Truth, Justice, the American Way and a Crazy Me

Looking back over your life can you see the early clues that you were going to be a crime writer one day?

by Paul D. Marks

Oh boy! Well, aside from the seven banks I robbed and my days as a benevolent hitman, sure. But I was disappointed never to make it onto the FBI’s Top Ten.

And while the romance of being an outlaw is tempting, I think my temperament is better suited to that of “crime fighter” and crime writer. And not just because they rhyme.

I have a bit of a different take on how I came to be a crime writer. I was influenced by film noir and crime movies and later by the great writers from Hammett and Chandler on up. But because of certain things in my checkered past I think I’ve always had a strong sense of justice. And, while not getting involved in marches or crusades, I’ve tried in my own way to bring a little justice to this world on a micro level.

Someone who knew me well told me a long time ago that he thought I was like Don Quixote tilting at windmills. I don’t think he meant it as a compliment, but I’ll take it as one. As I tell my wife, who would rather avoid confrontation than fight, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but at least you have to stand up for yourself or others. And I don’t do this as much anymore. I guess I’ve mellowed with age and the sage advice of my wife. And also knowing that I can’t fight every battle.

At some point, I figured out one way that I could make justice prevail was to write about it. I think the below stories illustrate what I mean when I say I think I was born to be a crime fighter-writer.

Everything below has been abbreviated and abridged. Names changed to protect the innocent and guilty.

La Barbera’s/West LA:

Many years ago (decades), my mother, grandmother and two brothers and I went to La Barbera’s (sadly no longer there) on Wilshire for dinner. Dad was out of town. We were seated in a booth. My youngest brother and me on one side of the booth. Mother, grandmother and middle brother on the other. The younger one was, well, young, squirming a little in the seat. The man in the next booth could feel him squirm through the seatbacks. He turned around and started yelling at my brother. Yelling and nasty! He finally turned around back to his companion. I didn’t like what he’d done so I started to mimic everything he said so he could hear it. I also started jamming my elbow into the back of the seat, so he could feel it on his side—yeah, I’m a little nuts, or used to be.

So he turned around, started yelling at my brother again. I said “I did it.” He didn’t respond, just turned away. But I couldn’t stop mimicking him. Well, to make a long story short, after some more back and forth, he ended up at our booth—pulling a knife on me. I had long hair and at that time it wasn’t cool with some people. And I thought everyone in the restaurant would de facto be on his side, especially the UCLA jocks sitting nearby on one side and a Marine in dress blues on another. But the jocks were on my side. One stood up and said, “I saw it, the guy pulled a knife on him [me].” And the Marine kept to himself. Eventually, we were moved to another side of the restaurant. Our original waitress came over to us, put her hand on my shoulder and thanked me for putting the guy in his place since he lived near the restaurant and came in every week with his sister causing trouble. But they couldn’t say anything since he was a customer. A couple other waitresses did the same. That made me feel good. But my mom and grandmother almost had heart attacks...

Dupar’s/Farmer’s Market:



Once again out to eat. With grandmother again and whole immediate family this time, dad included. Man in the next booth was yelling at his kid. Nasty. Deriding him for everything. Humiliating. Young kid, maybe around 5, 6, 7. As I say, because of my background things like this get my back up. “Why don’t you leave him alone?” I said. Uh oh! Paul’s at it again, the family thinks. Tell me to shut up. Nobody pulled a knife this time and the man’s wife finally got him to shut up. But I couldn’t help myself. And when it was over, nobody at my table said anything to me for some time. I guess they thought here goes crazy Paul again.

The Bus/Westwood:

A friend of mine and I were in Westwood which, at the time was a hub of activity. Crowded sidewalks. Lots of street traffic. A bus pulled up to a bus stop. An old man was running for it—“running” as best as he could. The bus driver saw him but didn’t wait. I was pissed. So I ran down to the next bus stop a block or two away, beating the bus by seconds—he was in traffic. When the driver opened the door I said “Why didn’t you wait for that old man?” The driver told me to “&#%*#@$ off” and drove off. I didn’t win that one, but maybe the next time the driver saw an old man running for his bus he would wait for him. Nah, not that guy. —And, of course, I’m abbreviating our conversation, but that’s what it amounted to.

The LAPD/West LA

I can honestly say that I pulled a gun on the LAPD and lived to tell about it. After all, here I am.
According to some people, if the LAPD is known for one thing it's for being trigger happy, ready to bust people up. Well, I'm happy to be able to say that I'm one of the few people to have pulled a gun on two cops and lived to tell about.

