Monday, July 31, 2006

Should Authors Be Jerks?

There are two main ways that authors market themselves: through their body of work and as a person

This has been something I’ve thought about more and more as I’ve blogged and started to realize people were paying attention to what I was doing. It hadn’t really occurred to me, because my online activities were very much recreational/blowing off steam outlets for a long time. Then, suddenly, I was gaining recognition as a writer, an editor and now, soon, an author.

I thought about this a lot at Harrogate, particularly because of some negative experiences, but also because of some positive ones. And this is the potentially controversial post I was going to put up on Killer Year on Wednesday. But I decided to put it here, for a variety of reasons, one of which being that if anyone did take offense to it (and people have taken extreme offense for far less) the fall-out would be on me alone.

At Harrogate, I really connected with Martina Cole through her talk. I’ve never read anything by her, but was struck by certain things about her life that corresponded with mine. We made different choices, but the path she took so easily could have been me, it was eerie. Not that I think I have the strength she possesses. Martina is a damn impressive person. If I’d made different choices it likely would have killed me. Instead, she seems stronger for it.

On the other side of the equation, there was an author I won’t name that left a very negative impression on a group of fans. My friend I was traveling with was one of them, and she recounted the incident. A group of fans who’d traveled from Ireland, all over England and as far as NYC were having photos taken with authors. George Pelecanos graciously accommodated the ladies and posed, but an author waiting for him heaved a sigh in such a physical manner - expressing annoyance at being kept waiting - the fans noticed. And they commented on it to me.

Uh, do you think those fans – willing to invest serious money in traveling to see authors they love – are going to hunt down books by that author any time soon? Well, they told me they were turned right off. I can’t say I blame them.

Now, not all fans would care. Some people will read a book by an author, regardless of whether or not they’re a jerk. After all, if people stopped supporting movies or television shows because actors are jerks, there’d be a lot less crap out there. Some “celebrities” out there are people I’d never want to spend time with, personally. I had a friend who’d been put in prison for attempted murder, and I’d pick his company over some of these self-indulgent stars in a heartbeat, though we’ve lost touch over the years.

My husband has spent so many years working in business, he knows this backwards, forwards. “A happy person tells one person. An unhappy person tells seven.”

I’m probably one of the exceptions to that, at least when it comes to authors.

Not when it comes to businesses. Just after we got married, Kevin bought me a computer. It was a PC company, that’s all I’ll say. The hard drive crashed in the first month. They replaced it. Within a month, crashed again. Now, my husband’s spent years as a software developer, working for companies like Telus, AT&T and Wolsely, and he knows a few things about computers.

As in, the problem wasn’t the hard drive. And he explained to them what the problem was. But they wouldn’t fix it. They kept sending hard drive after hard drive. What are the odds three in a row would be faulty? Uh, not very damn good.

In the end, after repeatedly having the thing fixed, it disappeared to a shop for over a month, leaving me without a computer, and when it was returned it wasn’t fixed.

Sandra got on the phone and went medieval on their ass. And when they hung up on me, I tracked every company email address I could find online and sent them emails until they begged me to stop. But I had a valid customer complaint and by this time, the clock was ticking on the warranty. There was no way I was letting them off the hook by putting me off until it expired. And believe me, turning super-bitch on them finally produced results.

They gave me my money back.

Now, I have a mac, which has always been my preference anyway. And Kevin is forbidden to buy anything from that wretched company. So don’t think I’m always overly nice. Certain buttons get pushed, I can dig my heels in and fight like a bear.

But I always try to talk up the people I admire. Part of the reason is that my natural inclination is to be very negative. I was raised by a judgmental, critical person, and that’s part of the reason I’m never happy with anything I do. All those years of hearing that I was lazy, useless, not as good as… You start to believe it. Oh, I’m exceptionally driven, always working to shake off the demons, but the longer I live the more keenly aware I am of the fact that I’ll never be satisfied with anything I accomplish. It will never be enough.

My friends weren’t the only people who had a negative experience at the festival. I was with a group of people – you know how it is. People come and go and people have little side chats and then group chats intersect and different people start chatting… One author introduced themselves to every person in the group.

Except me.

Now, it could have been because I was a woman. Except another woman joined the chat and she merited an introduction. Maybe it was because she wasn’t an author? Or she didn’t have a “commoner’s accent”? Or because she was pretty. I certainly don’t rate on the knock-out scale, not that I particularly care about that.

The thing was, I wasn’t particularly surprised to be treated like I didn’t exist.

I actually think it’s a better thing for authors to put the real them out on a blog. If a reader is the type of person to not read an author because the author is a jerk, it’s better to know that right off. Simply put, it’s one thing to turn off a prospective ‘customer’ but it’s quite another to turn off someone who’s admired you and invested in your product. If they then meet you and dislike you intensely, to the point they won’t read you again, they’re more likely to tell those seven people about their bad experience, and then some.

I’m actually not one to be turned off completely by the person. After all, the book isn’t the person. Just like Braveheart isn’t Mel Gibson. I grew up around a lot of musicians, and if there’s one thing I know it’s that people with artistic temperaments are often not the best at socializing. I doubt most authors start writing because they think they’ll be on stage some day.

But the reality is, there are ways we attract an audience, and if we blow one approach, we greatly lessen our chances of reaching those readers. I don’t typically read reviews. Plus, some of these authors don’t have great distribution in Canada or any distribution in Canada. The chance of selling me a book was much greater when I was standing outside a bookstore actually carrying it.

And that author completely blew the positive personal impression opportunity with me.

Chances I’ll read Martina Cole? Almost 100% certainty. Chances I’ll read this other person? Almost nil. Because they’re going to have to impress me with their body of work, and I don’t know how they’ll do that now that I have a bit of an aversion to their name.

Now, I have wondered about how I handle my blog and myself and given it a lot of thought over the past few months. And in thinking about this experience, I have to say I actually think the author did me, and themselves, a favour. It isn't like I don't have more authors than I could read already on the TBP and TBR lists.

I could look for many reasons to discount the impression this person made on me. I didn’t introduce myself either, but I didn’t introduce myself to anyone. They introduced themselves to everyone…except one person.

Why didn’t I introduce myself? I’m bad for this, and I need to work on it. Truthfully, I always seek out the people I know because I’m horridly shy with people I don’t know.

In a way, the worst thing about blogging is that people never believe me when I say that. I seem so open online, even bubbly according to some.

But my philosophy is that nobody has to read my blog. Nobody even has to read an email from me. They can delete it unread and I’ll never know the difference. This is why if people ignore me in the comments on their blog all the time (assuming they’re the type to reply to comments) I’ll stop commenting. I assume they don’t want to read my remarks.

If people don't respond to my emails, I assume the same. Three not responded to and I'll likely never email the person again. Just like if I ask someone for an interview and they don't answer, I assume they don't want to be interviewed. Simon Kernick did the best thing by saying, "Yes, but can we wait?" And I let him pick the time and we only failed repeatedly to put it together, but I never doubted he wanted to actually do the interview. Finally getting that after a year felt damn good, and I looked forward to it all the more. But no response? Next.

When I came home, I had a long talk with Cornelia and I at least know I’m in good company. We talked about people not responding to emails, about the incredible fear that we left someone with a bad impression of us after an event when we didn’t hear from them.

Truthfully, emails give that illusion of instant gratification. And it's hard for people to accept that it might be a few weeks before they get an answer. For the people I actually correspond with - that I can't throw off quick three-line answers to - it takes a while. And they know this, because I get so many emails I often don’t respond as quickly as I’d like. I’ve had people email and say, “I haven’t heard from so and so” and I’m jumping to explain immediately, because I know that person’s really busy right now. I mean, if I email Cornelia, I never get uptight if I don’t hear from her for a bit. I know how busy she is.

That’s also part of the security of having a solid friendship with someone. I could phone her tomorrow and she’d listen to me cry. I know that about her, but she’s a rarity for me. Truth is, I’m friends with more ‘readers’ and ‘aspiring authors’ than authors, so I completely relate to that sense of awe some readers have when approaching their favourite authors.

I always feel if I’m standing in front of someone, there is that polite obligation to tolerantly listen to whatever I say, even if it’s written all over their face that they’d rather be anywhere but there, talking to me.

So maybe I should give this author my congratulations. For likely being the most honest person I didn’t meet at Harrogate. They obviously thought I was nothing more than shit on a shoe sole they couldn’t wait to scrape off and be rid of.

