Across the River...and Under the Palms

Trying not to hyperventilate about tomorrow night's speak-and-sign at Murder on the Beach. A tough act to follow: Tonight Linda Fairstein will be there talking up her latest, Lethal Legacy. I had the joy of interviewing brilliant, funny, just plain nice Linda for Mystery Scene a few years ago, and her history as the head of the groundbreaking Manhattan District Attorney's Sex Crimes Unit was/is fascinating. My plane should land in time for me to catch her in the act.

Then on to Sleuthfest. On Friday at 11 a.m., I'm co-leading a workshop with Oline Cogdill of the Sun-Sentinel on getting press coverage. (Those who can do, those who can't....) Saturday's 3:15 panel on Humor in mysteries should be---or BETTER be--a laugh. The pressure's on to be funny, but Elaine Viets and Rhonda Pollero will be on the panel with me, so maybe I can just sit back and enjoy the show.

Of course, it might be useful for me to finish packing and get on the freaking plane...

Across the River...to Law & Order

Well, looks like I'll get a chance to research the inner workings of the Florida police while I'm down in the Sunshine State for my book-signing and Sleuthfest. On Dec. 29, my mom was mugged in her local Publix parking lot. She-devil that she is, Jaye hung on to her purse--which did not foil the theft but did fracture one of her fingers. On Jan. 19, I found a message on my cellphone from "Latif," who somehow had possession of the purse contents (including my phone number, but also ID and credit cards, keys, irreplaceable family photos, and rosary beads blessed by Pope John Paul George Ringo), claimed that he knew who the thief was and wanted to contact my mother. I urged him instead to bring the items to the police, then hung up and immediately called the Palm Beach County sheriff's department. They put a detective on the case. But yesterday Latif turned in the goods on his own, and the DelRay PD wants Mom to come down to identify her belongings. So that's on our agenda for my week under the palms. FYI: The alleged mugger is Latif's son-in-law. "He's got a rap sheet," said my mom, an avid crime-fiction fan. As traumatic as this was for her, I loved hearing my 5'2" 77-year-old mom talk like Lennie Briscoe from Law & Order. Then my mother says she’s doesn’t know if she can ID the guy if they show her mugshots, but she’ll pray for him. To which I say, "Yeah, and in the meantime, he’ll be preying on other little old ladies. Take him down, Mom."

Across the River...with WHATSIS

While responding to Liz Zelvin's post on a Sisters in Crime forum recently, I coined a new medical malady:

Homonym aphasia: n. An affliction of middle-aged spelling-bee champions characterized by substituting sound-alike words (threw for through, two for too, etc.) in written communication

Want to join the E-Race for a Cure? (We who suffer from HA! are always erasing.) Liz is reaching out for new members of WHATSIS on her co-blog, Poe's Deadly Daughters.

Across the River...with an AARP

Just got my latest issue of AARP (named after one of several unfortunate noises the body starts emitting at regular intervals in middle age). Intrigued by the coverline "GLENN CLOSE: Why she's risking so much to erase the shame of mental illness," I quickly consumed the article. Turns out that the actress best known for boiling a rabbit is not herself mentally ill. Her shame (insert sarcasm here), it seems, is in having relatives with bipolar and schizoaffective disorders.

The article--through no fault of the fabulous and lucid Ms. Close--is ironic at best. Here the Oscar-nominated Emmy winner is "headlining a campaign intended to diminish the stigma of mental illness" and the writer makes mental illness seem indeed to be a stigma. You'd think she had confessed to a virulent case of chlamydia or to offering Barack Obama's Senate seat to the highest bidder.

Exactly what Ms. Close is risking "so much" is unclear. Ostracization from Hollywood--at the tender age of 61? It is clear how the entertainment world treats the mentally ill: They're given a Grammy Award and chauffeured to the Sony/BMG after-party. (Note to Britney Spears' folks: Erratic behavior in early adulthood is a classic sign of several disorders. Get her diagnosed and treated NOW.)