* * *

I was living in a four unit apartment building in West LA, a good neighborhood. Three downstairs units, one upstairs unit. I lived in the upstairs unit and had a view of the front door to the middle apartment downstairs from the top of the outdoor stairs. The woman who lived there had been attacked by a guy who tried to rape her. Her face was black and blue from the first attack.

The first time it happened, I was in my apartment (the only upstairs unit in a four unit building) and heard yelling and screaming. I went outside. Sally’s (name changed) boyfriend said something about her being attacked and the guy was in the alley. Her boyfriend and I chased him down the alley. The police came out in force, including choppers that lit up the alley like daylight. But they didn’t’ catch the guy.

Every night after the first I would search her apartment for her when she came home from work, if her boyfriend wasn’t there. I'd let her sleep on my couch. And then she started staying at her boyfriend’s place off and on, so I asked her to let me know if the cops were going to stake out her apartment. She said she would.

Then, one night I’m watching “In a Lonely Place” on the tube (one of my favorite movies) when I heard helicopter noises. I grabbed my politically incorrect pistol, headed to my front door. I opened the door slowly and headed out to the landing at the top of my stairs. I watched a chopper circle above. Then, two scuzzballs came out of Sally's apartment at the bottom of the stairs. Greasy long hair. Big mustaches. Dirty clothes. The bad guy and a friend?

This was one of those situations where you don't have time to think. You have to act.

"Hold it," I said, aiming near-point blank at them only a few yards below. I could have dropped them both before they had a chance to turn around. "Turn around, slowly."

It was just like in the movies.

They did as ordered. Turned s-l-o-w-l-y.

"We're the police," the scuzzier of the two said. "Put the gun away and go inside."

I asked for ID and he badged me, cautiously. That was good enough for me. I went inside. So much for a trigger happy LAPD, though I wouldn’t try this today. It’s a whole different world.

Back in my apartment, “In a Lonely Place” was still on. And then the reality hit. Jesus, they were cops. And I had pulled a gun on them. The movie droned in the background. It could have been anything as far as I was concerned. I was freaking out. Visions of SWAT teams surrounding my apartment flashed through my mind.

The thoughts grew larger. What should I do? Sally hadn’t told me the police were staking out her place, as she’d promised. Now I’d pulled a gun on two cops. I called her apartment. One of the cops answered.

"Are you the guy from upstairs with the gun?" he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Man, you really made me nervous."

Not as nervous as I was when I found out you were the cops, I thought, but didn't say. He was cool. They weren't going to bust me. I had, indeed, pulled a gun on the LAPD and lived to tell about it.
Sally moved out not too long after that. And, shortly after that the Westside Rapist was caught a block away. Not sure if it was the same guy who attacked Sally, but I tend to think it was.

***

So there you have it. My crazy adventures seeking truth, justice and the American Way...and there’s more. But I guess that’s for another time. So when I started writing I naturally gravitated towards telling stories where the bad guys would get punished. What better genre to do that than crime writing. Of course, sometimes, especially in the noir genre, the bad guys don’t get caught, but then there is always the great hand of fate that I can bring down on them as I sit at my computer screen in my captain’s chair and steer my boat to exact revenge and justice in the world. …Okay, so I’m a little over the top but you get the idea.

I don’t do this much anymore – after all, someone might pull a gun on me. And I don’t think the bullets would bounce off my chest.

*** *** ***

Hope to you see at the California Crime Writers Conference:

(http://ccwconference.org/ ). June 6th and 7th. I’ll be on the Thrills and Chills (Crafting the Thriller and Suspense Novel) panel, Saturday at 10:30am, along with Laurie Stevens (M), Doug Lyle, Diana Gould and Craig Buck.

Please join me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/paul.d.marks and check out my soon-to-be-updated website www.PaulDMarks.com

Subscribe to my Newsletter: http://www.pauldmarks.com/subscribe.htm

One most likely . . .

Regrettably, I think the answer to this is a resounding yes.

Not only did I devour The Famous Five, The Five Find-outers, The Put 'em Rights, The Secret Seven and my absolute favourite - The Treasure Hunters (secret passageways! treasure maps! can't say more without spoilers!) - all from the Olivetti of Enid Blyton:

but I did my best to surround myself with drama and intrigue from the off. I was the fourth sister; maybe I reckoned the only way to get any attention was to raise the stakes and keep my big sisters and parents on the edge of their seats. A man followed me home! (He didn't.) There's a rattlesnake in my bed! (There wasn't. Blame Bonanza.) I've gone blind! (I hadn't.)