But maybe the truth is that I’m too sensitive and what I know to be true for myself, I forget can be true for others. Some conversations are painful for me, and it isn’t even because I don’t want to talk. Myself and a friend had an opportunity to actually sit down and have a chat with an author we both read and admire, and my friend chastised me afterwards for being so quiet. But faced with a chance to talk to someone I had a lot of respect for I didn’t want to hear the sound of my own voice. And I seldom do feel comfortable enough to chat freely with people I’ve never met before.

Last year, I was completely intimidated by Mark Billingham. It’s amusing to think of now, in a way, because he’s such a fantastic person and has become someone I think of as a friend. But it wasn’t funny a year ago. I’d get an email from him and my stomach would twist into knots. I can only say it now because I’ve told him. I mean, if you’ve met Mark, you have to know how ridiculous it is.

Still, that’s how it was for me. Never stopped me from reading his books or talking about them, though.

And despite the fact that I know the problem was with me, I left Harrogate this year feeling the same way about someone I met. I’m destined to go through the same thing all over again. The only difference being that I might not stay in contact with this person, as I did Mark, which means I may never overcome that feeling with them. And it's someone I genuinely like, but am convinced does not like me.

I actually have a list of people I’m terrified of meeting. I seriously considered canceling BoucherCon because the thought of the event makes me nauseous. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve got something to do with Val McDermid and actually get to hang out with Cornelia and half of the Killer Year crew…

Maybe it will be easier to hide in the crowds. I don’t know. But I'm incredibly conflicted about going because I'm scared.

I left Harrogate thinking I’d given someone the impression I was a snob.

On the average day, I talk to my husband. A few days a week, the ladies at the post office when I’m picking up packages or mailing parcels. And the cashier at the grocery store. I talk on the phone usually no more than twice a week, other than calls with Kevin.

I’m starting to realize that I need to get out more. If for no other reason than to be more mindful of how I interact with people so that I can handle public events.

This is what nobody teaches us how to do. And in reflecting on the bad impressions a few people made on myself and others, I’ve realized my behaviour will always be under scrutiny. Again, I don’t think you should fundamentally change who you are in order to sell.

But you might want to consider working to make sure you treat people in a way that leaves the impression you want to leave. Which means I have to get over my insecurities and learn to do small talk with people.

I think, without a doubt, the toughest thing in this business is the socializing for me. And being too sensitive. I over-analyze emails, I read into everything. People don’t respond and (unless I know them as well as Cornelia I assume they hate me.

Now my question for you – would an author’s behaviour put you off buying their books? And if you are an author, what’s been the hardest thing in the business for you to deal with?

Oh, and fyi – if in the rare event I don’t email back, I do always read my mail. Always.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Decisions, Decisions (& a joke for Bonnie)

There is a kitten biting my butt. Rebus. Figures. Anymore, I come into my office, and can’t even get on my chair. Yesterday, I was typing and the pointer kept moving all over the place because Stuart had grabbed the cord for the mouse and was pulling on it. Now I’m slouching forward so that Rebus doesn’t have to move.

Am I an idiot, or what?



Friday night, it was Simon that got me. Jumped on my stomach while I was sleeping. Only to be followed by Skittles.

I woke up this morning with Rebus attacking my feet. And when I say morning, I’m being generous. It’s 4:21 am.

I’m beginning to think it’s time to banish the cats from the bedroom.

“Aw, but they love!” That’s what evilkev always says. He sleeps like a log, and I roll all over the place, which makes me an attractive target. And has persuaded Kevin that we should sleep like The Flinstones.

Speaking of kittens, Kevin has written something that will be going on the blog this week. What does it have to do with cats? Well, sorry to be a tease, but in the next few days you’ll find out.

And I think you’ll like it.

On Wednesday I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. Post something potentially controversial. Yeah, yeah. Who, me? And it isn’t even the negative review, which will likely be Thursday’s post. I mean, why not go for a one-two punch? If you don’t hate my Wednesday, perhaps I can correct that on Thursday. Seriously, I doubt my regulars will be offended by my Wednesday post, but it could be interesting to see what the response to it is. I’ve had hate mail for much less than I plan to say.

But enough about that.

I had a fantastic chat last night with Cornelia Read - right until my phone died about three hours along – and have decided she gets my nomination as Supreme Goddess of The Universe. I cannot sit with her in sessions at BoucherCon, or it will be censure, lecture and off the principal’s office for us. She has a razor-sharp whit.

But I was working on some I had to make a decision on, and Cornelia helped me whittle hundreds of options down to 6. I need to finalize a list of 5, but I’m a lot closer than I was this time yesterday. So, thanks C!

What am I doing? Well, I’m going to go back to bed, and continue mulling over various renditions of blurbs. See, you can trim a section and have one line to grab the attention, or use a thorough blurb or go somewhere in between. Here’s one I’ve been looking at.

Full:

“A well executed procedural with a spark between our protagonists, an excellent feel for political machinations on a small town scale and a plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

Oooohhhh, it’s been labeled a procedura. Although, well, never mind. But in some ways, I think you could call it the anti-procedural.

Short Segment:

“A plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

Medium Version:

“An excellent feel for political machinations on a small town scale and a plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

Hmmmm. I have my opinion, but am open to suggestions. Not like I have the final say, anyway, but one of the great things about working with my editor and publisher is that they include me in the process.

Besides, if I ask for opinions and choose poorly, I have someone to blame. I love to share…


Bonnie won’t be happy to see this joke up, since she sent it to me and can’t steal it! Oh, come on Bonnie, I dare you! I read your blog!

During the Great Depression, there was a man who walked into a bar one day. He went up to the bartender and said, "Bartender, I'd like to buy the house a round of drinks."

The bartender said, "That's fine, but we're in the middle of the Depression, so I'll need to see some money first."

The guy pulled out a huge wad of bills and set them on the bar. The bartender can't believe what he's seeing. "Where did you get all that money?" asked the bartender.

"I'm a professional gambler," replied the man.

The bartender said, "There's no such thing! I mean, your odds are fifty-fifty at best, right?"

"Well, I only bet on sure things," said the guy.

"Like what?" asked the bartender.

"Well, for example, I'll bet you fifty dollars that I can bite my right eye," he said.

The bartender thought about it. "Okay," he said.

So, the guy pulled out his false right eye and bit it. "Aw, you screwed me," said the bartender, and paid the guy his $50.

"I'll give you another chance. I'll bet you another fifty dollars that I can bite my left eye," said the stranger.

The bartender thought again and said, "Well, I know you're not blind, I mean, I watched you walk in here. I'll take that bet." So, the guy pulled out his false teeth and bit his left eye.

"Aw, you screwed me again!" protested the bartender.

"That's how I win so much money, bartender. I'll just take a bottle of your best scotch in lieu of the fifty dollars," said the man.

With that, the guy went to the back room and spent the better part of the night playing cards with some of the locals. After many hours of drinking and card playing, he stumbled up to the bar. Drunk as a skunk, he said, "Bartender, I'll give you one last chance. I'll bet you five hundred dollars that I can stand on this bar on one foot and piss into that whiskey bottle on that shelf behind you without spilling a drop."

The bartender once again pondered the bet. The guy couldn't even stand up straight on two feet, much less one. "Okay, you're on," he said.

The guy climbed up on the bar, stood on one leg, and began pissing all over the place. He hit the bar, the bartender, himself, but not a drop made it into the whiskey bottle.

The bartender was ecstatic. Laughing, the bartender said, "Hey pal, you owe me five hundred dollars!"

The guy climbed down off the bar and said, "That's okay. I just bet each of the guys in the card room a thousand bucks each that I could piss all over you and the bar and still make you laugh!"

This one came from Forrest

Last request

Jerry was on his deathbed and gasped pitifully. "Give me one last request, Dear," he said.

"Of course, Jerry," his wife said softly.

"Six months after I die," he said, "I want you to marry Bob."

"But I thought you hated Bob," she said.

With his last breath Jerry said, "I do!"

And I wonder if it’s risky for me to post this joke I was forwarded? It may be offensive to some, but it rings true of a certain village I know.

CBC-TV is developing a Canadian version of the popular "Survivor" show. The rules are simple.

Each contestant must travel to Alberta. Once there, they must go from Edmonton to Fort McMurray through Grande Prairie, Peace River, Hinton, Edson, Jasper, Banff, Red Deer, Calgary, Lethbridge, Medicine Hat, Brooks, Drumheller, Lloydminster and back to Edmonton again.

They must drive a Hyundai with a bumper sticker that reads: "I VOTED FOR CHRETIEN. I'M GAY AND I'M HERE TO TAKE YOUR GUNS. I ONLY SPEAK FRENCH AND I'M VOTING FOR KYOTO."