Ms. Close is lauded as one of 10 "heroes who inspire us," and her cause is certainly worthy. But what about her relative who had to make the choice between a new coat for her child or a visit to her therapist? We don't learn what her final choice was and how it affected her and her family. (I'm hoping Ms. Close just wrote her a check for both. Not that that solves every problem.)

The most heroic people I know get up each morning to face a battle raging in their own heads, with little relief. I don't know how they do it. Some choose not to do it after a while. Over 90% of people who die from suicide have one or more psychiatric disorders. Just ferreting out the proper treatment, if that ever happens, would test the strongest mental health.

But like Ms. Close, I am still surprised by how uncomfortable most people are talking about these issues. It's estimated that 5 percent of the population has some form of MI, from severe depression to schizophrenia, and it affects one out of four families. If not you, then someone who shares your bank of work cubicles, sits in your pew at church, works on the same PTA committee. In this let-it-all-hang-out world of reality shows, why does dealing with mental health issues merit less attention than Jeff Conaway screwing up in rehab?

In discussions about my novel, only a few readers/reviewers comment on Cat, the bipolar twin sister. Those that do confide about their own family members. They speak of them with much affection, not shame. Mental illness doesn't take away our loved ones' sense of humor, intelligence and straight-to-the-heart observations.

And sometimes they cope better then the rest of us. When I admitted to my brother that it's hard for me to be happy when people I love are in pain, he said (actually, he yelled), "I'm not in pain! I'm bipolar! Get over it! Enjoy your life!"

That's why I love him and why I agree that, as he always says, he can't be killed by ordinary weapons.

Across the River...and into the Clouds: Bouchercon 2008

Like any mystery writer with a dollar and a dream, I made it this weekend to the ultimate writer/fan conference, Bouchercon, held this year in Baltimore. In my practical (read: cheapskate) way, I combined it with a stay with my sister in Virginia and a meeting with her book club on Wednesday night, which had wisely picked my novel as their monthly read. The delightful A-list of Ashburn (you're lookin' at 'em, at right) gave me great feedback, and it all ended with sugar overload and everyone singing sitcom theme songs from our childhoods. (Despite the 10-year-average age difference, someone else knew all the verses to "The Monkees" too.)

The joy continued Thursday at the conference where I was overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, but immediately saw a familiar face and friend, Chris Grabenstein, who writes the wonderful and funny Jersey Shore/John Ceepak mysteries. (A former stand-up comic, he hilariously hosted a charity auction the next night, where books, character names and other goodies went to the highest bidder.)

After a round of panel discussions, I made it, late, to the lunch sponsored by Sisters in Crime. But slinking into a seat at a back table, I found myself closer to the buffet, so it was all for the best. Luckier still, I won a copy of the anthology Sisters on the Case--remarkable not only because I rarely win ANYTHING but because I didn't know I had entered the raffle. (It seems just by attending, I was eligible==saving me from getting my hopes up.)

Well, I can never say that again, because something else happened later that made me feel I had won life's lottery.

The last Saturday panel, titled "Red, Red Wine," was moderated by Laura Lippman, who was Bouchercon’s guest of honor. She--along with panelists Harlan Coben, John Harvey, Lauren Henderson, S.J. Rozan and Jim Huang--were gathered to whine about the business of writing. But bottles of appropriately named red wine (such as "Jealous B*tch" and "Fat B*stard") were also being raffled off. Anyone from the audience could write his/her name on a slip of paper, and at the end, if your name was picked, you could ask the panelists a question and get a bottle. But there were at least 300 people in the audience, so what are the odds?

Long story longer: The discussion went on, and ended on the panelists talking about their favorite “lesser known” authors (one of MY favorites, Allison Gaylin, was mentioned). Then the name picking started. A few folks did get to ask questions and get their bottles, then time ran out. So Laura Lippman just drew names to get rid of the remaining bottles.