By the time I had graduated onto Agatha Christie, Dorothy L Sayers, Margery Allingham and Ngaio Marsh, I had learned to keep my melodramatic daydreams to myself. It took a surprisingly long time to learn the next step - write them down. But I'm glad it finally occurred to me.

The first full-length book I ever wrote was the equal of any blind bonanza rattlesnake mash-up as far as implausibility and peril went. But, coming out of almost fifteen years of academia, it had zero playfulness in the writing. I put it in a drawer and moved on to Dandy Gilver (with no great increase in gritty realism). But I never forgot it and never fell out of love with some of the core characters.

A couple of years ago I returned to the imaginary town, renamed it, dusted off some characters, dreamed up more, and wrote what became COME TO HARM. It came out two weeks ago.

It's a bit surreal suddenly having other people know this story that's lived in my head since 2001 and I'm blaming that experience for me sharing, here on Criminal Minds, the fact that I once pretended a strange man had followed me home. To me, it was a tall tale no different from the rattlesnake and the loss of vision. It's only now I get what my parents must have gone through. Sorry, Mum and Dad. Next strange man -  I promise, I'll write it down.

Who Would Have Guessed? Not Me.

Looking back over your life can you see the early clues that you were going to be a crime writer one day?

Nope. Writer yes, hints all over the place from about third grade. Never thought that I might write an entire book, much less three (numbers four and five in process).

I was a reporter for the high school newspaper, a great paper writer in college, a freelancer once my kids were old enough that I could reclaim adult forms of the English language. Served as a newspaper editor and writer, did a lot of high class PR and marketing prose for non-profits. Even learned how to make a case on paper for seven and eight-figure donations, write for the web, and do speechwriting for VIPs.

But emulate any of the crime writers I was in awe of? It took a lot of tiptoeing up to the idea before I got up the nerve to put one of those toes in the water. I’m still in awe of the classic crime writers and the remarkable crop of current ones, especially those I’m privileged to know.

Plug: If you’re reading this and are feeling like dipping your toe in the waters of crime fiction writing, check out Sisters in Crime. No matter how successful any of us are, we remember that beginning, knee-knocking sensation, and we’ll make sure you know you’re among supportive fellow writers who will cheer you, cheer you up, and be the first to celebrate your successes!

-from Susan

Cornered

What's the worst corner you've ever written yourself into and how did you get out again?

by Paul D. Marks

Before I get to my response to the question, I want to congratulate Art and Catriona on their Anthony nominations in the Short Story and Best Paperback Original categories, respectively. And, uh, there’s another Criminal Mind nominated in the Short Story category as well: Me! So I guess Art and I will have to duke it out :)

***

I never really think that I’m writing myself into a corner. I just write and if something doesn’t work I make a right turn, a left turn or a u turn and keep moving on. And, as a pantster, there’s always dead ends that you come up against.

I try to let my characters lead me and follow where they go. And mostly they go in directions that I like, but every once in a while you want to grab them by the neck and say “What the hell are you doing?”
On occasion I’ve run into a wall that was too hard to go through, so you have to do an about face and try something different.


My story Continental Tilt started out as one thing and ended up pretty much something else altogether. So when I hit the wall in the early drafts, how did I get out: I revamped the story completely. Continental Tilt partially takes place at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, just over the wall from Paramount Studios. The title was inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s quote “If you took the country and stood it on edge, all the loose nuts would roll to California.” So add to that the fact that you have this cemetery in Hollywood where lots of movie and rock stars are buried, everyone from Tyrone Power to Iron Eyes Cody, Harry Cohn, Bugsy Siegel (fyi: I grew up across the street from his brother and his family), Rudolph Valentino, Ann Savage of classic B noir Detour fame, Darla and Alfalfa, from Our Gang/Little Rascals, Marion Davies, and Mel Blanc, and that in the summer they show movies on the mausoleum wall, while the audience sit on graves, sipping wine and eating brie or whatever the chic food du jour is, and you have a great genesis for a story idea. (How’s that for one long, run-on sentence?) A humorous/satirical mystery that, when I’d read from it at various events, would have people rolling on the floor. But it started out as something else:

Here’s how it started out – okay, get ready.