The first to complete the round-trip alive is the winner.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

A Series of Disjointed Random Thoughts

I miss Vancouver.


I miss Vancouver Island too, come to think of it. Okay, I do not miss living on a Gulf Island, dependent on ferries. But part of the reason I decided to put my Canadian series in BC was so that I could justify traveling west even more than before.




I don’t really miss the place we used to live in in New Westminster. If you’ve read Fucked Again, that would be Twitch’s apartment. We really did have a lot of crazy people around, and walk a block to the Sev and find out they’ve been robbed and are just cleaning up.

Lovely.

But great inspiration for writing.

I think I might go back in the fall. Exactly when to squeeze it in is the trick, what with BoucherCon, my final book edits due, the special double issue of the Fall Spinetingler, the Cozy Noir contest, a handful of interviews and profiles I’m still working on for the Winter Issue…

In fact, I’m not sure when evilkev and I will manage holidays, which is just depressing. We should go to Banff at the very least and just lock ourselves away with books and chocolate and a fireplace and Jacuzzi. That would be wonderful.

Or we could go to LA and hang out with Stephen Blackmoore who has to be one of the coolest bloggers who isn’t going to BoucherCon.

I think he’s just not motivated enough.

It’s 6:30 in the morning and Kevin is sitting in my Muskoka chair in my office, reading Black and Blue. Which is interesting, because I actually know one of the reporters from Glasgow who was actively involved in the Bible John case, and he lives in BC now.

I’d love to sit down and interview him about that experience.

Maybe I should do that.

He did tell me Black and Blue was a damn good book, so I guess it holds up to scrutiny.

See, it really is 6:30 and I’m not thinking about much in particular, except this:

When the pale moon hides and the wild wind wails
And over the treetops a nighthawk sails
The grey wolf sits on the world’s dark rim
And howls and it seems to comfort him

The wolf is a lonely soul you see
No beast in the wood, nor bird in the tree
But shuns his path in the lonely gloom
They give him plenty and plenty of room

So he sits with his long, lean face to the sky
Watching the ragged clouds go by
There in the night, alone, apart
Singing the song of his lone, wild heart

Far away on the world’s dark rim
He howls and it seems to comfort him


Now, that might be off a word or 20, but I memorized that in Grade 2.

And I can’t, for the life of me, remember who wrote it. Anyone know?

Why is it I can remember this poem, the page in the reader I memorized it from, the feel of the book in my fingers, and not the name of the writer?

Seems kind of sad.

Kevin’s been sitting here, pulling books off shelves, giving critiques of the first page. Now, he’s finally shut up. What a blessing. I hate people talking to me when I’m writing.

Oh, he turned another page. Well, that’s good. Except I’m not sure I can trust him to return my books. Should I consider maintaining my no-lend policy?

We aren’t sure if we should allow Kevin to do reviews. He read a book while I was away - not one of mine, one he went out and bought without consulting me – and summed it up like this:

It compelled me. It compelled me to see my lunch again, followed by it made me want to cry because I spent my money on it.

Somehow, I’m sensing an unhappy author moment if we printed something like that.

Should we care?

Thing is, he won’t write them down anyway. Which means so far, I’m safe from dealing with hate mail for evilkev on top of everything else.

By the way, I’ve been trying to persuade evilkev to do a ‘life with Sandra’ blog post here. As much as his take on life with me is biased and annoying at times, I think you’d all find it hysterical.

If you’d like to see that, leave a comment. The more, the better the chances he’ll cave to pressure, because he’s one of those people who has to feel wanted. You know, make people beg for you.

But some people think that Kevin doesn’t have much say about anything in this house, and I think if Kevin did a post or two, there would be an increased sympathy for me.

Ooooohhhh, Kevin’s back to talking about that bad book, and the lack of action in a paragraph and he’s called it horrible. Now he’s comparing the author to Rankin, and absolutely pulverizing the poor writer.

I need headphones. I can’t type with him nattering in my ear.

Don’t forget about the contest – check out yesterday’s post. And I do hope by Monday I’ll be back to normal.

Or at least, normal for me. Which, as we all know, isn’t exactly the standard dictionary definition.

Oh, and thanks for the jokes, guys. I’ll be putting some of them up next week. To soften my incredibly negative review I’ll be posting…

Friday, July 28, 2006

Harrogate Name Drop, Etc.

First, the special Canadian edition of Spinetingler is now up. Be sure to check it out – it’s an interesting issue. Lots of reviews, including one of a book by Linda L. Richards. Linda has been dealing with life as an evacuee as forest fires approached her home. She’s been blogging about it, and is back home as of the last time I checked her blog. Fascinating, scary stuff – a real account of life on Galiano Island right now. I’m so thankful to hear her home is still standing.

Reviewers Wanted
I’m making the list of people who wanted an ARC of Suspicious Circumstances to review/consider blurbing. Please email me if you’re interested - sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com Otherwise, I won’t guarantee you’ll get one.

This guy named K. Robert Einarson has been harassing me to mention his latest flash fiction piece. Of course, it isn’t his take on lassie or Predator but it is definitely a K. Robert Einarson original. Check it out (happy now, evilkev?).

Contests
Yeah, yeah, win a signed copy of the new Crimespree with a short story in it by me. Just email me to enter, at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com with the name of the short story in your email. Hint: the name can be found online. At a place where you’ll find out all kinds of info about me. See? Who said I wasn’t helpful?

Oh, and that other contest
Still taking entries for the Spinetingler Cozy Noir contest. All info and examples here. Get off your butts and get writing!

Of Harrogate

I’ve been afraid to do the official list of names, because I’m sure I’ll forget somebody. But, here goes.

Shortly after arriving, I saw Val McDermid. I’ve met Val a few times before, and it was great to see her. Then I met Ali Karim, and he introduced me to a lot of people. Of course, I saw Mike Stotter, also of Shots, again. But not nearly enough this year! I remember catching up with Margaret Murphy, and being referred to as a ‘young lady’ by Simon Kernick. Well, when you’re as old as he is, I guess that makes me a baby. (How’s the weather at the fire station, Simon?)

Stuart MacBride was a bit snobby, and didn’t even say hello to me. He claimed he was overwhelmed by the group of men surrounding me. Didn’t stop Ian Rankin from coming over when he arrived, though. I mean, I know Stuart isn’t Ian, but still. You’d think he’d work on it more, after all the criticism from the Rabid Rankin Fan Liberation Front. You’ve got to love reviews that say, “This isn’t Ian Rankin.” No shit Sherlock. Name on the front cover should have been the first clue.

But evilkev mentioned Stuart and Ian together in his latest publisher’s letter in the Canadian issue. Did he compare them? You’ll have to read it to find out. I know. Manipulative bitch, I am.

I finally did do what I’d gone to the bar to do- answer Vincent’s text message about whether John Rickards or anyone had arrived. I found Stuart on the patio, with James and John.

Eventually, I met Steve Mosby. It was one of those, “I think I recognize you but I’m not 100%” things. As it was, James said when he saw me talking to Stuart, “Curly hair. It must be Sandra.” How can I remember things like that and not the names of everyone I was talking to in the bar? Context, I guess.

And Simon Kernick had to think about it for a minute. Much to my amusement. “Scary Canadian woman… must be Sandra.” Should have run faster sooner.

All told, I met Adrian Muller, Al Guthrie, Bernie Crossthwaite, Ali Karim, Lizzie from Mystery Women, Zoe Sharp, George Pelecanos, Richard Burke (who I can now blackmail), Shane Maloney, Agent Phil, Suzie Dunlop, Jon Wood (what did I say about blackmail material? Tee hee), Vincent, James, Betty and the BTZ crew, Jayne, Helena, John Rickards, Steve Mosby and his girlfriend, Lynn, Suzi, from Hodder/Headline (one of them. I can’t remember which and haven’t looked it up yet), Martin Edwards, Sheila Quigley, Ann Cleeves, Penny Deacon, Sandy from Ontario, John Connolly, Martina Cole, Colin Campbell…. Matt. Oh boy. I know I’m missing a ton of people and I’m going to feel so bad.

I also reconnected with Margaret Murphy, Natasha Cooper, Val McDermid, Mark Billingham, Stuart MacBride, Simon Kernick, Adrian Magson, Mike Stotter, Chris High and Peter Guttridge.

Oh, and I’m fairly certain someone will come tell me I missed them. I’m sorry already.

Festivals become a blur of faces before long. And I do enjoy the longer chats, the chance to really connect with people. So, some of my personal highlights include lunch with James and Vincent, amongst all our chats, the hour I spent interviewing Simon Kernick, the all-night chat with Chris, Matt and Helena, and the many chats with Steve Mosby and Lynn.

