Love Don’t Live Here Anymore

I think I was always aware of the existence of New Orleans; I just don’t know or remember how my impressions before visiting for that first real visit were formed. I know I learned about New Orleans from my love of history; the city was too important to the development and shaping of the country to not be featured extensively in books–particularly the Battle of New Orleans in 1815. The Witching Hour by Anne Rice, I remember, had me wanting to come visit; I discovered Julie Smith’s New Orleans Mourning after visiting for my thirty-third birthday and realizing that I’d found the place where I belonged, needed to be, and my dreams would all come true.

New Orleans has a very deep canon of literature; you name a kind of book, one has been written in that style about the city. And just as there are a lot of subgenres of crime fiction–you can pretty much find a book about the city in any of them. There have been a number of cozy series set here, in every type of cozy style. I’ve always wanted to find a good cozy series set in New Orleans to sink my teeth into–the humorous kind–and while I’ve tried quite a few, none of them really took with me. That’s not to say the books weren’t well-done and written, or unclever; they just didn’t connect with me. I eventually stopped trying to find one, really–but of course, as with anything, just because you didn’t connect with the first two series you tried, doesn’t mean you should stop trying.

Take Ellen Byron’s Vintage Cookbook series, for one good example. I greatly enjoyed the first book in the series, Bayou Book Thief, which went on to win the Lefty for Best Humorous Mystery earlier this year. It was a terrific series launch, and had me really looking forward to the second book in the series, which is when series generally begin to find their legs and hit their stride.

And so, on my travel day to Malice, I read Wined and Died in New Orleans.

Ricki’s heart hammered as she glanced at the ominous black clouds hovering over New Orleans from the front window of her shotgun cottage home. She took a deep breath, then used masking tape to make X’s on the windowpanes of the living room’s large front window. She grunted as she hefted a mattress ontp the top of the room’s couch and positioned it over the taped window. “We’re safe now,” Ricki assured her dogs, a German shepherd mix and a Chihuahua mix, who were watching her with curiosity. “Even if the hurricane sends stuff crashing into the windows, they’ll break but won’t shatter into a million pieces. And the mattress will keep everything from flying inside.”

A violent clap of thunder shook the house. Ricki cried out. Princess and Thor, the shepherd and Chihuahua, barked at it. I choose to feel calm. I choose positive and nurturing thoughts. Ricki repeated the mantra over and over to herself. She’d been saying it a lot lately. Seconds later, rain slammed the cottage roof with an almost deafening force. Ricki’s phone sounded an alert and she grabbed it. She read the message: Hurricane watch canceled.

“Seriously?” Ricki said with a frustrated groan.

Ricki is our erstwhile heroine, who recently relocated to her birth city, New Orleans, after her husband died in a freak accident while trying to create a viral video. Since her return, she’s found a love interest with the handsome celebrity chef who lives across the street; developed a friendship with her landlady; and opened her own vintage cookbook shop at Bon Vee, the mansion of the Charbonnet family–known for owning restaurants and their delicious food. There are some great characters at the Garden District mansion since converted to a culinary museum celebrating the family that Ricki befriends as well; all in all, a lovely little community of friends and support for her.

This book is set during Ricki’s first hurricane season, and yes, Byron gets what that is like absolutely right–the constant warning texts of warnings and watches and their cancellations–as well as the blase attitude of the locals; we never get concerned terribly until we know something for sure and even then, you can’t be certain if you need to evacuate “just in case.” Evacuating for most people isn’t free, and even if the only disruption is a power outage–if it’s long enough you have to throw everything in the refrigerator out.

Thank God we didn’t make our Costco run the week of Ida, which was when we were due to go. It’s also been a hot minute since I dipped into hurricane season in one of my books. (Mississippi River Mischief does have some hurricane content, but it’s one from the previous season) But I digress.

The plot of this story is put into motion when several cases of really old wine–from the nineteenth century–are found on the estate, and because of its age, it’s really valuable. The decision is made to auction the wine off and put the money back into the museum–which doesn’t always break even–but the discovery of the wine brings some distant relations of the Charbonnet family out of the woodwork, all claiming they deserve a share of the wine sale proceeds. Ricki is also dealing with an intern; her crush across the street (with whom she time shares two dogs) has hired an assistant who sees Ricki as the competition and undermines her at every turn; and of course, one of the distant relations turns up dead and Ricki has to clear her friends–all of whom are suspects–of the murder.

There’s also a wonderful New Orleans pothole that plays a crucial role in the story.

I loved this book. I laughed out loud on the plane a couple of times–and smiled at others, when I recognized something from one of mine and Ellen’s boozy get togethers whenever she comes to town, which made the book all that much more fun to read for me. But it’s fun even if you don’t have a personal connection to it, either. Buy this book, love and cherish it!

And you can thank me later.