The original title was The Mystery of the Bi-Lateral Chinese Church of Dee Dee Ramone. A mouthful, I know. It started as a story sort of inspired by the Ramones’ song Chinese Rock (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJh0I9j5UKA). But I can’t really do the bizarre idea justice here. If I had to give the elevator log line I doubt I could. But it was a mystery story and part of it was set...in the Hollywood Forever cemetery, where Dee Dee is buried and where there’s a bronze memorial statue or cenotaph to his bandmate Johnny.

And, while I Iiked the idea I began getting worried that the whole concept was too esoteric, unless one was a hardcore Ramones fan. So I guess you could consider that I’d written myself into a corner. And now it was time to get out. Time for a new idea. So, keeping the Hollywood Forever concept, since that is one bizarro cemetery and too good to pass up, and after some tweaking, it morphed into Continental Tilt. But I did give a hat tip to Dee Dee and Johnny in that story as a way of giving a nod to the original concept that started it all.

And, of course, things like this happen all the time. A story starts off as one thing and heads in a different direction. Or you think X is the main character and then decide Y is and the story goes off on a whole new path. Another thing that happens, and this one quite often, is that I might start off a story in first person and end up in third or vice versa. Sometimes it just doesn’t work one way or another but you change the POV and it’s magic.

Another time I hit a wall was when working on a script. I don’t know if you’d call it writers block, since I don’t much get writer’s block, but I had a good concept going and a draft that just didn’t work. I tried all of my usual tricks to get past it: taking some time off, driving up the coast listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival and other bands at full blast. Having a drink or two. Nothing helped. Finally, I packed up the car, drove down to Palm Desert (near Palm Springs) by myself. I spent my days hanging out by the pool, reading, or going out to eat. At night I worked on the script. And then I did the old standby trick with index cards, something I’m normally too lazy to do and this was pre-computer days, so I had to do the cards manually. But I put every scene on color-coded index cards and shuffled them around and around. And eventually it all came together. And that script ended up getting optioned several times, though never produced (my perpetual plight).

I think there’s lots of ways to get out of a corner you’ve backed yourself into. But next time I think I’ll just blow it up with some C4 or Bangalore torpedoes and plow over the rubble to the next corner.

***

And congratulations to Art on his Agatha win! This guy’s on a streak. Very happy for you, Art.

***

Hope to you see at the California Crime Writers Conference
(http://ccwconference.org/ ). June 6th and 7th. I’ll be on the Thrills and Chills (Crafting the Thriller and Suspense Novel) panel, Saturday at 10:30am, along with Laurie Stevens (M), Doug Lyle, Diana Gould and Craig Buck.

And please join me on Facebook:www.facebook.com/paul.d.marks and check out my soon-to-be-updated website www.PaulDMarks.com
Subscribe to my Newsletter: http://www.pauldmarks.com/subscribe.htm

This is not my beautiful book.

As The Talking Heads almost said.

I wrote myself into a horrible corner earlier this year and am not sure yet whether I got out of it or not.

Briefly, I left off work on a Monday in February and instead of picking up on the Tuesday, I went to hospital for abdominal surgery, anaesthetic, pain, pain medicine and recovery.

Two weeks later - I know; I'm a big baby - I opened the file again and . . . I literally had no idea who the two people were who were mid-conversation on the page. One was called Cinty and one was called Gibb and they were both strangers to me.

My first attempt at a solution was to close the file and leave the draft for another week. It didn't help.

Then I thought I'd go back to the start - 60K words - and read what I'd written. Refresh my memory. I'd never done this before and, the truth is I couldn't do it this time either. I tried; I read two chapters but it was like running towards a cliff edge. I kept thinking "I'm reading a story that doesn't exist!" and it freaked me out.

So I decided to fake it. Gibb seemed like a policeman and I reckoned Cinty was one of three sisters who lived in the village near the main setting of the story. So I finished the scene on that assumption and then started a new chapter.

I'm pretty sure most of the stuff I wrote in the last 40K is connected to stuff in the first 60, but I won't know for sure until I read it. Probably in about a month. If I'm lucky, I won't even see the join. If not, this first draft will be a total hippogriff and the edit will start with a shovel.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's That Stuck Writer Again!

Q: What's the worst corner you've ever written yourself into and how did you get out again?