If you start making these lists, you’ll always miss something off of them. Always. And hurt feelings. And I don’t mean to do that.

But I did want to say that I’ve been getting to know some people off the blogs for a long time, and seeing them in person really was wonderful. And it was so easy to talk to them as well, because we were well past starting points. And I had such a fantastic time in Edinburgh before Harrogate.




There were other regrets. That I didn’t get my photo taken with Natasha Cooper. That I didn’t get to talk to Zoe Sharp about an interview. Unfortunately, you have so many conversations, and when people are in groups it doesn’t seem right to ask one for something and leave others thinking, “she’s not interested in me?” Except I am – I simply have to do things one at a time! There were so many people I really wanted to have a conversation with, but you can’t monopolize people’s time.

I don’t know if I’ll be at Harrogate next year. But if I miss it, I’ll be sad. There’s something about the smaller festival experience. Something about everyone mingling together and the positive atmosphere I’ve enjoyed two years in a row at Harrogate.

One thing I did notice this year was the acoustics in the bar. There was a certain tone of voice I just struggled to hear. Any men that were much taller than me were almost impossible, unless sitting down.

Others on the blogs, like James and Vincent have done a far better job of recapping Harrogate and relaying all the intricacies of the weekend. But I had a particularly unique experience. Last year, I attended as a fan and didn’t promote Spinetingler or myself. It never even occurred to me.

This year, I knew there were people who had heard of me. People I’d met off the blogs, people who’d submitted material to Spinetingler. I was returning as someone months away from the release of their own first book, with an established ezine.

Someone with a bit of a smart-mouthed-blogger reputation.

In short, no longer anonymous.

It may seem strange to say it here, but people in my town don’t even know my name. The day of the big fire? I went to see if they needed me to pick up lunch for the guys, and Kevin got the message that Maureen had dropped by. He said, “Who’s Maureen?” Someone said, “Your wife.” He said that wasn’t his wife’s name and dropped it there, and didn’t tell them.

Around here, I’m Mrs. Kevin. Oh, okay, a few people know my first name. But I’m also Mrs. Einarson.

Not exactly the same thing. I have a pretty low profile.

In a way, it’s cool, because people really treat you a certain way, and you really know what they think of you. I like that much better than the feeling I’ve had elsewhere (not Harrogate) that some people are only talking to me because I can do something for them.

All I can say is, I don’t think anything really prepares you for your first conference experience as a debutante author. It’s special and scary at the same time.

I also had the experience of seeing my name in print, being interviewed, for the first time since I moved into crime fiction. And then getting the new issue of Crimespree when I got home, I got to see it in print as interviewer and author of a short story.

It’s been a very surreal few weeks for me.

Can I just say how lucky I am? How truly fortunate, to be surrounded by wonderful, supportive, encouraging people who’ve done so much to help me with my career? From Ian Rankin’s inspiration to start writing, to Val McDermid’s example of how to add a new dimension to what I was doing with my work, to Stuart MacBride giving me a swift kick in the ass and the people at Crimespree believing in my work enough to print it, I feel blessed.

And I’m blessed to be part of Killer Year. The positive team energy and group support is phenomenal.

So, in thinking about Brett and everyone who drops by and those who comment here regularly, I think it’s the people who’ve come along side me in this journey who are beautiful.

I learn so much from all of you.

And Vincent, you are not a fraud. It was all I could do not to double over laughing on the plane when I read some of those scenes you wrote. Simply brilliant. Every bit as good as many books I’ve read, and then some.

We’re all on our journeys. Some of us closer to our goals than others, but you never know how things will change overnight. A year ago, getting a book published was still the dream for me. Now, I’m working on cover design and the final edits for my first novel.

Next year, that could be you. All it takes is believing in yourself, hard work, and a bit of luck. You do the work, and let luck take care of itself, and know I’m always here to cheer you on.

Next week

I am going to post a negative review of a book here, along with a readers/reviewers challenge. I was going to do this on DorothyL, but it’s too friggin’ long, for one thing.

Not to mention I’d be roasted alive.

But I’ve been bugged and bugged and bugged to go on the record about a book I don’t like, and why, and at some point next week, I’ll brave it.

And it is my intention to have a very special prize for this challenge. So be sure to check it out.

Today I'm listening to The Blue Nile High

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Putting A Face To My Life (+ a joke and a contest!)

Yesterday, I looked at the list of things I had to do and said, “Screw it.” It took longer to sort the dogs and cats than I’d thought, but finally I was in the Rodeo, on my way to Kananaskis.

K Country is one of the most beautiful places in Canada.


There’s great roadside dining.


Plenty to see.


Winter travel is environmentally friendly (nephew Athaniel demonstrates).

And every summer my sister’s family spends a good chunk of time camping out there. We always say we’re going to, and never get around to it. Between Kevin’s day job and then the fire department, plus the training, not to mention the Spinetingler stuff, he’s a bit busy.


Then we have me, miss obsessive workaholic.

The problem is, I can never shut my brain off. When I’m working on a book, I’ll keep notepaper beside the bed so that if I wake up in the middle of the night, I can jot down ideas. Yes, I’m that bad. Of course, that’s why I do an average first draft in 6 weeks – I can’t stop working.

That’s why I don’t think I’d make a good parent. I’m a true tunnel-vision person, when it comes to the work. I have a bit of a problem with balance.

Kevin and I used to go hiking all the time. Of course, that was pre back injury days for me. And before his schedule got insane. (Yup, that's a few years back, me in K Country)


I used to take the real camera out all the time and snap photos.


I just realized I have a box of films that have expired.

Over the past few years, as Kevin has become busier and busier, I’ve been finding ways to stay equally occupied, and the result is that we’ve both lost a bit of ourselves along the way.


My sister is a good parent. She makes costumes for the kids. Arriel has won so many prizes with Harry Potter costumes, she should make a scrapbook. This year, Eragon costumes.



They are all involved in the performing group that Arriel has really thrived in.

How many 11-year-olds do you know who can do solos (above) in front of a sold-out crowd at the Jubilee Auditorium (the local concert venue second only to the Saddledome) and then tour, and still pull out an A average? (Arriel in silver wig, as Cher)


Athaniel’s taking after his Dad as not only a capable performer, but more of a technician – someone who likes to mix with sound boards and play the piano.

We already know Dashiell has the music bug too. He’s the only one-year-old I’ve seen who sits spellbound watching musicals.



Funny, music has always been an important part of the family. We used to fall asleep with George Jones and Gordon Lightfoot. I was the rebel who started listening to rock – which was forbidden in our house. John Cougar Mellencamp was one of the first artists I started listening to that wasn’t - heaven forbid - doing country. Authority Song. Still love that song.

Maybe that’s why there’s always a song to sum up how I feel, and today it’s Carolyn Dawn Johnson’s Simple Life

I have wondered this world far and wide
I've been all around to the other side
But there's nothin' like comin' home
I wanna sit on my front porch and drink my lemonade
Cut my grass after church every Sunday
And go out on Saturday night
Live the simple life
Wake up in the morning to these fields of gold
And take a long walk down a gravel road

Spend my days in the sweet sunshine
Rock in my swing and watch my garden grow
Know that I'll always have someone to hold
Oh I wanna live the simple life

I wanna take a blanket down to the creek
And let the water sing me to sleep
Let go of time
Live the simple life
Lately I've seen too many city lights
I wanna go somewhere where I can see the stars at night


I live somewhere that I can see the stars at night. But it isn’t often that I sit out under the dark sky and look up.

Not that I’m not pleased with how things have gone over the past few years. Oh, there’s a hell of a lot of room for improvement. There’s still a long way to go. But getting some validation for my work is nice.

And if someone had told me a year ago all that would change before I returned to Harrogate, I would have mocked them shamelessly.

I’m working now on dedications and acknowledgements for the book (oh, there is book news, but it’ll likely come out in an interview with me that’s happening some time in the next week or so) and the dedication is easy.

It’s to the one person who believed.

And it sure as hell wasn’t me.

James has a great post up about Harrogate. And I'll post tomorrow, btw.

Yesterday I had a real first, though.
I got my copies of Crimespree #13

I’m sure the online version will be up soon, which has apparently got another article by me in it for just online reading. But issue 13 has my interview with John Rickards in it.

Plus a short story of mine.

Oh, and an article by Daniel Hatadi that's just awesome. You have to go after him to get him to autograph it yourself though. Unless you spring for my ticket to Australia.

