Bouchercon Advice from a Ten-Time Attendee

 Readers are generally introverts. That doesn’t mean we don’t like other people, and it’s not that we don’t enjoy spending time with others who share an interest, but we’d have to leave the house to meet them and that cuts into our reading time.

 

While Bouchercon provides a golden opportunity to get spend time with like-minded individuals, it can be intimidating. Over a thousand readers and several hundred writers are a bit much for someone with little or no experience in such things. No worries. There is no more welcoming atmosphere than Bouchercon and I can personally attest to that.

 

My first Bouchercon was 2008, in Baltimore, several years before I was published. I was standing on the walkway between hotels with Peter Rozovsky, one of about three people I actually knew then, when he asked if I was having a good time.

Me: Sort of.

PR: What’s wrong?

Me: I don’t really know anyone here.

PR: (Looks around) Do you know Scott Phillips?

Me: I know who he is….

PR: (Waving) Scott! Come here a second! (Scott Phillips comes over.) Scott, this is Dana King. Dana, this is Scott Phillips. He wrote The Ice Harvest. (Peter does not know I am head over heels for The Ice Harvest.)

SP: (Extends hand) Hi, Dana.

(We chat for five minutes and Scott has to go to a panel.)

PR: See? Now you know Scott Phillips.

 

One year later. Indianapolis. I’m on the periphery of the crowd at the bar looking for anyone I know. I see Scott with a group of people, but I only met him for five minutes a year ago; he’s not someone I know. Scott notices me and waves me over.

 

SP: Hi, Dana. We’re going to get something to eat. You want to come?

 

 That’s what Bouchercon is. It’s like Vegas for introverts.

 

See you next week. I’ve made more than one good friend because they read my similar posts in other years and we got together at the conference.

 

I do have one caveat: My eyesight has deteriorated due to macular degeneration in one eye since my last Boucheron. Mostly it’s a nuisance, but a large conference exacerbates the problems. We take recognizing faces for granted, but the level of small, specific detail that goes into such recognition is remarkable. The problem is, picking up small details is what AMD costs me most.

 

So if I know you, or you want to meet me, and I appear to be walking right by you, it’s not because I’m an aloof asshole. I am an aloof asshole, but I’m not blowing you off; I just don’t recognize you, and I probably can’t read your name badge , either. Stop me and say hello. Don’t be shy about reminding me who you are if I’m slow to do so. I’ll appreciate the courtesy.

 

Thoughts on How to Handle Future Bouchercon Controversies

 I had a post drafted for today that discussed the recent Bouchercon Otto Penzler controversy, but Anthony Horowitz’s withdrawal from this year’s conference made the topic moot. The whole episode brought to mind things that seem to come up with increasing frequency, so I’m considering them fair game.

 For those unaware, I’m not just a cisgendered white heterosexual male; I’m old. If that disqualifies my opinion from your consideration, you can stop reading now. No hard feelings. I’ll catch you next week.

 Among the benefits of being my age is – at least should be – an ability to gain context through viewing the world through the perspective of time. I’d hate to think I haven’t learned anything in sixty-eight years, so I continue to see what I might do differently if faced with similar circumstances. As a man with a temper, this comes in handy. (Those who have seen my temper know that is not a self-effacing comment.)

 There is much injustice in the world. Readers and writers conferences are not immune, and people are right to point it out when it happens. The recent Penzler controversy had to do with misogyny, but race and LGBTQ+ concerns are never far from public attention, nor should they be. The question is what to do about them. Too often the first impulse is to withdraw from the conference and talk about a boycott, but no one ever talks about what a boycott would accomplish other than making the participants feel good about their self-perceived purity.

 But what about the collateral damage? Let’s stick with Bouchercon and Penzler for a moment. Who would it harm if everyone who objected to his appearance chose to skip the conference? Certainly not Otto, but if a total boycott were successful enough it could put a significant crimp into Bouchercon’s finances and endanger future events. Is that what anybody wants?

 I’m sure there are some out there thinking “If that’s how the conference is going to be run, maybe it should go away.” Let’s step back a second and think of all the good Bouchercon does. In addition to the charitable work, the celebration of reading has value in a world that seems to care less about reading all the time. It’s also a chance for readers and writers – who are more likely than not introverts – to get together in a safe place with kindred spirits. Do we want to endanger that over a symbolic gesture not likely to accomplish anything concrete?

 So what can we do? We can express our displeasure as Lee Goldberg did so eloquently in a letter he shared on Facebook.

 But what if Horowitz hadn’t gotten everyone off the hook by withdrawing?

I think the best response would have been to go to Nashville, do everything that makes Bouchercon special, then boycott the guest of honor event. I can think of no better way to show what the crime fiction community thinks of Otto than to make him  interview Horowitz in an empty room. A conference boycott would allow him to claim martyrdom; mass avoidance of  his specific event sends a much more pointed and credible message.

 I raised this point on Facebook and Lori Rader-Day made an excellent counterpoint: How many people there either don’t know or don’t care and would go anyway? I have two thoughts on that:

 1.    If they don’t know, then it should be our job to educate them. Have pins made up for folks to wear. It could be as simple as “Boycott Otto,” though something more cryptic. “Ask me about Otto.” Notices on the bulletin boards. Arm-, wrist-, or headbands. Messages on the Bouchercon Facebook page. Whatever works.

2.    If they know and still want to come, well, it’s a free country.

Otto Penzler has a right to hold abhorrent positions. Let him come. It’s not as if he was going to give a pro-misogyny speech or hold a men’s rights rally. We could demonstrate our disdain by effectively shunning him, or by making a point of exposing how wrong his ideas about women are by showing strong, empowered women who no longer feel threatened by his Cro-Magnon outlook. To say “he can’t come or we won’t” is a form of cancelation. Seize the opportunity to expose his wrongheadedness to those previously unaware of it. To discourage such discourse is no better than banning books, which I assume is something no one reading this advocates.