You’ll See

And somehow, here we are at Thursday again. It is kind of annoying and irritating how quickly time is slipping through my fingers; but then this was a short work week because I was off on Monday. I’ve felt a bit out of sorts and off-balance this week, which I think is because of the Malice come-down plus knowing that I have to go to Alabama this weekend. It’s hard for me to focus and get settled with that journey ahead of me, and while I am not necessarily dreading it, I also know it’s going to be emotionally draining and exhausting so there’s some trepidation, to be sure. It’s also Mother’s Day the next weekend, so that’s going to probably be a bit rough (note to self: text your sister). Yay?

But in cool news, the anthology This Fresh Hell now has a release date of June and can be ordered here: https://improbablepress.com/products/this-fresh-hell

(Apologies, for some reason I can’t substitute text for links anymore. Fucking updates.)

Anyway, this anthology has my story “Solace in a Dying Hour” in it, and this is a story I am really proud of. It’s one where I went to rural Louisiana/bayou country yet again, which also meant navigating stereotypes, tropes, and clichés. I had originally intended to write a story about the grunch (a mythical creature sighted occasionally out in old New Orleans East, but I think his old stomping grounds now are neighborhoods) but in looking up information about that particular Louisiana legend I stumbled over a bunch more that I’d never heard of, and one in particular–le feu follet–really struck my fancy. These are fairy lights seen out in the swamp or along a bayou, kind of like a will-o’-the-wisp. Usually no larger than a candle flame, these lights have been said to be many things, but the definition I went with–the souls of the unshriven dead, come to claim other souls–worked for what I was trying to do, and the more I thought about it, the more the story began to come together in my mind. I think it’s a lovely piece of writing, frankly, and it really must be if I am going to say it publicly. It turned out exactly the way I wanted it to, and I had some expert editorial help from Katya de Becerra and Narrelle M. Harris (who worked with me on my Sherlock story; I really love working with Narrelle) that made it even better than I thought it could be while still remaining what I wanted the story to be; their input was invaluable. Good editors, y’all, are worth their weight in gold. As you can imagine, I am very excited about the story and the anthology.

I slept decently last night; I was again very tired when I got home. It took me an hour because of traffic–I stopped at the Rouses’s in the CBD on the way home, but was only there for fifteen minutes. I left the office at straight-up four thirty and got home after five thirty. It was the worst I’ve seen traffic in the CBD since before the pandemic. Not sure what there was about yesterday that brought horrendous pre-pandemic traffic back to New Orleans, but here we are, right? Heavy sigh. Tonight I am going to swing uptown on my way home to get the mail, so hopefully Claiborne traffic won’t be hellish tonight. And tomorrow is my work-at-homeday, before getting up Saturday and driving north. It was odd; yesterday morning on the way to work the traffic was also heavy. It’s been a hot minute, but I always used to drive here before the pandemic at off times so I never had to deal with traffic very much. I am beginning to think my working in the evenings is a thing of the past I may never see again, doomed to a life of getting up at six a.m. Monday thru Thursday for the rest of my working life. That sounds incredibly tiresome, doesn’t it? But I imagine I’ll be tired all of next week, too, and won’t get caught up on rest until the following weekend. Not loving this, for sure.

But in other weird developments, I discovered that Tuscaloosa–where I will be turning north to head to the home country–has WHATABURGER. It is almost sad how excited finding that out made me; I am definitely scheduling my trip to stop there for lunch on my way up. How cool is that? Usually when I drive north I tend to stop at Hardee’s, since we don’t have them in New Orleans and they’re basically Carl’s Jr, which I loved when I lived in California (and yes, I know the family that owns them is homophobic right-wing trash) so I always see that as a bit of a ‘treat’ for me when I go on long drives. I do love fast food hamburgers, although the old classics (McDonalds, Burger King, and Wendy’s) all are kind of disgusting to me now. Give me Whataburger, Five Guys, or Sonic. (I am starting to not like Hardee’s; the last few times it was just kind of meh)

Fascinating stuff, am I right?

What can I say? I’m a little bleary this morning, so maybe it’s best to head into the spice mines and be done with it. Talk to you tomorrow, Constant Reader!

Human Nature

Wednesday!

I was tired yesterday. I slept okay Monday night, but not deeply and I did keep waking up so it was a restless night at best–and I sure as hell didn’t want to get up when the alarm went off yesterday morning. I was also behind at the day job when I got there, so had to play catch up a bit between clients. It was all good, but still a bit more stressful than I would prefer; I also kept thinking it was Monday all day which drove me a bit insane.