So, I’m going to have a little contest to win a signed copy of this issue of Crimespree – and if you don’t subscribe, no doubt reading an issue will persuade you that you should!

All you have to do is email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and answer this question:

What is the name of the short story I have in Crimespree Magazine this issue?

Oh, and the answer is online. You just need to do a wee bit of sleuthing. It isn’t hard, actually. Just think where you might find information about what I’m up to and you’ll be almost there.

I’ll take entries until August 3 and then draw a winner.

No exemptions, no matter where you live, what you do for a living, or even if you have a beard. Though why you’d want one is up for debate.

Thank you Uncle Charlie. This was just what I needed this morning. Well, that and The Nut Bra video, but I can’t figure out how to post that. So if anyone wants to see it, email me and I’ll forward it to you.

See why I cringe when someone refers to me as a lady? I’m so not.

GRANDPA

Many of us unfortunately were born after our own Grandpas had passed on and never had the opportunity to enjoy moments like this. I hope this will again confirm that the most important information in your life won't come from a teacher, the library or the Internet. It comes from a mentor and always on a very personal level.

My long-passed grandfather's birthday is coming up and for me it is a time to reminisce. We used to take long walks and drives together. He would make special trips to pick me up so I could spend weekends with him.

I was young when he died. If he were living today and sharing his pearls of wisdom,I'd be a better man. The one I remember best came from him when I was only 12.

We were sitting in a park, watching children with their mothers enjoying a beautiful spring day. He told me that one day, I'd find a woman and start my own family. Then came the jewel in the crown of grandfatherly advice when he said, "And be sure you marry a woman with small hands."

"Why should I do that, Grandpa?" I asked.

"It makes your pecker look bigger."

It kinda brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Harrogate: Have Pictures, Will Post

This is the fun side of the Harrogate reflections - the photos. But did I tell you the UK was having a heat wave? And no air conditioning. OMG, I thought I was going to evaporate. One of the best moments was when it started to rain, and I had to laugh at all the tough crime writers dashing inside. This was, after all, England. It's like a person from Vancouver staying in because of the rain - when would you get out?

So, the big post is now up at Killer Year. And there's something in it that hits to how I felt and what I thought about the unique challenges for debut authors like myself, so it isn't just recap of what happened, although that's certainly there.

I hope you have a chance to drop by and leave me a note here or there, or in both places!



With Val McDermid. Oh, yeah, it was too fucking hot to be England, so you’ll see a lot of rosy cheeks in these photos. It wasn’t just the booze, I swear.




Stuart may have made Val McDermid lose her breakfast, but I survived.



With Vincent, of the Dragons Fandago blog.


The charming, funny, extraordinarily talented Mark Billingham.


The Billingham Babes. Sandra, Helena, Mark, Jayne and Betty. What a blast to meet all of you!

Day Three in the Bar, with Simon Kernick (the look on my face says it all. About the bar, not Simon.)


Quiz Night. 2/3 of the team. Notice Steve Mosby managed to avoid the photo? Sneaky.

The All Night Party Animals




It seems strangely appropriate that this photo is a bit blurry. I was tired. But it was a beer and bacon breakfast for us.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

After The Harrogate High

I was reminded of Brett often while I was away. You might say he was the bookends on my journey. Sunday the 16th Kevin got home just in time for us to drive to the city, have dinner and then go to the airport. As we were finishing dinner, the song ‘You’re Beautiful’ came on. That might bother others, but I don’t listen to popular radio so it hasn’t been overplayed to me. In fact, I’d never heard it before. It made me think of Brett, and the day he knew I was upset and dedicated the song to me on his blog. Yes ladies, he’s a sweetheart and a gentleman – want his phone number?

Anyway, I was thinking of Brett, and then Killer Year and everything that’s happened this year. It has, simply, been overwhelming. I thought of last year, of me being excited about who I met when I went to Harrogate.

And how weird it was to know people wanted to see me this year.

I met my friend, Marsha, in Edinburgh. We’ve been talking on the phone for two years now, and have one of those bizarre internet friendships, but we didn’t skip a beat face to face. We’ve already been on the phone, in the 9 hours since I got home.

And we had a fantastic time in Edinburgh. I know I’ve been hinting around that a bit, and you aren’t getting the full story yet, either. Sorry. But there will be photos up soon, and they’ll say it all.

Harrogate was also an incredible experience. The hotel sucked. Let’s just get that out of the way from the start. I mean, it could have been great, but just a few things really didn’t work and undermined the weekend for us. One of them being that they would only give you one key for a room, so when Marsha went to bed, because we were sharing, she had to go to sleep and leave the door unlocked so I could get in. NOT impressed. They told me it was because it was so expensive to have keys made – bullshit. 50 p. And charge a fucking damage deposit already – I’d have happily left a 20 pound note at the front desk to ensure I returned both keys.

Anyway, just arriving was fun. I saw Val McDermid in the lobby and let me point out that, of all present, Val’s the person I’ve met the most times. I went to hear her read on my wedding anniversary a few years back (hopeless romantic, I know. We spent the weekend hearing Ian Rankin and then Val McDermid. Kevin’s so accommodating, I should treat him better) and then I did see her last year. Still, I was surprised she recognized me. I got a hug and a chance to see her scars from knee surgery – ouch. It was great to see her up and about and looking really happy.

And she had reason to be happy later, winning the Theakston’s prize. I’m so pleased for her – The Torment of Others is a great read and she’s a fantastic author. The only author I have more books by is some Scottish fellow. What is it about the Scots and crime fiction?

I met Ali Karim and then he introduced me to a bazillion others and got people talking about Killer Year. But then people started coming up to me and saying, “I remember you.” And then I walked into the bookstore – and the reaction from the lady was, “You’re back!”

Weird.

And it was weird to hear people saying, “I read your blog.” Very weird. It was all I could do not to ask, “Why?”

I don’t know – I’m sitting here, functioning on about four hours of sleep, it’s already roasting, and I can’t believe it’s over. The conference just went so fast.

And I want to have a chance to really mention everyone I met, properly. That’s what the train trip yesterday was good for – making notes.

But here are a few highlights, a few regrets and quick thoughts.

Regrets:
That I didn’t get to actually talk to Shane Maloney about Australian crime fiction. You know, at these things, you schmooze. You have many short conversations as people filter in and out of groups and when I said bye to Val on Sunday she said you keep saying you’ll catch up with people later and you never do. It’s the way it is. But I really wanted to talk to him, because I’m really interested in reading work from Australia. And maybe profiling some in Spinetingler. And he was so funny. I videoed the skit, and can’t wait to watch that again. Stella Duffy sure can work it!

That I didn’t get to buy Mark Billingham a beer. We’ll try again at BoucherCon. Or when he’s in Canada in the fall. So, I feel like I still have a chance to see him, but if we’d had the chat on Sunday that we had on Thursday, I’m sure I would have burst into tears. Of course, no sleep will do that to a person.

There was somebody looking for me, and I thought it was Chris High at the time. Turned out it was someone else, and I don’t think they ever found me. Sorry I missed you, whoever you were.

That I didn’t get my picture taken with Steve Mosby and his girlfriend.

Probably a zillion other things will come to mind later.

Highlights
Martina Cole. She could have been me. I was mesmerized by her stories, and her insights. I’ll talk about her more later this week.

George Pelecanos. One of my dream interviews, and I didn’t have the courage to ask him. But I was just delighted I got to meet him. I told him I’m a fan of The Wire, but forgot to mention I started reading his books because of The Wire. I’m such an idiot.

Interviewing Simon Kernick. Damn, it only took us a year to work this out, and it’s a looooooong story, but he was great. And gave me about an hour of his undivided attention, which isn’t something you tend to get at these things. Oh, and thanks for the beverage tip, Simon. I bought two bottles and managed to get past customs, although I was well over my limit.

Being told that I’d asked Simon questions nobody else ever had. He said something to the effect of it showing how superb I was doing this, and that’s such a compliment.

Seeing Val with the Theakston’s prize. I love Val. We’re probably too much alike in some respects, as Gemini’s with our birthdays only two days apart, but I admire her so much and was really pleased for her.

Meeting Agent Phil. If that sounds like a biological weapon that you should reluctantly use in combat, you’re probably close to the truth there. He’s hysterical. Just don’t even drink around the man – it’ll come out your nose.

Meeting Al Guthrie. More on masturbating hamsters when I fully recover. Or maybe the less said, the better. But I have his phone number, so I can always make prank calls with phffff phffff phffff sounds and scratching noises and I think I’ll move on now.

