It’s mid-day Friday at Left Coast Crime… and it’s shaping up to be another lively day at the conference. There was a interesting, and very funny, panel on mystery reviewing moderated by Steve Brewer and featuring David Montgomery and Carl Brookins. I had to leave mid-way through to do a panel of my own — Why Would Anyone Want to Read a TV Show? — and had a lot of fun telling stories about TV. I sat in on Lewis Perdue’s talk about what happens when events in your novels come true… and caught up again with David Montgomery and Nathan Walpow to talk about the reviewing biz and small press publishing. Then it was off to the book room, where I tried to avoid buying by chatting with Victor Gishler and Denise Hamilton about balancing family and writing committments. I just finished a nice, long lunch with Bill Crider, Charlaine Harris, Bob Levinson and Walter Satterthwait, talking about ghost writing, panels we’ll never forget, and other stories from the writing life.
It’s already been a pretty full day… and it’s only 1:15. I’m on a panel coming up on funny things that have happened at book signings… sadly, I have LOTS of stories I can tell…
Sounds like a great time so far. Reminds me of the great time I had at Bouchercon in Philly, where even a shy nobody like me could talk to anybody and everybody. It was worth it, even if I did get lost in north Philly at 2 a.m.
Gatherings of this stripe are the best, I opine. I recall one I attended a number of years ago. I didn’t know anyone there, beyond recognition of the big names, obviously the drawing cards to the event, so I kept to the edges. That is, until this big named writer, who had grown bored with the brown-nosers, assorted drunks, and sluts, came over, sat down, sighed, and asked me why I was there.
Wanting to make a good impression I decided to go the honest route and replied I didn’t really know.
He thought about that, nodded, and suggested we go elsewhere for a bite to eat and a drink or two.
What a night that was. Sadly, that wonderful fellow has passed. But I have my memories of him, as he really was.