I also discovered that my insurance actually does not cover hearing aids for adults; I must have missed the part about having to be under eighteen when I looked it up. Which kind of sucks that in order to hear I have to pay for it out of my own pocket. The good news is I’ve made it this far without them, so I guess I can start trying to save up to pay for them somehow, or maybe I can get them financed or something. I’m not entirely sure, but it’s irritating. Our health care system has been fucked up since, well, the Reagan administration (quelle surprise; what modern day horror doesn’t date back to that bastard?), but the decline of the airline industry actually can be dated to Carter; he was the one who deregulated the airlines under the guise of increasing competition so fares would be more competitively priced. We see how well that worked out, haven’t we? American, United, Delta, Southwest and Jetblue are all that are left now from the glory days of air travel–Eastern, Pan Am, TWA, Continental, Northwest and many others having either folded or been taken over by another airline. Glad we have all these choices now, right? (Sorry, I was thinking about how the airline industry has declined over the course of my lifetime while at the airport the other day, and clearly it was still in my subconscious. I love Jimmy Carter, but this was a mistake.)

I slept better last night. I still woke up a couple of times but I feel very much more rested this morning than I did yesterday. I was tired when I got home from the office so immediately put the dishes away and started another load before the fatigue overtook me. I got caught upon Vanderpump Rules–more on that later–and when Paul got home from the gym we watched this week’s Ted Lasso, which was lovely and melancholy at the same time. (My God, how I love Jamie Tartt! Phil Dunster is killing it in the role this season, too. What an incredible character arc–and now we are seeing a lovely redemption for Nate, who disappointed me but we get to see our Nate again this season, which is so nice)

I did manage to work a little on the book yesterday, and it took me a little while to get reacclimated to the story and everything. I think I’ll be back on track with it again today and thru the rest of the week before I leave for Alabama on Saturday morning; and while the drive up there and back over the weekend will probably be tiring, I think I can see the end of the book coming. It might take me awhile to get there, but the end game is there and I need to really focus at some point to get it done. I may have to take a long weekend in mid-May to get there. Heavy heaving sigh. It’s always about time management for me, isn’t it, and being tired? How did I used to do this all the time? Oh yes, I was younger and hadn’t had COVID yet. *shakes fist at universe*

I need to stay away from Twitter more. I get so angry whenever I go there, and am always tempted to say something snarky or in kind to a troll–I don’t always succeed in deleting the tweet before hitting send, either–and while I am not worried about going viral or getting cancelled (if it happens, it happens, you know, and if I fuck up, I kind of deserve it), I am trying not to be that person. I don’t want to troll trolls on-line, nor do I want to get into tweet-fights with anyone. It’s all just a waste of time and energy that can be utilized better elsewhere (I do, however, reserve the right to troll anyone trolling a friend), and does no one any good. Twitter is the worst of us, really; originally intended for people to connect and interact with each other, it basically evolved into a place for people to complain. Oh, someone cut you off in traffic? Tweet angrily about it! You watched a show you didn’t enjoy? Tweet about it! And so on and so on. Twitter can be fun; I’ve certainly had fun there with friends and of course there’s always my “Greg meme” face, which can be used for surprise, shock, or horror (I actually have the picture saved on all devices for easy access and use as “the horror”); for some reason that always makes people laugh. It is a funny photo, and I will always be grateful that Josh Fegley snapped that shot so perfectly timed to get that expression on my face when the Evil Mark said, well, something evil while we were at Drag Bingo at Oz. I’ve tried repeating that photo without success; it was something in and of the moment, I guess.

Or I’m just older and my face sags so much I can’t replicate the expression. One or the other is the most likely, or probably both.

Heavy heaving sigh.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Secret

Well, it’s back to the office with me today. It seems like it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been to work; last Wednesday seems like it was a very long time ago. I am going to be undoubtedly terribly behind on everything once I get there, but that’s the hard-knock life I suppose. I didn’t sleep great last night, and I am a little tired this morning–groggy–but hopeful the coffee will take care of that. I didn’t want to get up either, and now that I am up I am uninspired to do anything. I think I might be a little stressed about everything I have to get done this month but there’s naught to do but place nose on grindstone and move forward.

I had my hearing test yesterday and it’s official; I am hard of hearing. When I am speaking to someone one on one with no ambient noise, I only hear 80% of what people are saying to me. Start adding ambient noise and the percentage of hearing drops dramatically; basically she told me what I already knew: I cannot hear in restaurants and bars. Apparently operating through insurance to get the hearing aids I clearly need is going to require effort, as well. (I also had a co-pay at the office, which was odd; the deductible was paid off earlier this year and he’s in network–so I need to look into that as well. Fucking insurance shouldn’t be this difficult.) I wasn’t thrilled to get this diagnosis, but at the same time was kind of like well, at least it’s not my imagination or something I am doing on purpose. I have an eye appointment a week from Saturday, too, so yes, getting new appointments and taking care of basic maintenance all over the place. I also have a dental appointment at some point too; I stopped procrastinating about everything and tried to get it all taken care of in one day, calling and making appointments all over the place. It was most impressive for me, especially given how much I hate doing that sort of thing.