Doing the group of guys. A group interview, you perverts. Mark, Al, John Rickards (hurrah! I finally met John, who’s quieter in person than I expected), Stuart, Richard Burke, Steve Mosby, James Oswald… damn, am I forgetting anyone? Oh, yeah, Ian Rankin’s editor, and another editor from Orion, who didn’t realize they were being recorded until after I had some interesting comments made. Never join a group of people in the dark and talk first, ask questions later.

Okay, I’ll do a full list of who I met in a few days, because from Russel in Edinburgh (by way of Dundee, the wannabe Fifer) to Vincent to James, it was great to meet people off the blogs. Everyone I met was pretty much as I expected them to be. Except Russel talks more and John talks less. But if I keep at it here, I’ll forget someone, and my eyes are starting to burn. Again.

Quick Thoughts
When you blog, you have no idea who’s reading. When you comment anywhere publicly, this is true. If you read at Stuart’s you know Val McDermid drops by. She posted a comment the other day about Stuart’s nose that made me laugh so hard. But this past week, I finally realized how exposed you are through your blog. In a way I’ll never forget. I mean, can you imagine how I’d feel if I found out someone like Ian Rankin was reading my blog? Well, a lot of people met me and said, “I read your blog.” And I was flattered and shocked and overwhelmed, to say the least. I mean, I type these things in a half-awake state, before working out (yeah, slowly I'm overcoming the back injury and trying to get into shape) and having breakfast, and seldom edit them. It’s very raw thought from me. I think I’ll have to spend more time on my posts now! Give people something worth reading.

I do think I need to state, for the record, that I don’t have a thing for Stuart. I adore him as a friend. I owe him a lot. Let me put it to you this way: no single person in this industry has done more to help me as a writer. I'm not talking influence, I'm talking giving me a kick in the ass and a stern talking to when needed and encouragement when I'm doing things well. I don’t know why Stuart’s given me so much guidance, but I will never, ever forget that he has and that he’s a great person. As long as everyone’s on the same page about joking, I’m cool, but that’s all it is. I think anyone who’s ever met me has a pretty good idea of my personal value system. As much as I joke here about loving men, I don’t screw around. Of this, my husband has no doubt, or I wouldn’t have stayed with my friend, Steven Boyne, when I was in Edinburgh last year.

Oh, and James, when you said you hadn’t kept me up all night but were glad to give me a ride, I wonder how you thought that would be taken! This is, after all, my blog! Not some pristine, proper blog like yours or Vincent’s.

Yesterday, at the beginning of the end of my travels, I was in Manchester Piccadilly train station, and the song ‘You’re Beautiful’ came on. I was reminded of Brett, again, and then other friends, and I was glad to be going home.

That might sound like a negative on the festival, but it’s actually a compliment. Truthfully, my heart was full. I had absorbed about as much as I possibly could. I needed sleep.

And a bear hug from evilkev.

That’s why I still don’t feel like talking straight on about the festival in a post. There’s just so much there for me to process. And there’s a bit of sadness, too. There were things I experienced this trip that will never happen again.

And if I learned one thing, it’s that when you get a chance to meet people you’ve always wanted to meet, all those questions you thought you’d like to ask go right out the window. It just becomes the experience.

I started this on the train ride yesterday, and will do it in stages this week.

Five Dream Interviews (exempting anyone I’ve interviewed before from consideration)
- George Pelecanos
- David Simon
- Ian Rankin
- Martina Cole
- Jan Burke

Five places I want to see again before I die
- Edinburgh
- Florence
- La Fortuna
- The Sahara
- Inuvik/Tuktoyuktuk

Five things I’ve done I never thought I’d do
- Watch the sun rise in the Sahara
- Fly over the tundra and swim in the arctic ocean
- Climb an active volcano
- Get married
- Spend an afternoon at Ian Rankin’s

I would have put the picture here, but blogger's being pissy. If you read what I said about last Tueday, sun, lack of sleep, lack of food and a lot of alcohol (for me), well, I'm just surprised I was standing, but there will be a photo up tomorrow.

As long as blogger lets me post.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Wonders of Irn Bru

I don't need to say more, do I? Except that Anne, I too will continue preparing for Bouchercon. Such a hardship, I know...

I typed a blog post twice at Killer Year on Friday, only to lose it both times to computer woes at the internet cafe. At that point, I was convinced that tragedy was following me and in the interests of others, I should just get the hell out of there. At that point, I went to deal with my cell phone, which had a large amount of messages received stating things like, 'Find me a guy with a **** or sorry, hell, maybe a girl' and 'That's the point of grapefruit.' I'm still trying to work the last one out.

Now, I'm not going to do a full recap here and now, and I'll skip over Tuesday and the wine consumption and go straight to Wednesday morning. Marsha and I were up early and off to Edinburgh - oh wait. We stayed in Edinburgh. Note to some people - if you can close the distance in under a quarter of an hour on a city bus, you aren't far away. I mean, seriously: travel in Canada.

So what I mean is, we went downtown and did our wandering. Through the gardens and up past Fleshmarket Close, to the castle, did the Mary King's Close tour (which was a repeat for me from last year but a first for Marsha and still interesting) and we did some souvenir shopping. We saw a bunch of other things that escape me at the moment. The most significant thing was that we went to meet up with the that guy from Dundee. I've since been admonished for saying he has a Dundee accent - he insists it's Fife, but I think he's just trying to claim common ground to some of the greatest Scottish crime writers. After all, that's why Stuart married a gal from Fife, I'm sure. His own lineage sadly lacking.

We were a bit delayed meeting up with Russel McLean - yes, the Russel D. McLean of Crime Scene Scotland and the These Are Mean Streets blog (sorry for the lack of links guys - strange computer, don't have my blog roll handy). Russel fell asleep on the bus and was booted off. Fortunately not on the other side of the city, and we linked up before long.

We had a great afternoon. Went to The Ox for a drink. Except I stayed with coke. My head felt better, but still. You have to pace yourself. Had dinner too, and I must say that, as the first time I was meeting someone off the blogs in person, I couldn't have asked for a better person to link up with. And there will be pictures, stories, and more about what really happened with the cop and the statue of the foot another time.

I haven't delved straight into the Harrogate experience, because I want to do it justice. And right now, I wouldn't. I nodded off for about an hour on the drive from Harrogate to Manchester (thanks for the lift, James!) but otherwise haven't used a bed since Friday night* and am a wee bit knackered. See what happens when you come to the UK - your speech is corrupted.

Anyway, a few quickies...

Jan - hope your writing has been going well. Seeing your comment made me wonder what's going on with the crime lab project and I look forward to catching up.

Elizabeth, Sue, Bill, Bonnie, James G, DesLily... Thanks, all of you, and I look forward to finding out what you've been up to! Hope you've been behaving.

I could hope Mindy, Angie and Brett would behave, but why bother wasting energy, right? Might explain something about the cute single guys and international phone calls to do web searches for information I won't discuss here. But it might also explain some of the text messages I got. Especially the one about the hairy chest. And I must say I have no idea.

Erik, not too worry. And if you can't stay s... have fun and get photos.

Amra: pictures will be posted soon!

Forty_Two, those people are a bit too wild for my blog. Dirty jokes are one thing, but they're a bit obscene, don't you think?

'With all the Scotsmen running around in kilts' I'm going to need luck? More like I need to be unlucky. You and Erik need to work out if I'm supposed to be lucky or stay s... on these sojourns.

Oh, and EvilKev, I was joking about not sleeping. Absolutely. When I phoned you at what? 10 pm your time from the bar, I went straight to bed. There's no way I had an animated debate about the merits of reviews (or lack thereof) and started smooching beer from the bar when the hotel staff weren't looking.

Promise.

But I did discover that after you've let a man keep you up all night you shouldn't say, 'One more for good measure.' Just, not a good idea.

Seriously guys, I can't believe it's over. The festival flew by. It was a bit sad, really. Being booked for (ahem) other things I can't really go public on yet, but that require me to be in New York this time next year, I'm not sure if that will conflict with Harrogate.

Although I made a deal with Simon Kernick that if he joined the ITW and went to Thrillerfest, I'd do Harrogate. We'd both suffer the effects of sobering up from one festival and jetlag and take in a second festival together. The thing is, Harrogate is such a great festival. Really, I'd be sad to miss it. Even the woman in the bookstore recognized me from last year.

And I hear there are great people lined up for next year, but I'll talk about that when I set feet back on Canadian soil.

Plus, I'll talk about Al Guthrie and masturbating hamsters. Once I deal with the video.

What a long, rambling post of nonsense. Guess I'm pacing myself...

