A Tree Falling in the Forest from James W. Ziskin

Bouchercon and Killer Nashville 2024 have ended recently. Your thoughts on your conference experience. Do you get post conference blues, or does it energize you?

I missed Bouchercon and Killer Nashville this year. Since 2013, I’ve attended many conferences. Bouchercon, Left Coast, Malice Domestic, ThrillerFest, California Crime Writers, New England Crime Bake, and Maine Crime Wave. In addition to offering opportunities to meet and revisit friends and learn everything there is to know about crime writing, these conferences took me to far-off places. Strung together, they sound like a new version of “I’ve Been Everywhere”: Albany, Long Beach, Raleigh, New Orleans, Toronto, St. Petersburg, Dallas, San Diego, Monterey, Portland (OR), Phoenix, Honolulu, Reno, Vancouver, Bethesda, New York, Boston, L.A., Portland (ME)… 

My favorite might have been Bouchercon Toronto (2017), since I won an Anthony and Macavity award there for HEART OF STONE. I have one minor gripe, however. That was the year they decided to announce the Anthony Awards on Sunday at noon. It was an effort to encourage attendees to stick around for the Sunday morning panels but, alas, everyone left early as they always do, and there wasn’t a huge crowd to hoist me on their shoulders and sing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

Bouchercon 2021–held remotely in my least favorite city, Pandemica—was special, too. I won the Barry and Macavity for TURN TO STONE that year. But 2021 had its bitter side. Besides Covid, I mean. It may sound petty, but I felt luck turned its back on me that day. There I was, sitting at my desk, tuned in to the awards ceremony, excited because I was going to win two prestigious awards. (Yes, I knew in advance I’d won.) I’d told my friends and family to watch as well, from as far away as India. I was proud and looking forward to basking in some hard-to-achieve and hard-earned recognition. But when the moment for the Barry and Macavity award presentations arrived, nothing happened. A blank screen. There was some kind of technical glitch—for both award announcements!—during the virtual presentation, and the program swiftly moved on to other business. The Barry and Macavity winners’ names were never announced during the ceremonies that day. Poof. The moment passed. Yes, the videos were eventually posted, but by then few people were watching. My friends and relatives were kind. Said it didn’t matter. The important thing was that my book had won the honors. But I was embarrassed all the same.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m incredibly honored, grateful, and lucky to have won those awards, but I felt like the tree falling in the forest. Nobody got to witness—or hear—my magnificent fall.

If it seems I only remember those two conferences, I’ve done a disservice to this week’s question. Over the past ten years, I’ve had the privilege of meeting so many wonderful people/writers, thanks to these conferences. All of my Criminal Minds colleagues, past and present, in fact. (Well, I haven’t yet met Harini in person, but I hope to rectify that someday soon.) Among my earliest writerly acquaintances were my fellow Seventh Street Books authors. (In no particular order) Folks such as Terry Shames, Lori Rader-Day, Robert Rotstein, Jennifer Kincheloe, Kim Hays, Susan Spann, Allen Eskens, Susan Froetschel, Steve Gobel, John Florio, Robin Yocum, Larry Sweazy, Steven Cooper, Daisy Bateman, Shaun Harris, Stephanie Gayle, Bradley Harper, Gordon McAlpine, and Leslie Budewitz, who I knew before she published with Seventh Street.

Albany 2013 — Lynne Raimondo, Mark Pryor, me, Terry Shames 

Oh, yeah. Mark Pryor, too. I suppose I have to mention him, but only in a very small font.

Lynne Raimondo

And that brings me to my dear, dear friend and fellow Seventh Street author Lynne Raimondo, whom we lost far too soon four years ago. She was the first person I met at my first conference (Albany) in 2013, and she remained a close confidant and partner in crime. We got together whenever we could, spending time together with our families in Boston and Maine, and we even traded insults in our books, naming idiotic characters after each other. See below the passages from Lynne’s DANTE’S DILEMMA and my HEART OF STONE.

I miss Lynne so very much. I think everyone who knew her misses her as well.

Here are some happier memories from conferences past:

Raleigh 2015 — Larry Sweazy, Lori Rader-Day, me

Reno 2018 — with Catriona McPherson

2016 Phoenix — Chris Holm, me, Susanna Calkins, Josh Stallings, Lou Berney

With Louise Penny and Art Taylor Toronto 2017

Eryk Pruitt, Greg Herren, Thomas Pluck, me, 
Nadine Nettmann, Lori Rader-Day — St. Pete

Me with Cathy Ace, Monterey 2014

Robert Rotstein, Jennifer Kincheloe, Terry Shames, me, Lynne Raimondo
San Diego

Alison Gaylin, Gabriel Valjan, Kellye Garrett, me, Lori Rader-Day
St. Pete 2018?

Lesa Holsteine, Wendall Thomas, me in Vancouver???

Camille Minichino and me, San Diego 2023

Criminal Mnds c. 2018

Honolulu 2017

I admit that I’ve been down about conferences for a while now. No fault of the organizers or the attendees, of course, but I just haven’t been feeling it since about 2019. I’ve only attended one Bouchercon since then. Maybe I burned out. Lost interest in participating in panels and hobnobbing. Being “on” all the time. My face got tired of smiling. The booze at the bar became more of a prop than an enjoyment. I began to look forward to the moment when I could shut myself behind the hotel room door and draw a deep breath—a sigh, perhaps—happy to be my sorry self by myself again. I’ve grown to appreciate and love the peace of solitude one can find alone in the middle of big events like a writers’ conference.

That’s not to say I don’t love my writer and reader friends. I do. But I’d be lying if I said I enjoy everyone I meet at conferences. Let’s face it, you come across jerks in every endeavor you undertake. The racists, the misogynists, the predators, the reactionaries, the snobs... These make up a small portion of our community, but one does run into them.

Anyway, I’ll say that I’ve loved my conference experiences and will surely attend again. Not sure when, but I’ll feel better about the prospect someday, and I look forward to seeing all my friends again. And, who knows? Maybe even some of the jerks.

Y thr