A: Whatever corner I’m backed into at the moment is the worst.  Example: She left the apartment hours before she arrived at the apartment because I need her to see something that she could only see across town at that moment …but I also needed her to get the phone call at home that her partner couldn’t possibly make until that moment because he had been locked up in the villain’s basement and she had to rush out to rescue him before she realized the man she saw.... Time sucks. 

It all sounds so easy when I begin. I brush past the warning signs and write, write, write, relishing the rush until that moment I come to a screaming halt, betrayed by my decision not to have my protagonist be a time traveler of a close, personal friend of Dr. Who.

It isn’t just time issues that corner me. I sometimes find the murderer I anointed secretly in chapter one isn’t such a bad person by chapter fourteen and I get a little sad to think how much my readers are going to hate him in chapter twenty-three. So I start hedging, creating little scenes in which he shows a softer side. Such a mistake. I’m just making it harder to carry off the climax of the story without severe and unwelcome revisions.

Getting out of these corners is harder than avoiding them in the first place. So, while I don’t outline, I do try hard to construct and stay with a timeline, aided by stickie notes, that forces me to face up to plot complications and straighten them out as I go.  Either she didn’t need to see that clue, or she saw it from her window, or she saw it last week and only has to remember it while she waits for her partner’s call.

For characters who start to shape shirt, firmness is called for most the other time. The villain is the villain. If I don’t believe he’s dastardly enough for the job, I need to go back to the backstory and either get rid of him or add enough that I lose my misplaced sympathy. There’s something else that might be going on – maybe he isn’t the villain. Maybe my subconscious is telling me he’s the decoy and, if that’s the case, who is it I think is the real skunk? There’s always someone. I may merely have ignored my inner voice.

Corners are part of the business of being a writer – any kind of writing presents issues like these. The great fun of writing mysteries is the times I’m sitting at the keyboard grinning as I burst my way out like Superwoman, and rush into the next hot mess.

 -Susan

The Egg and I

What are your favorite writing conferences/conventions to attend?

by Paul D. Marks

Once upon a time, I went to some seminars or conferences in the LA area, mostly on screenwriting, and once to the ABA when it was here. But I wasn’t going to fiction or, more specifically, mystery conventions or conferences. Didn’t really start going to those until a couple of years ago. But I really enjoy them and didn’t realize what I was missing. But lately, I’ve been to a couple Bouchercons and Left Coast Crime, and I like them both.

And I did go to the first California Crime Writers Conference/Convention (though the name might have been different then) put on at that time by Sisters in Crime, as I was on the board at the time. That convention continues to this day and is coming up in June. I think there’s still a few openings left. Come on down. I’ll be on the Thrills and Chills (Crafting the Thriller and Suspense Novel) panel Saturday, June 6th at 10:30am. And if I (who sleeps during the day and is up all night) can get to it, so can you ;) – See end of this post for more details.

***

Bouchercon is, of course, the big kid on the block. And I’ve really enjoyed the B’cons that I’ve attended which, admittedly, is only two. The one in Albany in 2013 and the one in Long Beach in 2014.

The Albany convention was my first Bouchercon and my wife and I flew out there a few days early. We flew into Connecticut since there were no direct flights to Albany and drove through four states to get there. The weather was nice and it was fun driving through all those states, even though some were short jaunts. There is a whole different vibe to New England than to CA, especially southern CA, but that’s probably for another blog altogether.

We got to our hotel and had no idea what to do. Normally the convention is at a hotel and there’s a block of rooms reserved in that hotel for attendees. But that year the convention was at The Egg in Albany, a convention center not tied to any hotel. So, there were three hotels connected to that Bouchercon, but no real central hotel or watering hole. If one had to pick it would have been the Hilton, but we were too late to book a room there.

So getting to Albany a day or two early, we did some exploring of the city. And I really liked it a lot. I didn’t think I would, so I was pleasantly surprised. It’s very different than NYC. More of a “quaint,” at least in some ways, New England town, even though it’s the state capitol. And we enjoyed trying different restaurants, especially Jack’s Oyster House, where the likes of both presidents Roosevelt ate, along with Hillary Clinton, JFK, Jr. many governors of NY and gangster, Legs Diamond, though not all at the same time, of course.  Also William Kennedy, the renowned novelist from Albany.

The convention came and I did my noir panel with Eric Beetner (M), Scott Adlerberg, John Billheimer, David Rich and Wallace Stroby. And that was enjoyable. I was honored to be chosen for a panel at my first Bouchercon. And it’s also great to meet other writers. I got copies of at least one of each of their books and read them on the plane to Albany and in the hotel once we got there. Aside from the panel I was on, we went to the various other panels and events. We didn’t know a lot of people when we got there, but we did know a few and we met some new friends that I’m still in touch with today.

