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.
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