Well, I think it’s now entirely obvious why I would make a terrible journalist! I had planned to blog each day of Left Coast Crime, but became distracted by MANY shiny objects.
A few catch-up highlights: The debut author breakfast went swimmingly, and I even had five lovely new readers at my table. Afterwards, I chatted with writers Michelle Gagnon, Alexandra Sokoloff, and JT Ellison. Simon Wood was there as well and told (in his delightfully deadpan Brit accent) a wicked story about his eight year-old self misspelling the name of a particular Norse king. And though I should’ve been at more panels learning things, I spent lots of time in the “Endless Conversation” room with its informal writer roundtables. There, I got to hear Kelli Stanley play the harmonica, and learn why Mario Acevedo writes cool books like The Nymphos of Rocky Flats. Last, but not least, was my own scheduled endless conversation panel with my new favorite breakfast companion, David Corbett, as well as Sam Reaves and Patricia Stoltey.
(I know that’s a lot of linked names, but one of the best things about Left Coast Crime is its intimacy. Readers and writers alike get to spend lots of time getting to know one another, and these are folks I think you’ll like to meet, too.)
On Saturday night, ISABELLA MOON did not win the coveted ARTY award for which she was nominated. The ARTY went to Rhys Bowen’s HER ROYAL SPYNESS, a book I had been dying to read. Fortunately, on that morning’s visit to Denver’s cozy MURDER BY THE BOOK bookstore, I was able to pick up a signed first edition and Rhys very kindly inscribed it for me before the banquet. I devoured the book on the plane ride home, and it was exactly the charming between-the-wars (WWI and II) mystery romp that I had hoped it would be.
Best and Worst celeb-contact moment: The best part was meeting mystery writer and former St Louisan Elaine Viets and having the privilege of pushing her wheelchair for her. The worst part was getting Elaine Viets and her wheelchair stuck in the teeny-tiny elevator I never should have even considered pushing her chair into. But I was excited and thoughtless and even may have said a curse word out loud a moment after I jammed the chair in the door. *sigh*
Best Tourist Moment: Touring the Molly Brown (the unsinkable one) House and having high tea with my friends Kelli and Tana at the stunning Brown Palace Hotel. Oh, and between the house tour and tea, I got to stand on the step of Colorado’s Capitol Building that is exactly one mile above sea level. (Drop by my myspace blog for a slideshow because I can’t figure out how to do one here.)
Latest News: 1) My editor seems to like CALLING MR LONELY HEARTS, and I’m very relieved and excited. Seems it’s “sexy horror!” Editing begins this week. Can’t wait for you all to read it. 2) What does an incredibly dilatory blogger do for an encore? Why, she starts blogging somewhere else, of course. Meet the Mid-Century Modern Moms–Ten women of a certain age who have teenagers at home. We’ll dish about life with the darling creatures–and they’re kids of all descriptions, abilities, and challenges. I blog every other Wednesday, so I think I can keep up.
More later. Really!
P.S. When you were a child, did you ever accidentally let slip a naughty word that you didn’t know the meaning of at the time? Best story wins a copy of Elaine Viets’s DYING TO CALL YOU and an ISABELLA MOON spiral bound journal.
Here is my “bad” word story.
When I was about 4 (according to mum), we were driving in the city…doesn’t matter which one as according to pops they are all alike. Anyhoo, he had this nasty habit of cursing traffic. One day as we joyfully drove along, he was cut off and said, “what a dumb assed thing to do.” A few days later, dad missed the exit, and without missing a beat, but knowing you should never say curse words, I said, “dad…that was a (insert hesitation) assed thing to do.” I did not get into trouble, because mum said I knew that one of the words was bad, and that dumb wasn’t a very nice word either.
Hope you like my story! Kristin
Winston Churchill once similarly botched his duties–pushing Franklin Delano Roosevelt. You’re in good company!
I very much like your story, Kristin!
Here’s mine: When I was eleven, I called my younger sister a slut at the dinner table. I had heard the word before, but had no idea what it meant. There was just this dead silence from my parents and my dad told me to look it up in the dictionary. Seeing that it meant “a woman of ill repute” made no impression whatsoever on me!
Joe, you’re always such a comfort!
Well since you not so discreetly dared me to come in here, I could show my true writing chops and tell you an elaborate story about the time I bit my tongue (literally) at the dinner table at the age of eight, and without thinking said son of a bitch (which by this age I had heard a time or two out of my dad’s mouth) or the time I let slip one of those really long shiiii-oooooooots when I ran into the chair leg with my baby toe for what seemed liked the thousandth time, right in front of grandma and all the cousins the Thanksgiving dinner when I was 6. But I won’t because I would be lying, and I was one of those nauseatingly uber-conscience kids who never said a swear word until I was probably almost out of high school. 🙂 The question is, did you believe me?