 I am not defending Otto Penzler, nor Bouchercon’s invitation. (I know, it was at Horowitz’s request; the committee still formalized it.) The apology issued after Horowitz withdrew was an example of the non-apology apologies that have become so prevalent. The decision to invite him was tone deaf and insensitive. I dwell on it here because a similar situation is bound to come up again, and we should all think about what remedies we propose: Will this accomplish something? Or am I just doing it to make myself feel better?

 I don’t know Otto Penzler; never met him. Based on what I know, I don’t feel like I missed much. If folks wanted to show their disdain for him, which do you think would be better: to boycott the conference, allowing him to claim martyrdom and possibly risking Bouchercon’s continued existence? Or  to give everyone a chance to show him exactly what they think of him in person?

 I know which I’d choose.

Bouchercon Memories

 Since I can’t be at Bouchercon in person this year, I thought I’d use this space to recap my favorite memories. The lost got ling, so not everything is here. If any strike your interest and you’d like more detail, let me know in the comments and I’ll dedicate a post to it/them.

 

Baltimore, 2008

My indoctrination began in earnest when Peter Rozovsky (one of three people I already knew going in) introduced me to Scott Phillips, who’d written one of my favorite books (The Ice Harvest).

Meeting Declan Hughes in the men’s room.

Speaking with Michael Black and learning that reading Connie Fletcher’s books, which I was already doing, was as good a way as any to understand cops and police work.

Zoe Sharp, who I knew only through the Murderati blog, asking me to sign a get well card for J.T. Ellison.

 

Indianapolis, 2009

Scott Phillips recognized me in the bar and asked if I’d like to get something to eat with the group he was with. Our only previous interaction had been when Peter introduced us in Baltimore.

Speaking with Max Allen Collins about his work with Mickey Spillane.

 

Cleveland, 2012

My first panel: “Murder in Small Towns,” moderated by Sandra Parshall,  with co-panelists Erika Chase and Brenda Chapman, all of whom made my first experience facing the audience not just a pleasure, but damned easy on my blood pressure.

Standing at the bar wearing my “What Would Al Swearengen Do?” tee shirt and having a stranger accost me with “I want that shirt.” This was the opening act of what became an enduring friendship with Tim O’Mara.

 

Albany, 2013

Panel: “Goodnight, My Angel: Hard-boiled, Noir, and the Reader's Love Affair With Both,” moderated by Peter Rozovsky, with Eric Beetner, Mike Dennis, Terrence McCauley, and Jonathan Woods. I was already friends with Peter, Eric, and Mike, and became friends with the others two, Terrence famously so..

Albany had what they called Author’s Choice slots, where individuals or groups could sign up for half hours to do whatever they wanted. I used my time to discuss Raymond Chandler’s ideal detective and established a bit of a footprint in the community, thanks to the substantial audience that remained after the Thuglit reading that preceded it. Thanks to Todd Robinson for packing them in for me.

 

Long Beach, 2014

Noir at the (Breakfast) Bar, featuring readings by Les Edgerton, Tim Hallinan, and John McFetridge.

My first Shamus dinner. The Beloved Spouse™ and I sat with Tim Hallinan; Tim and I were both nominated, though in different categories. Neither of us won, but I was down with the dinners forever after.

Running into the late Sue Grafton the morning after she received her lifetime achievement award at the Shamuses. I approached and got as far as “Hello, Ms. Grafton” before she interrupted with “Please, call me Sue” and chatted for a bit. A class act all the way.

 

Raleigh, 2015

Panel: “Just the Facts: The Police Procedural.” James O. Born moderated Colin Campbell, Stephanie Gayle, Larry Kelter, and me in a discussion of police methods and how best to portray them. This may be my favorite panel ever, as Jim took time after my first answer to tell folks that what I said was dead on. I floated out of there.

The next day Jim did a solo event on police tactics, and the escalation of force spectrum. J.D. Rhoades was there to answer the recurring question “Can I shoot him now?”

Chicken and hush puppies at Clyde Cooper’s.

 

 

New Orleans, 2016

My first moderator gig, with Heather Graham, Terrence McCauley, and a writer whose name I am keeping to myself for reasons those who were there will understand. I honest to God do not remember the topic and there’s nothing about the panel in my contemporaneous notes, so I guess I was fully in the moment.

Dinner with John McFetridge and Laurie Reid at the Chartres House.

My second Shamus nomination, and we sat at the Down & Out Books table with J.L. Abramo, nominated in the same category as I. To show what a good guy Joe is, he won, I lost, and we’re still friends.

Losing my wallet in my pants.

 

Toronto, 2017

Panel: “Heroes and Antiheroes: Are heroes possible even in fiction? Do we need them?” J. Kent Messum led a star-studded cast of Eric Campbell, Allison Gaylin, Stuart Neville, and David Swinson (and me) through what was likely the most elevated panel discussion I’ve been part of.

The Beloved Spouse™ and I spent a day at Niagara Falls on the way to Toronto and had a ball.

Korean Barbecue with John McFetridge and friends.

 

St. Petersburg, 2018

Terrence McCauley and his lovely wife Rita hosted a marvelous dinner for about twenty friends; The Beloved Spouse™ and I were honored they chose to include us. A truly special event.

TBS and I rode to the Shamus dinner in an actual Lincoln Town Car, not one of the compromised second drafts they’re passing off as Town Cars now. Our driver owned the car service and had worked as a stand-up comedian. We had a ball both going and coming.

 

Dallas, 2019

Noir at the Bar, hosted by Eryk Pruitt and featuring a hilarious and insightful reading by Joe Lansdale,.