But while you wait for my return I recommend heading to Stuart's to ask why he saw dawn on Friday in a strange man's room, listening to Pink Flag.

Enquiring minds and all that, Stuart.

And share some of the candies with She Who Must Suffer With A Non-Fifer.

Vincent - so glad we got time to chat. Oh, there will be a complete list - Steve, John, James, Vincent, Stuart, Betty, Helena, Jayne...damn, I'll have forgotten someone, so I need sleep before I do this. All my online chums who are as fantastic in the flesh as they are in cyberland. So glad we linked up.

Thanks again for the ride James.

* You people have filthy minds, you know that?

Wonders of Irn Bru

**The proper Harrogate updates are on my Tuesday and Wednesday posts - click on the blog title and look for After the Harrogate High and Harrogate: Have Pictures, Will Post

I don't need to say more, do I? Except that Anne, I too will continue preparing for Bouchercon. Such a hardship, I know...

I typed a blog post twice at Killer Year on Friday, only to lose it both times to computer woes at the internet cafe. At that point, I was convinced that tragedy was following me and in the interests of others, I should just get the hell out of there. At that point, I went to deal with my cell phone, which had a large amount of messages received stating things like, 'Find me a guy with a **** or sorry, hell, maybe a girl' and 'That's the point of grapefruit.' I'm still trying to work the last one out.

Now, I'm not going to do a full recap here and now, and I'll skip over Tuesday and the wine consumption and go straight to Wednesday morning. Marsha and I were up early and off to Edinburgh - oh wait. We stayed in Edinburgh. Note to some people - if you can close the distance in under a quarter of an hour on a city bus, you aren't far away. I mean, seriously: travel in Canada.

So what I mean is, we went downtown and did our wandering. Through the gardens and up past Fleshmarket Close, to the castle, did the Mary King's Close tour (which was a repeat for me from last year but a first for Marsha and still interesting) and we did some souvenir shopping. We saw a bunch of other things that escape me at the moment. The most significant thing was that we went to meet up with the that guy from Dundee. I've since been admonished for saying he has a Dundee accent - he insists it's Fife, but I think he's just trying to claim common ground to some of the greatest Scottish crime writers. After all, that's why Stuart married a gal from Fife, I'm sure. His own lineage sadly lacking.

We were a bit delayed meeting up with Russel McLean - yes, the Russel D. McLean of Crime Scene Scotland and the These Are Mean Streets blog (sorry for the lack of links guys - strange computer, don't have my blog roll handy). Russel fell asleep on the bus and was booted off. Fortunately not on the other side of the city, and we linked up before long.

We had a great afternoon. Went to The Ox for a drink. Except I stayed with coke. My head felt better, but still. You have to pace yourself. Had dinner too, and I must say that, as the first time I was meeting someone off the blogs in person, I couldn't have asked for a better person to link up with. And there will be pictures, stories, and more about what really happened with the cop and the statue of the foot another time.

I haven't delved straight into the Harrogate experience, because I want to do it justice. And right now, I wouldn't. I nodded off for about an hour on the drive from Harrogate to Manchester (thanks for the lift, James!) but otherwise haven't used a bed since Friday night* and am a wee bit knackered. See what happens when you come to the UK - your speech is corrupted.

Anyway, a few quickies...

Jan - hope your writing has been going well. Seeing your comment made me wonder what's going on with the crime lab project and I look forward to catching up.

Elizabeth, Sue, Bill, Bonnie, James G, DesLily... Thanks, all of you, and I look forward to finding out what you've been up to! Hope you've been behaving.

I could hope Mindy, Angie and Brett would behave, but why bother wasting energy, right? Might explain something about the cute single guys and international phone calls to do web searches for information I won't discuss here. But it might also explain some of the text messages I got. Especially the one about the hairy chest. And I must say I have no idea.

Erik, not too worry. And if you can't stay s... have fun and get photos.

Amra: pictures will be posted soon!

Forty_Two, those people are a bit too wild for my blog. Dirty jokes are one thing, but they're a bit obscene, don't you think?

'With all the Scotsmen running around in kilts' I'm going to need luck? More like I need to be unlucky. You and Erik need to work out if I'm supposed to be lucky or stay s... on these sojourns.

Oh, and EvilKev, I was joking about not sleeping. Absolutely. When I phoned you at what? 10 pm your time from the bar, I went straight to bed. There's no way I had an animated debate about the merits of reviews (or lack thereof) and started smooching beer from the bar when the hotel staff weren't looking.

Promise.

But I did discover that after you've let a man keep you up all night you shouldn't say, 'One more for good measure.' Just, not a good idea.

Seriously guys, I can't believe it's over. The festival flew by. It was a bit sad, really. Being booked for (ahem) other things I can't really go public on yet, but that require me to be in New York this time next year, I'm not sure if that will conflict with Harrogate.

Although I made a deal with Simon Kernick that if he joined the ITW and went to Thrillerfest, I'd do Harrogate. We'd both suffer the effects of sobering up from one festival and jetlag and take in a second festival together. The thing is, Harrogate is such a great festival. Really, I'd be sad to miss it. Even the woman in the bookstore recognized me from last year.

And I hear there are great people lined up for next year, but I'll talk about that when I set feet back on Canadian soil.

Plus, I'll talk about Al Guthrie and masturbating hamsters. Once I deal with the video.

What a long, rambling post of nonsense. Guess I'm pacing myself...

But while you wait for my return I recommend heading to Stuart's to ask why he saw dawn on Friday in a strange man's room, listening to Pink Flag.

Enquiring minds and all that, Stuart.

And share some of the candies with She Who Must Suffer With A Non-Fifer.

Vincent - so glad we got time to chat. Oh, there will be a complete list - Steve, John, James, Vincent, Stuart, Betty, Helena, Jayne...damn, I'll have forgotten someone, so I need sleep before I do this. All my online chums who are as fantastic in the flesh as they are in cyberland. So glad we linked up.

Thanks again for the ride James.

* You people have filthy minds, you know that?

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

My head hurts

Just don't ask.

But... too much wine yesterday.

In Canada, if you say 'thank you' it means 'stop, that's good'. I think in the UK it means, 'keep pouring'.

Note to self: drinking wine in the hot, hot sun is not really a good idea. Of course, it might have been part of my host's evil scheme to be the first to see me inebriated...

I had a great flight over guys, made it in one piece. Ended up beside two young women on their way to Turkey for five weeks. I'm SO jealous! I'd love to go to Turkey. Anyway, that was a riot, because one of them had lived in Edinburgh for a year and when they asked where I was going and what I was doing and I mentioned the Crime festival, the one who'd lived in Edinburgh said she'd read some Ian Rankin books when she lived here.

When I said he'd be at the festival I was attending, she was pretty excited.

The other one had a thing about WW2, so I told her to read The Hanging Garden, The Forest of Souls, amongst other books. By the time we landed, she had a long list.

Anyway, I'll save some updates for when I'm back, but I am here, I've worked up my alcohol threshold a bit already, and I'll be seeing a charming Scot with a thick Dundee accent before I head to Harrogate. Anyone in Edinburgh who wants to interpret for us? Give me a call.

Oh, and because I do have it now: 078766 48598 - if you need to get me in an emergency, text me on that number. Or phone, but it better not be to ask if there are any cute single guys around, or I'm hanging up. You think I'd share?

See you online Friday with a more thorough update.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Ciao Babes

Yes, boys and girls, prepare to go through withdrawal. Four days, at least, with no Sandra on the blog.

Hopefully, I'll have internet access and can post on Friday about Harrogate. Otherwise, I'll catch up with you next Tuesday the 25th or Wednesday the 26th.

Okay, I'm officially leaving the house, and semi unreachable for the next day or so.

If anyone needs me urgently, email me and put IMPORTANT in the subject header. Kevin will relay the message. See, I'm not giving out my cell phone number. You never know who'll play practical jokes with it.

Or auction it off on ebay...

Saturday, July 15, 2006

One More Sleep

Gee, think I'm getting excited?

I don't go to the airport until tomorrow night. In fact, it will be Monday in the UK before I even get on the plane.

I'm still double-checking to see if I've forgotten anything, and had my first crisis. My ipod died. I mean died. Not too happy about that. It means I have to take the video camera to record interviews, not that I plan on using the video part! Audio only!

Then again, live footage of MacBride dancing on tables, twirling his kilt?

Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

Thought of the Day

I understand that Scissors can beat Paper and I get how Rock can beat Scissors but there's no way Paper can beat Rock. Paper is supposed to magically wrap around Rock leaving it immobile? Why the hell can't paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can't paper do this to people? Why aren't sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they attempt to take notes in class? I'll tell you why, because paper can't beat anybody, a rock would tear that shit up in 2 seconds. When I play rock/paper/scissors, I always choose Rock... Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, oh shit, I'm sorry, I thought paper would protect you, you asshole.

