Guest of Honour: Bruce Gillespie
This bio comes from Bruce's apazines for Acnestis.
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I was born on 17 February 1947.
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Lived at Oakleigh, a suburb 13 km south-east of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia,
then all round Melbourne; some time in the country; then inner suburbs.
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Parents: Frank (d. 1989) and Betty; two sisters: Robin (b. 1948) and Jeanette
(b. 195 1).
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Went to school at Oakleigh State School (now called Oakleigh Primary School)
for Grades 1 to 6 (1953 - 58). Then to Oakleigh High School (now defunct
for lack of students, although it had 1100 of them in 1959) for Forms 1
to 4 (1959-62). Then to Bacchus Marsh High School (50 km west of Melbourne)
for Forms 5 and 6 (1963 and 1964). Three years of Arts, majoring in English
and History, at the University of Melbourne (1965-67) followed by a perfunctory
year of Diploma of Education (1968).
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Bought my first copy of Australian Science FYction Review in 1966, but
joined fandom only at the beginning of 1968. First convention: 1968 Melbourne
Science Fiction Conference.
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Thrown to the wolves in 1969: attempted to teach for two years at Ararat
Technical School. Liked teaching about as much as D. H. Lawrence did. Worst
two years of my life, but ...
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Began publishing SF Commentary at the beginning of 1969. The first eighteen
issues appeared in its first two years!
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Beginning of 1971: by a weird series of accidents I gained a job I liked:
editor/writer for the Publications Branch of the Education Department;
invaluable pressure course in learning to edit magazines and books and
write for magazines.
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1972: Gained first Ditmar Award and first Hugo nomination for SF Commentary.
Kissed a woman for the first time. (Don't laugh immoderately. If it hadn't
been for fandom giving a boost to my minuscule self esteem, I might never
have got around to kissing.)
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1973-74: Quit Publications Branch to do my one and only Big Overseas Trip.
Four months in Canada and USA (Torcon to beginning of January 1974); one
month in Britain (all of January 1974). I recovered, although most of the
people I stayed with didn't. Met in America someone I wanted to marry,
but for the usual complicated reasons, didn't.
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1974: Became a freelance editor, and lived in a wonderfully grotty flat
in Carlton Street, Carlton. Met Elaine for the first time, although she
doesn't remember the event.
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IL975: Many exciting turn-ups, including the formation of Norstrilia Press
with Carey Handfield (and, later, Rob Gerrand). Our first book was Philip
K. Dick: Electric Shepherd. Also Aussiecon 1, Melbourne's first Worldcon.
I was officially coordinator for Ursula Le Guin's Writers' Workshop. Rotten
coordinator, but I did get to meet Ursula, attend the Workshop and write
some stories. Attempted to share my life and grotty flat with a wonderful
woman. This lasted from August until October.
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1976: Did various lugubriously awful things, such as falling in love with
a woman who was already in love with someone else. Wrote agonised fanzines
about all this. Finished the year sans flat, sans job, sans much hope at
all. Everybody should have a year like 1976 to remind them how good the
rest of their life can be.
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1977: Invited by Elaine and Frank, the bloke she was living with, to share
their large flat in Collinwood. I brought with me two cats (my cat Flodnap,
and Flodnap's cat Julius) to add to the household's Solomon, Ishtar and
Apple Blossom. Gained a half-time freelance job as Assistant Editor of
the magazine of the Victorian Secondary Teachers Association. Was flat
broke most of the year. Elaine and I found that we lived quite comfortably
in the same house.
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1978: Frank finished his medical course, and was posted to Tasmania to
do his internship. After what seemed to us an uninevitable series of events,
what other people took as inevitable happened: in early March Elaine and
I began 'living together' rather than 'living in the same house'. Early
April: freelance work began to pour in, and I left the VSTAjob. Phew! Norstrilia
Press bought an IBM Electronic Composer (a cross between an IBM golfball
typewriter and a computer). I began several profitable years of typesetting
books for NP, Paul Collins, Hyland House and several other publishers.
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1979: Elaine and I get married almost exactly a year after we started living
together. A small event, with 14 close relatives. The wedding photos show
that I had lots of hair then, and Elaine had very long hair.
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1980-84: My work began to disappear, even as Elaine decided to become a
proof-reader and editor. Not enough money to publish SF Commentary, so
it did not appear for eight years. In a fit of madness, I published SF
Commentary Reprint Edition: First Year 1969 in an edition of 200 copies;
80 of them are still unsold.
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1984: Macmillan offered me the arrangement I'm still working under: I stay
a freelance, but work mainly for them, first as an editor, then as a desktop
publisher.
With real money in my pocket for the first time in three years, I began
The Metaphysical Review (and revived SFC in 1989).
Elaine rose quickly from being a freelance proof-reader to being a full-time
proof-reader, to gaining a full-time job as editor.
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1985: Financial disaster! I bought a CD player, and then began buying CDs.
Lots of them. Virtually bankrupt by 1987, but Elaine rescued me (and got
me to cut up my Bankcard). CDs are still my favourite waste of time.
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Not much after that except keeping our collective heads above water. Elaine's
mother died in 1987, my father in 1989, and Elaine's father a year later.
Grow old; wear trousers rolled; disappearing hair; much death of old cats
and acquiring of new cats: present crew are TC (I 6 years old and fading),
Oscar (I I years old), Theodore (10 years old), Sophie (five years old),
and Polly (seven months old). Elaine became a freelance editor, also working
at home, a couple of years ago. Because she's one of the few maths/science
editors in Victoria, she has plenty of work.
In summary? My story is that of a very shy lad who happened to find science
fiction fans, the one group of people who could (partially) socialise me
and give me a place to exist. Fandom has been very kind to me. My story
also shows the yearnings of someone who would have liked to do something
magnificent in the literary line, but could never work out what it might
be, and is now sure that he hasn't the talent to do it. I've never written
a novel because I could never think of an idea that might stretch to 60,000
words. I've had a few stories published, but, dispirited by my own stuff,
have written no fiction for ten years.
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