It was a beautiful day in New Orleans yesterday; eighty-eight degrees but not humid at all, which is heavenly. To me, that just feels pleasantly warm and comfortable; it’s amazing what a difference dry air makes in this case. I did manage to get all of my errands done, the laundry taken care of, and other chores around the house. I was tired most of the day, despite the good night’s sleep I had Sunday, and last night Paul and I finished watching The Watchful Eye, so you don’t have to. It’s not very good; the plot is full of holes, the writing and acting are kind of bad, and the dialogue is outright laughable at times, but it was entertaining enough in that train wreck kind of way that can be fun to watch at times. I started reading Lori Roy’s marvelous Let Me Die in His Footsteps on the flight home Sunday, and I really need to get back to it because it really is remarkable.

God, I have so much to do! The mind literally reels. And this weekend I have to go meet Dad in Alabama, and of course it’s also Mother’s Day, which is going to make it that much more difficult to deal with. It’s not an ordeal by any means; it’s a relatively easy drive and I have a Carol Goodman to listen to in the car both directions, but it’s going to be emotionally draining and means my weekend is gone and cannot be used to get caught up. Yay. But I just need to buckle down this week, ignore the cat’s whining when I get home, and focus focus focus on getting the manuscript revised as well as start editing another one. Heavy heaving sigh. But if I can make it through May…everything should be out of the way at the end of the month and so I can spring into June with nothing due anywhere, which would be absolutely lovely and am not quite sure on how I will process that? LOL. It’s not like I don’t have a million things in progress that need to be finished, either.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

I’ll Remember

Monday morning and I got home from Malice Domestic yesterday afternoon after a rather odd but interesting time at the airport–more on that later. I was very tired–exhausted would not be hyperbole–but also very glad I was home. I had a lovely, wonderful, splendid time; the only regrets I have are that there were times when I was tired and had to go rest in my room for a while and take a break rather than spend that time catching up with old friends while getting to know the new ones. I had trouble sleeping the entire trip, which was unfortunate; even going two days without having any Coke didn’t do the trick (and once it didn’t work, why continue depriving myself?). But what a marvelous, friendly event Malice Domestic turned out to be this year! I also got to thank some people in person for their kindnesses over the last year which was also lovely. I read Ellen Byron’s marvelous Wined and Died in New Orleans on the trip up, so didn’t mind the flight delay or the rush hour traffic my cab from the airport was unfortunately timed to cross paths with. But because of the delay I went for a long time without eating–nothing from my yogurt before I left for the airport until about eight o’clock that evening–so my blood sugar dropped and I never really caught up on it over the course of the weekend. That and the no sleep resulted in a very tired Gregalicious who arrived at the Lost Apartment much later than scheduled–which was yet another life lesson.

On my way to the airport in a Lyft (wonderful, friendly driver named Tyrone who got a 25% tip), just as he dropped me off Southwest texted me of a half hour delay on my flight. No worries–I got to the airport about two hours before the flight, so…an extra half hour, no big deal. Of course, it’s Washington National…small, cramped, overcrowded, and not many options for food once you’re past security. And then it seem like every half hour there was another text with another hour delay. Tired and uncomfortable, I started getting annoyed. But as the delays continued to pile up–along with gate changes, which meant moving and trying to find another place to sit–I moved from irritation to acceptance to amusement, along with a lot of empathy for the airline employees. While they never said what the problem was, I’d assumed it was weather–but now this morning, I am beginning to think it was a mechanical issue. The last text I got extending the delay to make it another two and a half hours after the airport was followed shortly thereafter by another text changing the gate and now moving the flight up from its previous 3:45 departure (originally scheduled for 12:45) to 2:00 pm, which clearly meant they’d exchanged an aircraft and crew for the original one I was supposed to be on. So, that was cool, and the flight was two-thirds empty, so I got an entire row to myself just as I did on the way up to DC. I also hadn’t eaten, and there was nowhere to eat during the delay other than a pizza place (and I wasn’t in the mood for pizza) so was starving by the time I retrieved my bag and car and headed for home. I stopped and got Paul and I dinner–I knew there wouldn’t be anything in the Lost Apartment to eat–and then came home, exhausted and happy to be back home. I love conferences; I love seeing my people and my friends and making new ones and discovering new books and writers to enjoy. My Agatha nominees panel was marvelous, and excellently moderated by Alan Orloff. I was fun being on a panel with Elizabeth Bunce again (and her Myrtle series is marvelous; check it out) and Frances Schoonmaker was an absolute delight. We also somehow all three wound up wearing red and black to the banquet, which was a delightful surprise. I got to sit next to Valona Jones (aka Maggie Toussaint) at the table–she’s lovely– as was everyone else at my table. Didn’t win–so, as per my post the other day, it now seems real to me, and I got my nominees’ certificate which I am going to proudly hang somewhere in the my office space. But there’s also no disgrace in losing to Nancy Springer and Enola Holmes, either. I got to talk about my book, which was nice-–when you’re as prolific as I am, sometimes conferences fall in such a way that I’ve had two out since the last conference, so sometimes I don’t get to talk about a book that I’ve written anywhere publicly other than here and social media. I also loved the questions Alan asked us on the panel; I’m thinking I may answer them at length on here because they were that great kind of question that you could literally spend an hour talking about instead of just the limited time we had for the panel. (I was also thinking I should maybe talk more about the book again? I don’t know. It was lovely. I had a lot of people tell me they’d read it and even more telling me it was a great title…so maybe I should talk about it some more? I don’t know.) I got to sit next to Mariah Fredericks at the signing, so I got to meet and talk to her a bit and she’s delightful (her latest, The Lindbergh Nanny, sounds amazing). I am glad I got to spend some time with friends, too–there was lots of laughter, which was wonderful–and I never got over-served, which was also a first for me at a mystery conference! Maybe that was why I couldn’t sleep? Nah, definitely not that. I also got to talk about being banned for the first time in years; for one thing, it’s hard to believe it happened eighteen years ago and now everyone is dealing with the shit I dealt with back then, too….so it occurs to me that in light of the return of the banning, I should probably write about it again from the perspective of how things are now. I also was thinking I should write about how much I love Elizabeth Peters/Barbara Michaels after going to the appreciation panel; she helped found Malice, which always puts Malice into a special place in my heart already because I loved her work.

