Hell or High Water — Anchovies Included

It's Bouchercon week where crime writers from all over will gather. We've talked a lot about the pros and cons of conferences, but what’s your most memorable conference experience, good and bad. What's the conference moment you'll never forget?

by Dietrich

My first Bouchercon in 2013 was a wild ride. My publisher, Jack David, kindly arranged for me to travel from Toronto to Albany, New York, with a favorite Canadian writer, John McFetridge. I was thrilled to meet an author I admired and grateful for the road trip setup. After landing in Toronto, full of anticipation, I grabbed a late dinner—pizza with anchovies. Big mistake. I promptly came down with the worst case of food poisoning, which knocked me for such a loop I wondered if I’d make it to Albany at all. But come hell, high water, or anchovies, I was determined to attend.

I called John, explained my weakened state, and asked if, instead of meeting across town, he’d mind picking me up all the way across town where I was staying. He was a good sport, agreeing to chauffeur a relative stranger in hopes I’d recover by morning. Thankfully, I rallied. After a quick stop at an all-night pharmacy for Pepto and electrolyte drinks, we hit the road. I started feeling human again—until we reached the Peace Bridge border crossing. A CBP officer detained me for about an hour over some vague “incident” flagged by my passport. I could only imagine what John was thinking about his sickly, now-suspicious passenger. Eventually, we sorted it out and continued to Albany.

We arrived late, but the conference was worth it. Over the next few days, I met writers from all over, said hello to Sue Grafton and Jeffery Deaver, and watched a lively panel moderated by the witty Scottish author Catriona McPherson. A highlight was when Eric Beetner asked me to sign a copy of my debut, Ride the Lightning. The ride back to Toronto with John was mercifully smooth.

The next year, I skipped the anchovies and attended Bouchercon in Long Beach, reconnecting with friends from the previous year. Then came “Murder Under the Oaks” in Raleigh, North Carolina. Jack David arranged a big van for four writers, including John McFetridge, for the long drive from Toronto. The road trip sparked some fascinating discussions—crime plots, publishing woes, baseball, rock ’n roll, you name it. Despite arriving bleary-eyed at 2 a.m., we had a blast over the next few days.

I’ve missed a few Bouchercons since, especially during the plague years, and I won’t make it to New Orleans this year. But I’m already looking forward to Calgary next year.