Naturally, with my usual New Jersey underdog attitude, I'm thinking, "Figures. I won't get to ask a question and, I almost never win anything, so forget the free vino too." Then I heard Laura Lippman say, “Cheryl...oh, I’m going to get the last name wrong, Sol—im-ini. Cheryl, I should have mentioned you as one of the new authors to watch for! I read your book and loved it!”

If I were Jewish, I would have plotzed. Being Italian, I f*cking plotzed.

At the suggestion of my book editor, Michele Slung, I'd sent Laura (we're on a first-name basis now) an advance copy of Across the River. That was six months ago. I figured it had landed on a pile somewhere, or more usefully, was under a shaky table leg in her Federal Hill brownstone. So to say I was blown away by her recognizing my name and remembering my book, is like saying...well, I'm so blown away I can't even think of a simile that's of Category 5-hurricane-like proportions.

Okay, so at that point everyone was already getting up to leave and walking noisily out the doors. Some people’s heads snapped around but (I realized later) my name tag had flipped backward and I was anonymous for all intents and purposes. Not exactly a Hallmark Hall of Fame moment.

But I know what happened, and that's all that counts. That sounds like modesty, except of course I'm writing about it on my blog in the hope that a half million people or so will stumble across this entry and know about it too.

I saw Laura the next morning, said something inane, then had to find her again and apologize for saying something inane, and thanked her properly and hugged her, which I was sure put me at the top of her Stalkers List. But then a little later, at the weekend’s final session, where she was interviewed by Michael Koryta, I got the chance to ask a question from the audience. When I stood up (I was practically at the back in a room of 300+ people), she said, “Oh, hey! Hi, Cheryl!”

More heads snapped around. Then I realized I’d never helped her pronounce my last name! If only!

But I’m still flying. Pretty exciting for my first Bouchercon! And I got a free book and a bottle of Jealous B*tch, which, after this weekend, I am no longer.

Across the River...Seven Years Ago Today

Sept. 10, 2001. What were YOU doing the day BEFORE 9/11?

That was the date I had chosen to begin writing a mystery novel. I'd had a dream that sparked the plot idea in 1998, and thought it might be something to get to in...oh, 20 years. Then the group of magazines I wrote and edited were shut down. In a crystal-clear moment, I decided this was a sign to pursue my dream, literally. The next day, of course, was a nightmare...and the day after that and the next. Until I realized this--the possible end of the world as we knew it--was all the more reason to follow that dream wherever that dream might lead. (As Elvis sung in the 1962 movie of the same name.)

But more frightening is what U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was doing that Monday. He was giving a speech at the Pentagon. His topic addressed "an adversary that poses a threat, a serious threat, to the security of the United States of America.... It disrupts the defense of the United States and places the lives of men and women in uniform at risk."

What was it that got little Donald's panties in a bunch? "It's the Pentagon bureaucracy."

He hadn't a clue what Osama Bin Laden would effect the next day. In fact, he thought all the bad guys were already gone. "You may think I'm describing one of the last decrepit dictators of the world. But their day, too, is almost past, and they cannot match the strength and size of this adversary."

You want irony? His was the kickoff address at the DOD Acquisition and Logistics Excellence Week. It’s still on the Defense Department Web site. Read it at: http://www.defenselink.mil/speeches/speech.aspx?speechid=430

He ended his talk with an anecdote about a donkey, as is befitting.

Later that day, CBS News later reported Rumsfeld as saying, "According to some estimates we cannot track $2.3 trillion in transactions,"

Go ahead. Vote Republican. The Real Donkey Party.

Across the River...to My Hometown

Oh, what a night! Family, friends old and new... A particularly sappy episode of This Is Your Life, and I loved every minute of it. Immediately recognized faces I hadn't seen in 40 years. A smile never changes.


Barnes & Noble bookstore manager Neda Rose had a good night too. So much that she invited me to apply for a vendor seat at the Edgewater Arts & Music Festival on Sept. 14...even though, in a sense, she would be taking business away from herself. NOTE TO AUTHORS: Make booksellers happy and they become invested in your success. But maybe that's just my hometown--they take care of their own.