The most memorable panel was one I was not a member of, on police procedurals. When asked by an audience member who was writing good procedurals today, both Frank Zafiro and Mark Bergin – retired cops, no less – called me out. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Dinner with James D.F. Hannah and Adam Plantinga, with apologies to Mark Bergin, with whom our wires got crossed.

Apologies to my co-panelists. My vision issues were at their worst in Dallas, and much of what happened there is a literal blur.

 

I’ll have no new memories this year, and San Diego is likely outside our comfortable travel radius. We’ll be loaded for bear in Nashville.

Reviving the Annual Bouchercon Post

 

(What follows is an edited version of a post I make every year right before Bouchercon. The truth doesn’t change just because I won’t be there this year.)

 Readers are, by and large, introverts. By definition, introverts expend energy around other people and recharge when alone. That doesn’t mean introverts don’t like other people, though we may be somewhat more discerning than extroverts when it comes to who we choose to be around. It’s not that we don’t like spending time with people who share an interest, but we’d have to leave the house to meet them and that cuts into our reading time.

 (The Sole Heir™ and I used to have this conversation fairly often when I was between marriages:

 TSH: Do you ever go out?

Me: Not much.

TSH: Why not?

Me: If I go out I’m going to see a lot of people I don’t know.

TSH: What’s wrong with that?

Me: I hate people I don’t know.

After a year or so she came up with the next logical question.

TSH: Why do you hate people you don’t know?

Me: It saves time.)

 Bouchercon is the perfect place for such a person. True, it’s close to two thousand people in relatively confined quarters, but it’s not just that. It’s hundreds of people who are geeked up about the same thing you are, and are often hungry for others to talk to about it. Even better, it’s not just the thousand-plus like-minded readers you’ll see: you’ll also be tripping over the people who write the books you’re so revved up about.

 It can be expensive, but it’s a bargain compared to many other similar events. The conference fee itself is always reasonable and I’m constantly surprised when I see the room rate the committee gets at the host hotel. The only complaint I’ve had is the hotels routinely do not put enough additional staff on the bar. Doesn’t mean I don’t socialize; I just don’t drink as much. The hotel’s loss is my liver’s gain.

 So, dear readers, if you’re curious to see what over a thousand readers and several hundred crime fiction writers look like in the wild, there’s no better place to find out than Bouchercon. Family health issues will keep me away this year, but there will still be hundreds of writers who will happily talk to you and maybe give a few tips on to get the most out of your conference. (No worries, we’ll be fine; it’s more a matter of ill timing. See what I did there? Health issues? Ill timing?) Just exercise common civility when approaching, and wait until they’re not involved in another conversation or eating or taking a dump.

 By way of example, my favorite Bouchercon story began in 2008, in Baltimore, at my first conference, and several years before I was published. Standing on the walkway between hotels with Peter Rozovsky, one of about three people I actually knew then. He asked was I having a good time.

 Me: Sort of.

PR: What’s wrong?

Me: I don’t really know anyone here. (See above statement about people I don’t know.)

PR: (Looks around) Do you know Scott Phillips?

Me: I know who he is….

PR: (Waving) Scott! Come here a second! (Scott Phillips comes over.) Scott, this is Dana King. Dana, this is Scott Phillips. He wrote The Ice Harvest. (Peter does not know I am head over heels for The Ice Harvest.)

SP: (Extends hand) Hi, Dana.

(We chat for five minutes and Scott has to go to a panel.)

PR: See? Now you know Scott Phillips.

 One year later. Indianapolis. I’m on the periphery of the crowd at the bar looking for anyone I know. I see Scott with a group of people, but he’s someone I’ve met for five minutes a year ago, not someone I know. Scott notices me and waves me over.

 SP: Dana, we’re going to get something to eat. You want to come?

 That’s what Bouchercon is like. If in doubt, go. If not this year, then 2023 in San Diego. Or 2024 in Nashville. 2025 in New Orleans. If you’re reading this blog, you really owe it to yourself to go at least once. It’s like Vegas for introverts.

 

 

From the Archives: Collateral Damage

 

I’m at the Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity Conference in Columbia MD this weekend and won’t be available to moderate comments, so I looked back into the archives to see what I was blogging about ten years ago. (Yes, this blog has run for over ten years now. Today’s is Post 983.)

 

There was no post on September 10, 2011, but this one from September 8 seems oddly suitable for a couple of reasons, at least to me.

 

Collateral Damage

 

The earthquake knocked over a picture. The hurricane didn't even flicker the lights. Yesterday thunderstorms left us without power for twelve hours and water so deep I had waves behind me as I ran the wet vac at 2:30 in the morning.

Enough.

We have water in our basement almost as often as John Boehner reneges on a deal. Tomorrow I'm scouring Angie's List for wet basement contractors; they can come by during my scheduled time off next week. Interviewing contractors in Maryland and attending Bouchercon in St. Louis at the same time is beyond even my multi-tasking abilities, so I'm afraid Bouchercon will get a pass this year.

I'd ask anyone I might have shared a beverage with to meet me next year in Cleveland, but it's Cleveland, for Chrissakes. I'll probably go, but the Pittsburgh boy in me can't ask someone else to go to Cleveland with a clear conscience.

There's always Albany.

Bouchercon 2021: A Look Back

Today is the day I would normally post my pre-Bouchercon message. (No, not because it’s August 20. It’s the Friday before Bouchercon.) Since this year’s event has been postponed, I’m posting thoughts about that. I am not, and have never been, on an organizing committee, so I can speak frankly. Consider that fair warning.

 

First off, this year’s Bouchercon was not canceled; it was postponed. Things that are canceled never happen; postponement puts things off until a later date, in this case 2025.