Anyway, I got home while it was still light out, unloaded my suitcase into the washing machine and got that started; put my dress clothes in a pile to take to the dry cleaner’s; and then spent the evening relaxing with Paul and Scooter while we watched Ghosted (the new Chris Evans/Ana de Armas action/adventure rom-com which was actually kind of cute and fun–the two stars are likable and charming and have good chemistry) and then more episodes of The Watchful Eye, which is quite strange and oddly entertaining. We’ll probably finish off the series tonight. I do have a lot to do today–I took the day off, and am very glad I did, as I was exhausted and OMG, I slept so good; there’s nothing like your own bed, seriously–and then we’ll need to find something new, although I think there are some shows we watch dropping new seasons this month. I have to get the mail, pick up a prescription, gas up the car, have a doctor’s appointment, need to get groceries, and have a ZOOM meeting tonight. I also have to dig back into the book; I am so horribly behind on this revision it’s not even funny. ANd it’s May already. Jesus. I also started reading Lori Roy’s marvelous Edgar winning Let Me Die in His Footsteps from 2015; Constant Reader, it is quite wonderful and I honestly can’t wait to finish reading it. Lori Roy is one of my favorite current authors, and doesn’t get nearly the attention she should. (She’s also one of those rare authors who hit the ultimate dual–Edgars for Best First Novel and later for Best Novel.) The kitchen is a mess, as always, but I’m glad I spent some time before the trip trying to get that shit caught up because it isn’t nearly as bad as it could be (and was).

And now I have a day to get caught up on life after being in my author bubble for a few days to ease my reentry into my regular life. I won’t get to be AUTHOR again until Bouchercon in San Diego. But that’s okay, you know. I like the balance of the two different parts of my life, and there’s nothing like working in an STI clinic to keep you not only humble but grounded in the real world.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and thanks again to everyone at Malice Domestic for a simply marvelous weekend.

Bedtime Story

Saturday morning of Malice and I am up at this ungodly hour because I have a very early (for me) panel, the Agatha Awards Best Children’s/Young Adult nominees panel. I still don’t believe I’m an Agatha finalist–that won’t sink in completely until after I lose tonight at the banquet (the noms never seem real to me until I lose). I am very grateful to everyone who voted for me to be nominated, and yes, it is absolutely 100% true that the nomination in and of itself is an honor. I’m definitely not the first queer author with a queer themed book to be nominated for an Agatha; there are two of us this year for sure (yay for Rob Osler!), but the past? Hard to say with any certainty without going back and reading everything that has ever been a finalist, but I’m still pretty proud of myself. The queer kid who used to dream big in his bedroom in Kansas has now been nominated for four Anthonys, a Lefty, a Macavity, and an Agatha, among others, and all of these have been a shock and a surprise–very very pleasant ones, at that–because it never even crossed my mind that any of that was even potentially possible for me, ever. Awards aren’t something I think about when I write anything (the very idea of hmm this might win me some awards is a completely alien concept for me; I think that’s the case with every writer. I could be wrong), but they are absolutely lovely.