We had an extra day at the end of the trip too, and did a little more exploring.

The only negative on the trip were the cramped plane seats. But other than that everything was great.
The next convention we went to was Left Coast Crime in Monterey, CA. For that, we drove up to Monterey. On the way up there, we took the “fast” route, going up the 5 Freeway. I took my very first selfie on the drive up there. It remains to be seen if I’ll post it here when the time comes. I don’t think I will...
That was my first Left Coast Crime and it, too, was a hell of a good experience. The convention was great. My panel was a lot of fun. Did a panel called Tough on Crime, with Robert Downs (M), Philip Donlay, Doc Macomber and David Putnam.  The hotel was nice and a short walk from Fisherman’s Wharf. And though we’d both been to Monterey several times, as we love it there, we got to do some exploring, try some interesting restaurants and had a great time.

And now, being convention veterans, we knew more how to go about it. We also knew more people there as a lot of LA people went. And we hung out in the bar and listened to people read from their books in a clandestine Noir at the Bar and had a great time. And how can you not have a great time in Monterey anyway?

Drove home the scenic route down Pacific Coast Highway, which is stunning beyond words. We nearly ran out of gas, running on fumes trying to get to the “next” gas station, but we figured if we ran out of gas at least the view of the ocean and rocks was gorgeous and it wouldn’t be pure hell hanging out there for a while. We stopped for lunch at Nepenthe in Big Sur. Good food and great views!

I’ve always wanted to live on the central or northern California coast and that trip only rekindled that desire.

Next convention was Bouchercon in Long Beach, which was a relatively short drive from home. Did a panel on Short But Mighty (short stories) with Travis Richardson (M), Craig Faustus Buck, Barb Goffman, Robert Lopresti, and our own Art Taylor. And it was nice to meet another Criminal Mind in the flesh.

Nice hotel. Didn’t do much exploring of Long Beach, which I would have enjoyed ‘cause it’s changed so much since I’d spent any time there years ago.

The hotel and that whole area have been redeveloped. Back in the day it was the Pike and later Nu Pike, a seaside amusement area with midway and rides and lots of sailors. The perfect seedy seaside amusement zone. You can see it in several movies and TV shows, including the minor noir classic The Sniper, TV’s Emergency and many more. And it makes an appearance in my World War II homefront mystery, which hopefully will be out in the next year or so.

Then I was supposed to go to LCC in Portland recently, but had to cancel out due to personal reasons. I’m still bummed about that.

And I’m grateful to the folks at both Bouchercon and Left Coast for including me on panels. They’ve been a lot of fun and great learning experiences. It’s a great opportunity to visit a new city you’ve never been to or re-visit a city you already know well. And while the panels are great, it’s also great to get together in the bar afterward and schmooze and commiserate with like-minded authors. And that’s the best, or one of the best, parts of all these conventions, meeting your fellow authors, getting to know them, making new friends. And I did that at all of these conventions. And that alone is worth the trip.

I might have been a little reluctant to go to conventions in the past, skeptical that maybe I’d heard it all before. But I now realize the true value of these conferences is connecting with other writers. It’s not about selling tons of books, finding an agent or being “discovered,” but about connecting with other writers and fans of the mystery genre. And if you do find an agent or sell some books, so much the better. And I’ve found the panels to be both fun and informative, whether as a participant or audience member. And besides, where else can you discuss different methods of poisoning someone without being arrested?

You can bet I’ll be going to many more conventions in the future.

***

Speaking of conferences: Hope to you see at the California Crime Writers Conference
(http://ccwconference.org/ ). June 6th and 7th. I’ll be on the Thrills and Chills (Crafting the Thriller and Suspense Novel) panel, Saturday at 10:30am, along with Laurie Stevens (M), Doug Lyle, Diana Gould and Craig Buck.

And please join me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/paul.d.marks and check out my soon-to-be-updated website www.PaulDMarks.com 
Subscribe to my Newsletter: http://www.pauldmarks.com/subscribe.htm

Bloody Brilliant!

I can't pick a favourite convention. The best one is the one I'm at or packing for or still recovering from.