 

There has been griping about the handling of this year’s erstwhile conference. Stop it. This year’s committee did yeoman’s work under extremely difficult, ultimately impossible, circumstances. They deserve every kudo they would have received had the conference come off. They did all they could and deserve full honors.

 

Every year there are complaints about some aspect of the conference; I have done so myself. That said, based on my experience of attending ten Bouchercons, and having gained some insights into what has to happen to make them work, I have some well-considered advice for the most common grievances.

 

“I don’t like my panel assignment.” Shut the fuck up.

 

“The venue is too small/large/hot/cold/stuffy/not close enough to places I’d like to go, etc.” Shut the fuck up.

 

“They chose the wrong people for this panel.” Shut the fuck up.

 

“Why is it in [insert city name] during [hurricane, fire, natural disaster of your choice] season?” Shut the fuck up.

 

“The book room is a mess,” or, alternately, “I can’t get my book into the dealers’ room.” Shut the fuck up.

 

(Unique to this year.) “I’m canceling because of the virus. Why can’t I get my money back?” Read the registration form, then shut the fuck up.

 

The ultimate solution to all these complaints is to volunteer for a future committee. Spend your time (and money) negotiating contracts, finding alternate activities for spouses and kids, booking guests of honor, coordinating with publishers for receptions, handling book sales logistics, organizing panels, last minute changes, and the myriad of other things—some anticipated, others not—that go into pulling off a Bouchercon. Do that once—one time—I guarantee you’ll shut the fuck up forever after.

 

Bouchercon is a labor of love, and few loves require more labor on the part of those who have volunteered to make it work. I have been to Bouchercons that worked better than others, but never have I had even an inkling those that weren’t as successful were due to any lack of effort or involvement by the organizers.

 

There is no “Bouchercon Inc.” or “Bouchercon LLC;” these folks often have to put up their own funds as deposits. Until you’re willing to do that, and put your money where your mouth is, I only have one word of advice as to what to do about going public with your Bouchercon complaints: Shut the fuck up.

The Annual Pre-Bouchercon Post

(What follows is a lightly edited post from March of 2017 when the Anthony Award nominations went out and I got to thinking about Bouchercon. With this year’s conference on the rapidly approaching horizon I realized I don’t have anything more profound to say about the conference this year, but not everyone has read this, so here you go.)

Readers are, by and large, introverts. By definition, introverts expend energy around other people and recharge when alone. That doesn’t mean introverts don’t like other people, though we may be somewhat more discerning than extroverts when it comes to who we choose to be around. It’s not that we don’t like spending time around people who share an interest, but we’d have to leave the house to meet them and that cuts into our reading time.*

Bouchercon is the perfect place for such a person. True, it’s close to two thousand people in relatively confined quarters, but it’s not just that. It’s hundreds of people who are geeked up about the same thing you are, and are often hungry for others to talk to about it. Even better, it’s not just the thousand-plus like-minded readers you’ll see: you’ll also be tripping over the people who write the books you’re so revved up about. What could be better?

They’re glad to see you, too. I’ve been to eight Bouchercons in the ten years since I discovered them. I’ve made friends there, cemented acquaintances with people I came to know online, and have created enough of a footprint myself that some people actually recognize me. I have never once been treated other than civilly, and far more often than not people have gone out of their way to be friendly.**

It can be an expense, but it’s a bargain compared to many other conferences. The conference fee itself is always reasonable and I’m constantly surprised when I see the room rate the committee gets at the host hotel. The only complaint I’ve had is the hotels rarely appreciate how much readers and writers drink and fail to put enough additional staff on the bar. Doesn’t mean I don’t socialize; I just don’t drink as much. The hotel’s loss is my liver’s gain.

So, dear readers, if you’re curious to see what over a thousand readers and several hundred crime fiction writers look like in the wild, there’s no better place to find out than Bouchercon.

* -- The Sole Heir™ was pre-teen when my tenure at Castle Voldemort ended and I was the classic single divorced father again. We used to have this conversation fairly often:

TSH: Do you ever go out?

Me: Not much.

TSH: Why not?

Me: If I go out I’m going to see a lot of people I don’t know.

TSH: What’s wrong with that?

Me: I hate people I don’t know.

After a year or so she came up with the next logical question.

TSH: Why do you hate people you don’t know?

Me: It saves time.

** -- My favorite Bouchercon story. Baltimore, 2008. My virgin appearance. Standing on the walkway between hotels with Peter Rozovsky, one of about three people I actually knew then. He asked was I having a good time.

Me: Sort of.

PR: What’s wrong?

Me: I don’t really know anyone here. (See above statement about people I don’t know.)

PR: (Looks around) Do you know Scott Phillips?

Me: I know who he is….

PR: (Waving) Scott! Come here a second! (Scott Phillips comes over.) Scott, this is Dana King. Dana, this is Scott Phillips. He wrote The Ice Harvest. (Peter does not know I am head over heels for The Ice Harvest.)

SP: (Extends hand) Hi, Dana.

(We chat for five minutes and Scott has to go to a panel.)

PR: See? Now you know Scott Phillips.

One year later. Indianapolis. I’m on the periphery of the crowd at the bar looking for anyone I know. I see Scott with a group of people, but he’s someone I’ve met for five minutes a year ago, not someone I know. Scott notices me and waves me over.

SP: Dana, we’re going to get something to eat. You want to come?

That’s what Bouchercon is like. If in doubt, go. Look me up. Mention this post and your drink is on me. I’m not paying for it. I’m just clumsy when I get excited.

I’m not paying for it. I’m just clumsy when I get excited.

