you there.