Jason has a fantastic do and don't list up that writers should check out.

Damn! Meant to thank Trace for this one! Kind of cool, I'd never heard of this.






Who is your inner Shapeshifter?




Though they rarely caused mankind any serious harm, these Japanese fox spirits known as kitsune were well known for playing tricks on people and could be a real nuisance. They possessed the ability to transform into any creature, though they would often retain their fox tail. One could easily determine the age and level of maturity of a kitsune by counting it's tails; An immature, rambunctious kitsune would have very few tails, while a wise and powerful one would have as many as nine.As a kitsune, you are clever, sensual, beautiful, mysterious and effeminate (even if you are a guy). You are also somewhat sneaky and like to pull pranks on people, but otherwise you are very pleasurable to be around.
Take this quiz!








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Can you believe someone told me they were tired of seeing Kitty pictures? Well, too damn bad! Just scroll faster!


Friday, July 14, 2006

What Am I Forgetting?

The first time I bought a plane ticket in my life, it was to London, England. Small-town girl who couldn’t even navigate Toronto on her own (nor did she want to) planning to get on a plane and fly to Europe.

I was packing my suitcases months before my departure.

I remember a lot of stupid stuff about preparing for that trip. Stuff that made me look pretty dumb. Like not reading about the baggage limitations, for one thing.

Now, it’s so bad that I pack and weigh my bag here. Then I add the number of books I plan to buy and make sure I’m still under the restrictions…

Two days until I leave, and I actually feel slow to be still packing now. Isn’t that insane? But I’m always paranoid that I’ll forget something, so I need your help.

Okay, I’ve got the tazer. Because, well, you know how those writers can be.

I’ve got the case of handcuffs John asked for. Not sure why he wants them.

There’s the lumberman’s jacket Stuart asked for.

And the book I’m supposed to give to Steve.

Except I’m greatly displeased with Steve at the moment!

He started a blog, and didn’t tell me!

Maybe he doesn’t want me to read it. Jerk.

I’m going to go pout now.

Oh, and really? Tell me the things you usually forget, so I remember to take them! I have that horrid nagging feeling right up to the end…


A few to make you laugh or groan From Forrest

Sherlock Holmes

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes, purportedly told of a time when he climbed into a taxi cab in Paris. Before he could utter a word, the driver turned to him and asked, "Where can I take you, Mr. Doyle?"

Doyle was flabbergasted. He asked the driver if he had ever seen him before.

"No, sir," the driver responded, "I have never seen you before." Then he explained, "This morning's paper had a story about you being on vacation in Marseilles. This is the taxi stand where people who return from Marseilles always come to. Your skin color tells me you have been on vacation. The ink-spot on your right index finger suggests to me that you are a writer. Your clothing is very English, and not French. Adding up all those pieces of information, I deduced that you are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

"This is truly amazing!" the writer exclaimed. "You are a real-life counter-part to my fictional creation, Sherlock Holmes!"

"There is one other thing," the driver said.

"What is that?"

"Your name is on the front of your suitcase."

Trust

A defense attorney was cross-examining a police officer during a felony trial. It went like this:

Q: Officer, did you see my client fleeing the scene?
A: No sir, but I subsequently observed a person matching the description of the offender running several blocks away.

Q: Officer, who provided this description?
A: The officer who responded to the scene.

Q: A fellow officer provided the description of this so-called offender. Do you trust your fellow officers?
A: Yes sir, with my life.

Q: With your life? Let me ask you this then officer -- do you have a locker room in the police station -- a room where you change your clothes in preparation for your daily duties?
A: Yes sir, we do.

Q: And do you have a locker in that room?
A: Yes sir, I do.

Q: And do you have a lock on your locker?
A: Yes sir.

Q: Now why is it, officer, if you trust your fellow officers with your life, that you find it necessary to lock your locker in a room you share with those officers?
A: You see sir, we share the building with a court complex, and sometimes defense attorneys have been known to walk through that room.

What's three times three?

A Psychiatrist is assessing the mental status of three patients.

He asks each of them to answer the question, 'What's three times three?'

The first patient says, '158.'

The second patient replies, 'Tuesday.'

The third patient answers, 'nine.'

The shrink turns to this last patient and asks, 'Good! but how did you came up with the correct answer?'

'Easy,' he quipped, 'Just subtract 158 from Tuesday!'

(Okay, someone explain this one to me…)

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Post rating: CP-SW-AC-VC-Hetero-SD-NO49-NA-FOS-WWBT-UUs-RE-VTA**

Someone, quite respectfully I might add, posted a question on a discussion group about whether or not a rating system on books was in the future.

I have to say, I damn well hope to hell not.

The person didn’t seem to advocate for or against – truly, the post was worded well and more from the position of curiosity. These are the reasons why some might think this is a good idea. I have no issue with how the poster raised the question.

I thought about responding, but my inclination to be flippant on this topic went against my better judgment of what was appropriate on that discussion group. And I thought it would be much more fun to be flippant.

But in all seriousness, I think this is a horrid idea, the thought of which concerns me. Certainly, because this question was posed to mystery/crime writers, I think of our books. They aren’t pop-up books where all of a sudden a character jumps out at you with a knife through their chest, their face contorted in agony, blood spilling out everywhere.

First off, having a television and movie rating system costs money. I’m not opposed, in those cases, for very different reasons. Okay, the cost is incorporated in ads/taxes/ticket prices. Which sort of sucks. But the guidelines are there to help parents determine what is and is not appropriate for their children to watch. Visual entertainment is much different from written entertainment – in a movie or tv show someone really can just jump up naked or all of a sudden be hacked to bits with an ax, and there’s no warning time to avert your eyes – the image is seared into your brain. I mean, a good movie doesn’t spring that on you, all the same, but in that form of media it is possible.

Since you have to read word to word, something horrid can start and if it’s too much for you, you can put it down and never see what actually happened, for one thing. For another, we have a system to determine content suitability – children’s picture books, children’s early readers, chapter books and young adult books. In bookstores here, there are age guidelines on the shelves.

So, there is a system. One that’s not currently costing us any more money. And if we had an arbitrary system, where publishers set their own codes, it would be like the idiotic brands that create their own clothing sizes. You have no clue what size you are from one brand, or store, to the next. As someone who isn’t fond of shopping and has done a lot of it this week, I hate that. Or they mix their sizing. I might have a large chest with this shirt, but I have a medium waist (or maybe I should us XXXL and XXL or maybe I should say small waist, XXL chest… I haven’t used a bad word and it conjures up some images, doesn’t it?).

It is my opinion that a rating system that isn’t regulated by an established agency is completely pointless, and therefore, costly to do properly. Further to that, if adults can’t determine suitable content without a code on the book, then I have to wonder how they cope with much of anything in life. I’ve seen TV commercials that were… um, inappropriate for some audiences, in my opinion.

If I can handle that – and indeed, we’re bombarded with visual and auditory images all the time, from radio commercials to songs to ads on billboards and in magazines to commercials on TV – then I think I can look at a cover, read the back of a book, and make a decision for myself.

The only thing then I might complain about is if the cover was misleading. For example, a soft pink cover with a pretty kitty on it might make me think, although it was in the mystery section, that it’s a gentle read.

In which case, I might be quite disturbed to find on page 1 someone stabs kitty through the eye with a pair of pruning shears.

And, in case you didn’t get the sarcasm of at least one of my coding symbols, the orientation of the author, who they like and whether or not they should have invested in braces…

Well, being realistic, I’ll leave you to figure out what I think of the relevance of those things, because sometimes what we read doesn’t have all the answers or wrap it all up in pretty paper with a bow on top.

Avert Your Eyes!

Yeah, yeah. I hate having my picture taken. Even more than that, I hate curly hair. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that it’s hard to defeat nature. And so, on that note, I’ve given up on trying to make my hair silky, smooth and nice-looking. Especially when I’m traveling. I’m a wash-and-go kind of girl – NO MAINTENANCE!

That said, I did go to the hairdresser yesterday, and got some highlights put in my hair.

Last year, I died my hair dark dark brown before I went to Harrogate. However, in the one photo of me someone took, my hair looked red.

Fuck.

Really is no point trying to fight nature some days.



** colour photo – swear words – adult content – violent content- heterosexual – someone dies - North of 49 – North American – friend of Stuart - writer with buck teeth-sses Us - realistic ending – violence to animals