(Epilog: I reposted this a couple of weeks before last year’s conference in St. Petersburg. First day in St. Pete I spy my good friend and general purpose mensch Terrence McCauley talking to someone whose back is to me and I don’t recognize. I walk up, say hello to T-Mac, who then introduces me to Frank Zafiro. What makes this story memorable is not just that Frank is a great guy and we became instant friends, but that he had read this blog post before flying to St. Pete and had me on his list of people to keep an eye out for. It was my pleasure to do what I could to make Frank feel welcome at his first Bouchercon as a way to pay it forward for the kindness Scott Phillips showed me in Indianapolis. Look me up if you see this and are in Dallas next week. I’ll do what I can to introduce you around. I’m still clumsy with drinks.

What's the Deal With Bouchercon?

I re-posted some thoughts about Bouchercon last week, which got me to thinking about the conference in more detail. With this year’s event beginning two weeks from tomorrow, this seems as good a time as any to share thoughts I’ve had about more than why it’s a fun opportunity.

Not that it isn’t a fun opportunity. It’s safe to say that for The Beloved Spouse™ and me Bouchercon is the social event of the year, to the point where I save up time off from work so we can make a road trip of it. Two years ago we drove to New Orleans from the Baltimore-DC area. Last year we took a couple of extra days to go to Niagara Falls and the Hockey Hall of Fame. This year we’re making three stops along the way to visit family and friends, plus a day at Busch Gardens. We’re already thinking of driving to Dallas next year. We work our annual schedules around it.

It’s obvious that we have our own agenda when going each year. We’ve made enough friends over the years that it has in many ways become more of a social event than anything else for us. Yes, I still wait with growing anticipation for the panel announcements to come out and I attend as many panels as I can, notebook in hand, soaking up as much information and good writer vibe as I possible.

When one is trying to make a go of it as an author it’s easy to get caught up in the authorly aspects. (Yes, that’s a word. I just made it up, and I’m a writer, so I have what’s called license.) It’s fashionable among writers to kvetch about our panel assignments or any of the various social issues authors get involved with; diversity is big this year, and rightly so. We’d all like to make a good impression and sell some books in the process, which is another thing I like about Bouchercon: the attitude is less to sell books than to get readers interested in you. It’s a soft sell.

I’ve been involved in some discussions about how we as authors can make changes to improve either the diversity of panels, or support the #metoo movement. I’m all for both, but there’s one thing that keeps me from taking a more active role in either when going to Bouchercon.

It’s not a writers’ conference.

It’s a readers’ conference that I attend as a writer. I am their guest, and, as such, I’m grateful to have been invited. That doesn’t mean I’ll stand by if someone is being harassed. Nor will I reserve my opinion about any conference-related issue if asked.* I’m just not going to impose my opinions on anyone. It’s not my house. The organizing committees—composed mostly of readers and those who run web sites and magazines and hold the entire community together the way mortar binds brick—do an outstanding job year after year. They have more competing priorities than I want to think about, and the last thing I want to do is tell them how to run their conference.

What I will do is whatever I’m asked. I will be just as gracious if assigned to a panel of supernatural animal cozy writers for whom English is a second language as I would be if I sat next to Michael Connelly, Laura Lippmann, Megan Abbott, and Reed Farrel Coleman. If an organizer asks me to help out with something, I will. If a reader wants to talk to me, just come on up, so long as the standard rules of civility are observed. There are more writers looking for exposure than there are slots for them. I’ll never take such an opportunity for granted. The best news about Bouchercon is that the vast majority of the writers have that same attitude, and that includes those at the top of the profession. It is as egalitarian an occurrence as any you will find.

So, at the risk of sounding like I’m sucking up (which I’m not, as I already have my panel assignment and it’s a peach), thank you to everyone responsible for pulling this year’s (and last year’s, and the year before that, and next year’s) conference together. From finding the hotels to getting us good rates to finding sponsors to organizing the peripheral activities to setting up the schedule and assigning panels, what I think of most when pulling up to the conference hotel is how my work is done; everything that happens for the next four days has been taken care of. All I have left to do is to make sure I enjoy myself and, for that, I’ll do whatever the readers ask.

(* -- A “politics-free zone” extends for three feet in every direction from my center of mass. I’m not saying you can’t talk about politics; it’s a free country. Just don’t be distressed or think me rude if I walk away. These four days are for the books.)

Why Go to Bouchercon?

(What follows is a lightly edited post from March of 2017 when the Anthony Award nominations went out and I got to thinking about Bouchercon. With this year’s conference on the rapidly approaching horizon I realized I don’t have anything more profound to say about the conference this year, but not everyone has read this, so here you go.)

Readers are, by and large, introverts. By definition, introverts expend energy around other people and recharge when alone. That doesn’t mean introverts don’t like other people, though we may be somewhat more discerning than extroverts when it comes to who we choose to be around. It’s not that we don’t like spending time around people who share an interest, but we’d have to leave the house to meet them and that cuts into our reading time.*

Bouchercon is the perfect place for such a person. True, it’s close to two thousand people in relatively confined quarters, but it’s not just that. It’s hundreds of people who are geeked up about the same thing you are, and are often hungry for others to talk to about it. Even better, it’s not just the thousand-plus like-minded readers you’ll see: you’ll also be tripping over the people who write the books you’re so revved up about. What could be better?

They’re glad to see you, too. I’ve been to eight Bouchercons in the ten years since I discovered them. I’ve made friends there, cemented acquaintances with people I came to know online, and have created enough of a footprint myself that some people actually recognize me. I have never once been treated other than civilly, and far more often than not people have gone out of their way to be friendly.**

It can be an expense, but it’s a bargain compared to many other conferences. The conference fee itself is always reasonable and I’m constantly surprised when I see the room rate the committee gets at the host hotel. The only complaint I’ve had is the hotels rarely appreciate how much readers and writers drink and fail to put enough additional staff on the bar. Doesn’t mean I don’t socialize; I just don’t drink as much. The hotel’s loss is my liver’s gain.