And I try not to let the egomaniacal narcissist at the core of my being to get caught up in the competitive mindset. I learned that lesson the first time I was ever nominated for anything, when Murder in the Rue Dauphine was nominated for a Lammy. Oh, how I wanted to win that goddamned Lammy! I was still new to the business and very raw; still adjusting to the reality that everything I’d ever wanted in and for my life was happening, and I was still scarred from years of thinking (and being told, repeatedly) that my dreams were unrealistic and would never happen. I think I wanted the validation of winning an award more than the award itself; it was another opportunity to flip off the people who’d always tore me down and belittled me, made me feel unworthy of anything good. But when my name wasn’t called after the ritual opening of the envelope, I was overcome with disappointment and the thought still not worthy flashed through my head as the winner walked up on-stage to accept his award. But as I sat there, listening to the winner thank people, seeing how genuinely moved he was, and remembering he’s such a nice guy, I realized I was genuinely happy for him. The dark clouds parted and the sun started shining again. I’d been a finalist. Many writers are never nominated for anything; I’d say the vast majority of us are never finalists for any kind of award. Some only get nominated once and then never again. My little debut mystery novel that no agent wanted to represent had been picked by judges as one of the best five gay mysteries published in that year. It earned out and sold well. I should be grateful, not competitive. I don’t really like that competitive mentality that springs up in my head around this kind of thing, so I always try to stomp that mentality out whenever it rears its ugly head.

That first book started a career that now spans over twenty-one years, forty novels, fifty short stories, and over twenty anthologies edited. I’ve been nominated for so many awards over the years that I can’t even remember them all. I’ve even won a few times, which is incredibly humbling. I’ve shared a table of contents in anthologies with major writers whose work I admire and respect–and can call some of them friends. I am so incredibly lucky and blessed, and sometimes (frequently) I forget that. I have an amazing life. I live in a city I love with the man I love doing the work I love–both writing and the day job. The day job can be exhausting, but I actually do work that makes a difference in people’s lives, and I am not the kind of person who can be happy doing a job that I don’t feel makes positive change in the world. My day job has also been an incredible education; I’ve learned so much from my co-workers and my clients that it kind of seems wrong that I get paid. I have the most amazing friends in the world; incredibly smart and talented and kind and supportive people, the kind of friends I used to dream about having when I was that lonely kid in Kansas that everyone whispered about (some said it to my face, but while painful and awful at the time, I kind of respect them more than the ones who pretended to be my friend while mocking and laughing at me behind my back. For the record, it was a very small school and everyone talked, so I knew then who you all were and I still know it now. Have never once regretted getting out of that shit-hole state.). I know so many wonderful people now; so many that I really want to get to know better–what a marvelous problem to have, right? I know so many amazing people that I can’t get to know them all as well as I would like.

The kind of problems I never dreamed I’d ever have. Lucky, blessed, and charmed. Awards are really just lagniappe.

And on that note, I am going to get ready to go forage for coffee and get ready for my panel. Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader–and I will be very happy and proud for whoever’s name gets called tonight.

Take a Bow

Huzzah!

BEST NOVEL

Notes on an Execution by Danya Kukafka (HarperCollins – William Morrow)

BEST FIRST NOVEL BY AN AMERICAN AUTHOR

Don’t Know Tough by Eli Cranor (Soho Press – Soho Crime)

BEST PAPERBACK ORIGINAL

Or Else by Joe Hart (Amazon Publishing – Thomas & Mercer)

BEST FACT CRIME

Tell Me Everything: The Story of a Private Investigation by Erika Krouse (Flatiron Books)

BEST CRITICAL/BIOGRAPHICAL

The Life of Crime: Detecting the History of Mysteries and Their Creators by Martin Edwards (HarperCollins – Collins Crime Club)

BEST SHORT STORY

“Red Flag,” Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine by Gregory Fallis (Dell Magazines)

BEST JUVENILE

Aggie Morton Mystery Queen: The Seaside Corpse by Marthe Jocelyn (Penguin Random House Canada – Tundra Books)

BEST YOUNG ADULT

The Red Palace by June Hur (Macmillan Children’s Books – Feiwel & Friends)

BEST TELEVISION EPISODE TELEPLAY

“Episode 1” – Magpie Murders, Written by Anthony Horowitz (Masterpiece/PBS)

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ROBERT L. FISH MEMORIAL AWARD

“Dogs in the Canyon,” Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine by Mark Harrison (Dell Magazines)

THE SIMON & SCHUSTER MARY HIGGINS CLARK AWARD

A Dreadful Splendor by B.R. Myers (HarperCollins – William Morrow)

THE G.P. PUTNAM’S SONS SUE GRAFTON MEMORIAL AWARD

Hideout by Louisa Luna (Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group – Doubleday)

 THE LILIAN JACKSON BRAUN MEMORIAL AWARD

 Buried in a Good Book by Tamara Berry (Sourcebooks – Poisoned Pen Press)

SPECIAL AWARDS

 GRAND MASTER

 Michael Connelly
Joanne Fluke

RAVEN AWARD

Crime Writers of Color
Eddie Muller for Noir Alley and The Film Noir Foundation

ELLERY QUEEN AWARD

The Strand Magazine

Bad Girl

Ah, Malice Domestic.

