
Sleuthfest (for those of you not familiar) is a regional conference hosted by Florida Mystery Writers. It was great - as always - and hats off to all the volunteers who make it seem as if the event runs itself.
I loved it because . . .
Being with my roomie, Amy J. Fetzer. We’re the class of ’93 - our first books came out in that year and we’ve known one another for nearly 20 years. Even though we chat on the phone and via email, nothing replaces changing into your jammies and chatting until the wee hours of the night. We realized that when we started attending conferences we were in our early 30s so the stay up until three and set the alarm for six wasn’t a problem. Low these 50 years later, that schedule is brutal. I don’t know about Amy but I needed a pot of coffee just to make it to 10 AM without a nap.
The wonderful people you meet. I had a fabulous - if too short - conversation with Jim Born. What a wonderful man. I had an opportunity to chat with Kris Montee (1/2 of the P.J. Parrish writing team). And about six dozen other people I met for the first time or hadn’t seen in a while.
I hit basket Mecca. I cleaned-up on the raffle baskets - scoring three for the evening. Now that may seem excessive but I’ve been putting $50.00 worth of tickets into the kitty for years and never won a thing. I was due.
I had an opportunity to sit and chat with my agent. Always great to have face time.
Maybe the best thing that comes out of Sleuthfest is the refueling. I’m excited about being a writer. Attending a great conference always revs you up and reminds you why you wanted to write in the first place.
Oh, and my editor made it even more special - FAT CHANCE isn’t due out until 3/24 so the distributors don’t have copies. Bless her, she shipped some editorial copies to me overnight so I not only got to sign all the copies but people who’ve been waiting patiently for Finley’s next adventure had the opportunity to buy it at the conference.
But for every great thing, there’s usually a counter-balance. In my case, it’s conference rebound. I used to take Friday off, attend a 3-day conference and have my happy butt back at my office on Monday morning. The whirlwind pace of a conference is not for sissies. I used to be able to handle it no problem. Now it takes me a day to pack and 2 or 3 days to recover from lack of sleep. This stuff was a lot easier when I was 30.
Which brings me to my final rambling . . . I almost fell over when I realized that I’d attended my first writer’s conference 20 years (and 40 pounds) ago. I swear, I don’t think I’m about to be 50 unless I see my reflection in a store window. I still feel like that person who attended that first conference. It isn’t until the numbers start flying that I realize I have a few miles on me. I’ve been writing for more than 25 years. I’ve been published for 16 years. My 40th book comes out this year. Hell’s bells, no wonder I’m all draga$$ when I get home. Even though I was silently crunching numbers during the conference and so not liking the math, I’m honored and humbled by the wonderful people in my life.
Have a Great Day!
R
I still haven't mustered the nerve to open the erotic basket. I'm sure my prudish side will be confused by some of the toys