So, dear readers, if you’re curious to see what over a thousand readers and several hundred crime fiction writers look like in the wild, there’s no better place to find out than Bouchercon.

* -- The Sole Heir™ was pre-teen when my tenure at Castle Voldemort ended and I was the classic single divorced father again. We used to have this conversation fairly often:

TSH: Do you ever go out?

Me: Not much.

TSH: Why not?

Me: If I go out I’m going to see a lot of people I don’t know.

TSH: What’s wrong with that?

Me: I hate people I don’t know.

After a year or so she came up with the next logical question.

TSH: Why do you hate people you don’t know?

Me: It saves time.

** -- My favorite Bouchercon story. Baltimore, 2008. My virgin appearance. Standing on the walkway between hotels with Peter Rozovsky, one of about three people I actually knew then. He asked was I having a good time.

Me: Sort of.

PR: What’s wrong?

Me: I don’t really know anyone here. (See above statement about people I don’t know.)

PR: (Looks around) Do you know Scott Phillips?

Me: I know who he is….

PR: (Waving) Scott! Come here a second! (Scott Phillips comes over.) Scott, this is Dana King. Dana, this is Scott Phillips. He wrote The Ice Harvest. (Peter does not know I am head over heels for The Ice Harvest.)

SP: (Extends hand) Hi, Dana.

(We chat for five minutes and Scott has to go to a panel.)

PR: See? Now you know Scott Phillips.

One year later. Indianapolis. I’m on the periphery of the crowd at the bar looking for anyone I know. I see Scott with a group of people, but he’s someone I’ve met for five minutes a year ago, not someone I know. Scott notices me and waves me over.

SP: Dana, we’re going to get something to eat. You want to come?

That’s what Bouchercon is like. If in doubt, go. Look me up. Mention this post and your drink is on me. I’m not paying for it. I’m just clumsy when I get excited.

Why Bouchercon?

It’s nomination season for the Anthony Awards, which got me to thinking about Bouchercon. Not that I need much prodding. It’s the primary event on my annual calendar. I got to chatting with a fan who’s also a friend of The Beloved Spouse on Facebook, and started looking at it from a different perspective.

Readers are, by and large, introverts. By definition, introverts expend energy around other people and recharge their supply when alone. That doesn’t mean introverts don’t like other people, though we may be somewhat more discerning than extroverts when it comes to who we choose to be around. It’s not that we don’t like spending time around people who share an interest, but we’d have to leave the house to meet them and that cuts into our reading time.*

Bouchercon is the perfect place for such a person. True, it’s close to two thousand people in relatively confined quarters, but it’s not just that. It’s hundreds of people who are geeked up about the same thing you are, and are often hungry for other to talk to about it. Even better, it’s not just the thousand-plus like-minded readers you’ll see: you’ll also be tripping over the people who write the books you’ll so revved up about. What could be better than that?

They’re glad to see you, too. I’ve been to seven Bouchercons in the nine years since I discovered them. I’ve made friends there, cemented acquaintances with people I came to know online, and have created enough of a footprint myself that some people actually recognize me now. I have never once been treated other than civilly, and far more often than not people have gone out of their way to be friendly.**

It can be an expense, but it’s a bargain compared to many other conferences. The conference fee itself is always reasonable and I’m constantly surprised when I see the room rate the committee gets at the host hotel. The only complaint I’ve had is the hotels rarely appreciate how much readers and writers drink and fail to put enough additional staff on the bar. Doesn’t mean I don’t socialize; I just don’t drink as much. The hotel’s loss is my liver’s gain.

So, dear readers, if you’re curious to see what over a thousand readers and several hundred crime fiction writers look like in the wild, there’s no better place to find out than Bouchercon.

* -- The Sole Heir was pre-teen when my tenure at Castle Voldemort ended and I was the classic single divorced father again. We used to have this conversation fairly often:

TSH: Do you ever go out?

Me: Not much.

TSH: Why not?

Me: If I go out I’m going to see a lot of people I don’t know.

TSH: What’s wrong with that?

Me: I hate people I don’t know.

After a year or so she came up with the next question in that conversation.

TSH: Why do you hate people you don’t know?

Me: It saves time.

** -- My favorite Bouchercon story. Baltimore, 2008. My virgin appearance. Standing on the walkway between hotels with Peter Rozovsky, one of about three people I actually knew then. He asked was I having a good time.

Me: Sort of.

PR: What’s wrong?

Me: I don’t really know anyone here. (See above statement about people I don’t know.)

PR: (Looks around) Do you know Scott Phillips?

Me: I know who he is….

PR: (Waving) Scott! Come here a second! (Scott Phillips comes over.) Scott, this is Dana King. Dana, this is Scott Phillips. He wrote The Ice Harvest.

SP: (Extends hand) Hi, Dana.

(We chat for five minutes and Scott has to go to a panel.)

PR: See? Now you know Scott Phillips.

One year later. Indianapolis. I’m on the periphery of the crowd at the bar looking for anyone I know. I see Scott with a group of people, but he’s someone I’ve met for five minutes a year ago, not someone I know. Scott notices me and waves me over.

SP: Dana, we’re going to get something to eat. You want to come?

That’s what Bouchercon is like. If in doubt, go. Look me up. Mention this post and your drink is on me. I’m not paying for it. I’m just clumsy when I get excited.

All Things in Moderation

I had the good fortune to serve as a moderator in both conferences I attended this year, Bouchercon and Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity. I’ve been going to writer’s conferences since 2004, and pretty much annually since 2008. I’ve been on panels at either Bouchercon or C3 or both every year but one since 2012. In that time I’ve been lucky to work with moderators who were uniformly excellent and also had differing styles. It was only natural I’d want to try my hand one day after seeing how effortlessly Sandra Parshall, Peter Rozovsky, Jim Born, et al pulled it off for me.