My flight was a bit delayed yesterday–weather between New Orleans and Fort Lauderdale–and then got stuck in a lengthy cab ride in horrific DC traffic (which is why I never drove that miserable year we lived here), but over all it was pleasant. The flight wasn’t full, I had a row to myself, and the screaming infants on the other side of the aisle weren’t too obnoxious, and I got to read Ellen Byron’s Wined and Died in New Orleans, which I’ve been calling the wrong name for quite some time now, which is more than a little embarrassing (it’s because I’ve always wanted to write something called To Live and Die in La.–which is a play on the title of a crime film from the 1980’s I remember nothing of other than the title song was recorded by Wang Chung and I kind of liked it; and I think–could be wrong–Willem Dafoe was in the cast (I don’t care enough to look it up; you can access the Google just as easily as I can). Other than that, I don’t really remember a whole lot of it.

But I did make it to the hotel, got my registration packet, and then started running into friends–first up were Barb Goffman and Dina Willner; always a treat when the first people you run into are lovely people you enjoy–and then that first night became a bit of a blur; I wound up having dinner with Julie Hennrikus and Sherry Harris, then ran into Ellen Byron (see above) and then I wound up sitting in the bar with her, Vicky Delaney, Leslie Karst, and a couple of other lovely people whose names I do not recall. Then, very tired, I repaired back up to my room and actually slept decently (for a hotel; it would have been a ‘meh’ sleep night if I were at home). The bed is actually very comfortable, the room itself is nicely sized, but cannot comment on the shower yet, as I’ve not had one but no worries–it’ll be happening very soon.

It just feels very good to be around book people again. I kind of need that, you know? Writing is such a weird profession, in that you spend most of the your time isolated from your colleagues (co-workers, really) and even if you like near other writers…everyone is busy. We all have jobs on top of our writing, we all have families and homes to keep up and errands to do and the everyday minutiae that has to be done every day…and then you have to carve out time from all of that to do your own writing. I try to be very jealous of my writing time and always try to protect it, which was always an issue before. And yes, there are many times when I’ll find something else–anything else–to do other than write, I really don’t understand it, but almost everything I love to do is something I have to make myself do. I have to make myself go to the gym. I have to force myself to write…although that usually happens when the other option is so odious that writing is preferable. But once I get started–when I finally get started–I love it. Just like the gym. I always feel so good afterwards (that endorphin rush is so marvelous)…which reminds me, I want to start taking walks every day when I get home from work, even if it’s just around the block or down to the park and back, I should spend more time outside, really.

I should do a lot more things.

But I already feel invigorated and inspired, which is really the primary benefit (for me) of coming to these things. Even yesterday on the flight I was putting Ellen’s book aside from time to time so I could scribble an idea into my journal. That’s very cool. I think this morning I’ll probably take a shower and then spend some time editing the new Scotty because I may not get another chance to work at all and I am running (as always) out of time,

So on that note, Constant Reader, I will bid you adieu. My panel tomorrow morning is early, and I have to leave for the airport relatively early on Sunday morning, too, so…this may be the last you hear from me until Monday. Can you go two days without me, Constant Reader? Chin up! You can do it. And besides, you know me. I’ll probably post something anyway.

Fever

And today I am off to the airport to head up to Bethesda for Malice Domestic. How exciting! I’ve not been to Malice in a very long time; I don’t remember what year it was, but it was also my first trip to New York for the Edgars; the two events merged into a single trip. It was quite fun. There were a lot of friends there, and I know we had a lovely after-party on Saturday night post-banquet that was so much fun my sides hurt from laughing. I don’t know that this Malice will live up to the great time I had the first time I went, but I am glad I decided to go, after a little push from Catriona McPherson once the Agatha nominations were announced earlier this year. And while I tend to not make a big deal out of award nominations, I also realized when are you ever going to be nominated for an Agatha again? Never, that’s when so bearing that in mind I decided what the hell, I’ll spend the money–which I will regret later, undoubtedly–and go.

And let’s be honest; I am not traveling for book business again for the rest of the year other than Bouchercon. (note to self: start tracking expenses for the year so you can keep up and be ready at the end of the year–something I say I will do every year and never end up doing) I’ve already checked in for my flight (huzzah!) and have my boarding pass, and it’s a nonstop, coming and going. I used to not mind changing planes when I was younger; now that I’m getting older it’s just one more ordeal as part of traveling. As much as I want to go back to Europe–we’re thinking about Amsterdam and Berlin next year–the thought of all that flying and all that time in airports just exhausts me. Maybe I can get my doctor to prescribe something for me just for the longer overseas flight that will knock me out immediately.