So I thought I'd put on my Scottish Tourist Board sash and tell you about Bloody Scotland. It's held in Stirling and if you like a bit of history with your crime cons Stirling's not too shabby. It's been there since the 12th century, Mary Queen of Scots lived there, her baby was crowned James VI there, and Robert the Bruce and Mel Gibs- I mean William Wallace both fought battles there.

There's a serious castle, by anyone's reckoning. And then in 2012, Stirling's bloody history got a fresh chapter with the first annual celebration of Scottish crimewriting. I missed it. It was as though they waited until I left and then had a party. But I was there the next year and the third year and it's shot straight to the top of my list of cons.

Everyone from Ian Rankin to MC Beaton is to be found there. Some southerners cross the border, enough to have a Scotland v England football match, billed as a "friendly", perhaps on the theory that if you say it often enough it becomes true.

There are always a few Icelanders and other Nordics there, since it's more or less local for them. I like hanging out with Yrsa Sigurdardottir, because she makes me feel like I've got an easy to pronounce name.

And it's just a very warm, friendly, not completely sober get-together where even if things go wrong they turn out great. An example of this was the cooking/tasting demonstration tied in to the Killer Cookbook, Caro Ramsay's contribution to the Million for a Morgue appeal.

(Which is another story: did you know that, following a huge fund-raising effort, there's now a Val McDermid Mortuary in Scotland, with a Stuart MacBride dissecting room and a Jeffrey Deaver submersion tank?)

Anyway, back to the cookbook. Caro and Craig Robertson had been practicing their recipes for weeks, the event was a sell-out, and then the night before . .  it was revealed that the venue insurance wouldn't allow the use of heat.

Caro, not a quitter, drove to a late-night supermarket and bought the ingredients for all the no-cook recipes in the Killer Cookbook. These were martinis mostly. And also cranachan, which is a dessert made with a little oatmeal, a little cream, a little honey and a lo-hot of whisky. There were no complaints.

Not completely sober, as I say. But worth a visit for any crime fan.

A Toast to Cons

What are your favorite writing conferences/conventions to attend?

The first thing to note in answering this highly personal question is the distinction between conferences and conventions. When I was new to the game, I didn’t realize the national/international Bouchercon was a convention and I was bemused by the flock of women who followed closely behind Laurie King wherever she went, chattering among themselves but seemingly attached to her by an invisible cord.

When another friend and I met Deborah Crombie at that Bouchercon (can’t recall the year, but it was in Baltimore), she was charming but seemed especially delighted that we were writers. It took me a bit to realize that she had been bombarded by eager fans for the half hour before that in the bar. (Her assumption was that I was a writer, not a fan, but that wasn’t really the case – I’m a big fan of the long-running Gemma/Duncan series, set in London.) A convention plays to the fans but fortifications are sometimes advised, and this martini glass is raised to Deb, who always chooses fancy drinks!.

I love the Left Coast Crime convention, partly because I seem to know everyone, or at least every author, there, and because the planners are a heroic band of crime fiction lovers who have created an ongoing festival that rotates from western city to western city but with the same band of cheerful attendees, including lots of enthusiastic fans. Blogger and salon hostess Janet Rudolph not only gets deeply involved most years, but also manages the fan-voted awards, a celebratory event that everyone looks forward to. (Yes, some year, I’d like to be a finalist!)

My first exposure to conferences, and the pivotal one for me, was the Book Passage Mystery Writers Conference, held annually in Marin County California at an influential bookstore. The first time I went, when I was tentative and apologetic at my own temerity in thinking I might write crime fiction, featured Sue Grafton, who was – and still is – so down to earth, approachable, and direct that I could stop pinching myself when I sat next to her at lunch and actually soak up a little advice and courage. I’ve been back twice since then and, in 2008, found my agent, Kimberley Cameron, there. I also met and had small classes with such accessible luminaries as Elizabeth George, Cara Black, and Jackie Winspear. Conferences are for writers because honesty, openness, and the ability to ask questions that may expose one’s weaknesses is crucial.

A new-ish conference and one I really enjoy is the California Crime Writers event (June 6-7 this year) in L.A. Sponsored and totally put together by Sisters in Crime’s and Mystery Writers of America’s southern California chapters, it’s quickly become a significant place for writers to gather, network, listen to each other, drink together, the latter being as important a part of conferences as any other aspect.

There are others, and my fellow Minds will have their own favorites. I’ll be reading theirs this week to see what further adventures I should consider. I’m guessing they’ll all have one thing in common: the party’s always at the bar! See you at CCW.