It ain’t as easy as they make it look.

I have no doubt there are moderators who don’t think twice about getting up in front of a couple of hundred people and asking a handful of writers questions off the tops of their heads. We’ve all seen them and can probably identify them. By and large they’re the shitty moderators. The panels roam, the questions either don’t give the writers anything to talk about that’s informative and entertaining (a good panel is both), or is so vague no one knows what to do with it. I’m sure some people can pull it off. I’m sure I’ve seen a panel or two where that happened. I’m also sure there are moderators out there right now who do this and think they pulled it off. They’re probably wrong.

Preparation is important because there’s going to be a lot of stuff going on the moderator has to keep track of. “How much time is left” may be the most obvious, and it’s close to most important when considered in conjunction with other elements. Sure, there’s a volunteer there to tell you when you have 10 minutes, five, two, clear out there’s people waiting. What do you do if you’re 25 minutes into a 50-minute panel and you’re three-quarters of the way through your questions? Even worse, what if you’ve been coming up with questions more or less off the top of your head, realize you’re running out of ideas, look at your watch and realize you still have half an hour? I saw this happen at Bouchercon—I won’t say in which panel—and the moderator depended on the audience to fill the last 20 minutes. That’s not right, and it’s not fair to anyone.

In addition to tracking time you’re also gauging the audience. Anyone who’s done a reading, sat on a panel, or given any kind of public performance knows not all audiences are created equal. If a certain type of question is dying, change up. It’s probably a good idea to have at least half again as many questions as you think you’ll need, covering different aspects of your topic. That allows you to switch off if what you thought would be clever just lies there and rots.

It’s also important to know your panelists. Not necessarily personally—though that never hurts—but their writing. A good moderator should probably read at least one book by each panelist, but at the very least should be familiar with their work through reviews, synopses, and excerpts. Specific questions may present themselves, but you’ll also know what kinds of questions will work better for the group as a whole. Another benefit to this relates to the previous paragraph, except in reverse: a line of inquiry goes well and you run out of related questions. Then is a good time to go with the flow. The last thing you want to do is to get everyone in a good mood—your panel is revved up, the audience is revved up—and you decide to talk about something else. Buzzkill.

This year’s Bouchercon was my first moderator gig. Five writers (including one good friend, Terrence McCauley, yay me) including multi-bestseller Heather Graham, so I knew there would be a decent crowd. I polled a few moderators I’d seen before and thought did a good job—including the Master of Moderation, Peter Rozovsky—and started my research and working on questions several weeks in advance.

One panelist had to pull out due to an illness in the family. I felt bad for him, but the panel was not in danger. I had plenty of material. Stepping onto the dais I learned another panelist had taken ill and was missing.

Now I’m down to three. Fast math in my head. Fifty minute panel. Enough questions to allow five panelists to speak for half again that long. (So I hoped.) Only three panelists. Should still come out to about 45 minutes. Leave five to ten minutes for audience participation and I’ll be fine.

Then the real benefit of preparation made an appearance. Our other panelist—a fine writer and nice man based on our conversation in the Green Room—had never been on a panel before, got nervous and vapor locked. It happens. I’ll not name him as I don’t want to embarrass him, and after the event I felt badly for him. During the event I mostly felt bad for me, wondering what the fuck I was going to do to fill the time.

Some say luck is where preparation meets opportunity. In my case it was more like where preparation met Heather Graham and Terrence McCauley, both of whom stepped up to give more expansive answers as time went on. Shared a few anecdotes tangentially related to what was under discussion.

Therein lies the biggest lesson I learned: be generous with your panel and they’ll reciprocate. Take the time to make your best effort to understand their work and ask questions to help them put their best feet forward and they’ll carry you. The more attention the moderator can place on the panel, the better.

And should my third, nervous panelist read this: I’ll do a panel with you again anytime.

World Tour Update

The All Expense Spared World Tour™ resumes for Conference Month 2016. If you’re in any of these places, please stop by and say hello. A willingness to imbibe adult beverages is always welcome, especially if you’re paying.

Thursday September 15 – Sunday September 18

Bouchercon

New Orleans Marriott

555 Canal Street

New Orleans, LA 70130

(Room number TBD. Knock once, then twice, then once again.)

Thursday @ 7:00

A Toast to Five Years of Criminally Good Books

Cosimo’s

1201 Burgundy Street

New Orleans LA 70116

I’ll be reading with several other Down & Out authors, including James Ray Tuck (MC), Eric Beetner, G.J. Brown, Jen Conley, Jeffery Hess, S.W. Lauden, Gary Phillips, Tom Pitts, Ian Truman, J.L. Abramo, Grant Jerkins, and Danny Gardner. A good time is guaranteed. Tom Pitts says he has a surprise for me. (I thought Joe Clifford burned those pictures. Damn it.)

Friday @ 7:00

Shamus Awards Banquet

Pere Marquette Hotel

817 Common Street

New Orleans LA 70130

Did I mention I’m nominated for a Shamus for Best Paperback Original? Must have slipped my mind.

Saturday @ noon

LaGalleries 6

Moderating the panel, “Dark Necessities - Balancing the dark and light in stories” with panelists Heather Graham, Patrick Hoffman, Debbi Mack, and Terrence McCauley.

I’ll be circulating through panels pretty much the rest of the time, so please say hello. There is also a distinct possibility I'll be at the bar in the evenings. It's been known to happen.