I have to finish packing in a moment. I was tired last night when I got home from work, and had to do stuff–laundry, the dishes–after working on the book and then tried to start gathering what I need to take with me. I have almost everything clothing wise gathered already; I just need my dress shoes and some jeans, my slippers and some sweats…and I also have to gather all the technology I need to take with me–cords, chargers, accoutrement for my laptop–as well as the books I am taking on the trip with me. I really don’t want to get ready or do anything; all I feel like doing is going back to bed, in all honesty–but I am sure once the coffee starts kicking in, I’ll light a fire under my ass and get me going. The weather is supposed to be rainy today; I think I’ve packed the right clothing for the trip. It’s going to be warm during the days and chillier at night; I am not taking a jacket with me so any out of doors ventures after dark will probably wind up being terribly cold for me.

I’ll live, I would imagine.

I do wish I would have had more time to work on getting the house cleaned and organized; I’m going to hate coming back home to a messy house. But I also took off Monday so I can have a day to reorient myself back to my life again, run errands, and so forth. I also have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon that day–I’ll probably swing by the store and make groceries on the way home from that. And of course, next weekend I will be driving up to Alabama to see my dad–long story, too long for now–so yes, there will be lots of pressure and time issues when it comes to getting this manuscript finished. And I have another one to edit, great.

And on that note, I need to get back to preparing for the trip. Have a great Thursday, Constant Reader, and tomorrow I’ll be checking in from Malice.

Bye Bye Baby

Tomorrow morning when I am swilling coffee at this time, I’ll be getting ready to head to the airport for my flight to Washington for Malice Domestic. I am already checked in and packed; which is always a lovely thing to have accomplished before the day of the trip. I think I have everything I’ve agreed to do–drinks, meals, etc.–on my calendar so I can access it from my phone whilst I am there. I have the books I intend to read while traveling in my carry-on, and I am also hoping to get some editorial work done while I am gone but…yeah, that doesn’t always go the way I planned. I had hoped to get it to my editor by the 1st, which is Monday, but I don’t know if that is going to happen or not. I hate being as far behind as I am on this, but you never know. Stranger things have happened. I don’t want to spend my entire weekend, of course, sitting in my room editing away like a madman (I had to do that at a conference once before, and it was NOT fun at all); and I do need to reconnect with my writing and my friends in the community–always the most important part of such a conference.

It’s also Wednesday Pay-the-Bills Day, which I somehow–I am blaming the pre-trip jitters–forgot was today! How do you forget it’s PayDay? Heaven forfend. Madness. And I do have to remember to check in for my flight this morning, too. I had intended to pack last night, but went into a “revision” wormhole and stayed there for a good while until my brain stopped functioning (in part due to the loud caterwauling as his Majesty was enormously displeased that I was not providing a lap for him to sleep in) and when Paul got home we watched this week’s Ted Lasso, which was a lovely episode. Not quite as lovely as the week before’s, but still lovely. I love that they haven’t turned Nate into a super-villain and are showing his still softer sides; the romance with the waitress/hostess at A Taste of Athens is quite lovely, actually. I think I also saw the seeds of the Jack/Keeley break-up being sown; no offense but I will flip a table if the show doesn’t end with her back with Roy Kent. I mean, after all, he’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where. I also liked the continuing growth and personal development Jamie is showing…he’s becoming one of my favorite characters, which is some pristine and incredibly excellent writing, frankly. It also saddens me that every week means we are one episode closer to being finished with the show. Heavy heaving sigh. Maybe there will be a spin-off? Or several?

I had intended fully to start packing last night, at least to make a list of what I need to pack, but that didn’t happen, alas. I still don’t have a packing list, either, for that matter, which I’ll have to remedy today. I think there’s enough food in the house for Paul to fend for himself, and he certainly is capable of going to get something somewhere if there’s nothing in the house he wants, or wants to fuss with. I do need to do the dishes when I get home tonight, and a load of laundry, too. The weather is going to be a bit chillier than I would prefer; I’m probably going to need to bring along a jacket, which I hate. I may not even leave the hotel when it’s cold enough for the coat, but you also never know. I know we are leaving the hotel for dinner on Friday night, and I think tomorrow night I am also having dinner off-site with my friend Ellen. Saturday night is the Agatha banquet, where I will lose the award for Best Children’s/Young Adult, which is also fine. I never expect to win awards, and they certainly aren’t ever on my radar when I am writing something.

The revision is coming along, slowly–very slowly–but I am also really pleased with it so far, you know? The trick is to ignore the ticking clock until the deadline and focus on making the book as good as I can and not worry about running out of time and rushing the damned thing, which is what usually happens in almost every case. Heavy heaving sigh. But at least now the boys’ involvement in the case sort of makes sense. There’s going to be a lot of coincidence in this book, which always worries me, and then I remember that it’s a Scotty book so it’s supposed to be wacky and crazy and over-the-top…and then I start worrying about whether it’s over-the-top enough. Because you can never win when you’re a writer. Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and will check in with you again tomorrow.