Friday September 30 – Sunday October 2

Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity Conference

Sheraton Columbia Town Center

10207 Wincopin Cir, Columbia, MD 21044

Friday, September 30 @ 1:00

Moderating the panel, “Writing Outside the Box: Crossing Genre Lines to Tell Your Story” with panelists Sandra Webster and Michelle Markey Butler.

Friday @ 2:00

Panelist for, “Mysteries – Noir, Cozy, Police Procedural, Detective etc. What makes them so different?”

Moderator and other panelists TBA at press time.

Friday @ 5:00

Book signing open to the public.

Saturday, October 1 @ 3:00

Panelist: “Suspense, Action or Conflict? The prime elements of a thriller / mystery.”

Moderator: Michael A. Black

Other panelists; Austin S. Camacho and Reed Farrell Coleman.

Saturday @ 5:00

Book signing open to the public.

I’ll also be roaming the halls in general for the rest of the conference. C3 is a relatively new conference that has already shown great promise and is well worth working into your schedule. This will be my third year and it’s already earned a permanent spot on my schedule.

(PS. That bar thing I mentioned at Bouchercon? It could happen here, too.)

Why Bouchercon?

My first Bouchercon was 2008 in Baltimore. I’d heard of it—no avoiding it if one follows crime fiction at all—but I’m a solitary sort who doesn’t care for crowds (read: anti-social), so I never took much interest. Living halfway between DC and Baltimore, it seemed tis would be the one to try, if I were ever going to. Now I love conferences, and would go to half a dozen a year if I didn’t have that damn “real job” that pays the mortgage, electricity, gas, car, food, clothing; you know how that goes. My affection for conferences in general stems from that first year at Bouchercon, which is the gold standard for its ability to bring together a critical mass of readers and authors.

My favorite Bouchercon stories still belong to Baltimore. As noted above, I’m a bit anti-social awkward meeting new people, don’t care much for crowds, and found myself that first morning overwhelmed by hundreds of people, only one of whom I’d ever met in the flesh. (Austin Camacho, who was a great comfort that first day, taking the time to chat with me while I was still making up my mind whether to stick around.) I was supposed to get together with some people I’d met online, but that was only half a step removed. In my mind, they were writers and I was (at that time) but a reader (in my mind), and felt an implied chasm between us.

Among those was Irish author Declan Hughes, creator of the outstanding Ed Loy series. I’d interviewed him for New Mystery Reader several months earlier, and he’d invited me to say hello. So there I was in the men’s room, standing at a urinal, still undecided about how long before I’d go home, and I look to my left and see a familiar face three stalls over. The conversation went like this:

Me: You’re Declan Hughes, aren’t you?

Him: Aye.

Me: I’m Dana King.

Him: Dana! Great to see you.

Me: Finish up. We’ll shake later.

We then made of great show of washing our hands before shaking. On the way out we had to pass through the line for the ladies’ room. One woman recognized Declan and said, “I never meet anyone like that in the rest room.” To which I replied, “You’re not hanging out in the right places.”

That was great fun, but even someone of my limited social skills knew not to attach myself like a barnacle to Declan for the rest of the day. By mid-afternoon my enthusiasm was waning again, until I happened onto Peter Rozovsky on the skyway between hotels. Peter and I became acquainted through his outstanding blog Detectives Beyond Borders, and had met in person earlier that day. (Peter’s fame is now beyond borders itself, thanks to his coming up with the idea for Noir at the Bar.) (Note to those in the DC region: E.A. Aymar is hosting a N@B event at the Wonderland Ballroom, Saturday, October 3 at 7:00. The stalwart lineup includes Austin Camacho, Jen Conley, Nik Korpon, Peter Rozovsky (the Godfather himself), David Swinson, Art Taylor, and Sarah Weinman. And me, but don;t let that stop you. You can always go to the bathroom when it's my turn.) Our chat went like this:

Peter: How are you enjoying yourself?

Me: It’s okay, but I don’t really know but a handful of people.

Peter: Well, just introduce yourself. (Looks around.) Do you know Scott Phillips?

Me: No.

Peter: Scott! Come here, I have someone for you to meet. (Scott Phillips comes over.) Scott, this is Dana King, Dana, Scott wrote The Ice Harvest.

Me (in fan boy mode, having seen the movie and read the book): I know.

We shook hands and chatted for five minutes before Scott had to leave for a panel. My comfort level increased exponentially and I was hooked on the conference experience.

(Epilog to that story: The next year, in Indianapolis, I was hanging on the periphery of the bar, having lost some of my hard-won confidence over the past twelvemonth. I saw Scott with some people and was deciding whether to re-introduce myself when he spotted me. “Hey, Dana. We’re about to go to get something to eat. Do you want to come?” Bouchercon doubts cured forever. Scott Phillips is a true humanitarian.)

I had to miss San Francisco and St. Louis for reasons beyond my control. (Still bummed about St. Louis, which is one of my favorite towns.) Sat on my first panel in Cleveland, my second in Albany (moderated by Peter Rozovsky, thus completing that whole Bouchercon Circle of Life™ thing), went to the Shamus banquet as a nominee in Long Beach, and have a panel next month in Raleigh. (As well as Author Speed Dating, which shows how much I’ve come around on that whole talking to strangers thing.) Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll be in New Orleans, Toronto, and St. Petersburg. Bouchercon is my primary social/creative event of the year, and I work budgets and vacations around it.

I still remember Baltimore vividly. So, if anyone who reads this is going to their first—or second, or third, or…--Bouchercon and feels at all uncomfortable abut speaking to an author (or at least someone who thinks of himself as one), please say hello if you see me. I’ll be happy to talk, and will have a few books on hand to dispense free gratis (as Al Swearengen would say) if you mention this blog post. If you don’t see me, or I’m otherwise occupied, say hello to The Beloved Spouse, who will talk to anybody. She has no standards at all. She married me, didn’t she?