Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Bouchercon, part the second

Mes Amis


My head aches.

But its six in the morning and I'm awake. So I wonder around Madison to clear my head after an argument with my shower (which behaves more like a bidet than anything else and no one seems to think its worth fixing). I walk the streets and finally pop into a place for coffee and bagels. I read the Onion, sip my drinks, eat my bagels and emerge feeling ready for the day ahead.

At the hotel, the usual suspects are wondering around and a few more have arrived. Zoe Sharp and her husband are on fine form, and Declan Hughes ambles past, looking bright eyed and bushy tailed. I won't see him for much of the rest of the con, but I'm assured this doesn't last.

I'm on a panel with Al, Duane, Chris Knopf and Michael Robotham at twelve. X-Treme Writing, they say, and I can only talk about editing CSS because, as Duane points out, I ain't xactly x-treme. I stumble through the panel while everyone else talks elquoently. Its great fun and I get carte-blanche to swear so I'm feeling good. Plus a few people come up afterwards to ask about the extreme story we had on CSS (I'll throw up links later, but it upset a few people).

Later on, I listen to John Connolly rant (tm) about crimes he could get away with. There are others on the panel including Laurie R King and Jan Burke, but John rants so well its about all I can remember. Well, there was something about shrinkage and nobody likes call centres, but it was all brillantly entertaining and that's good.

Later on, I meet Joe Konrath and he gets me plastered. There's an odd moment with an overzealous doorman on a bar (don't ask) and finally I realise I better get ready for the Crime Spree/Bleak House party. Especially when Joe starts talking about how he needs help transporting promo stuff for his book.

But I haven't eaten and the first time this con I meet The Rickards, I'm stumbling about and probably trying to sing. Jen, wonderful genius ninja that she is, ensures I order food. I drink Coke for the party and realise about halfway through I might be hungover. All the same I stick around and shoot the shit with folks. Around half one I'm back to the hotel again.

And once more, I collapse on the bed and fall into a very fitful sleep, afeared of how I will feel the next morning.

Quick digression, folks: everyone tells me to get on MySpace. Really, is it worth it? Come on kids, tell the goddamn truth to Uncle Russel.

Oh and if anyone has any good photos I can use in a later edition of CSS let me know. My batteries ran out halfway through the damn con. Credit will be given, but sarcy captions may be employed.

Until tomorrow (when I shall be more awake) I say,

Au revoir



Sandra Ruttan said...

I'll give you the photos if you meet the blackmail demands. ;)

Bill Cameron said...

MySpace is the devil.

Christa Faust said...

MySpace is definitely the devil. Here's how I made my deal with that particular devil.

The MySpace profile is nothing but an ad for me. I mirror my real blog over there and I approve pretty much any friend request I receive, so long as the request has been made by a human, not a band or a film, and provided they list reading as an interest. I spend less than two minutes per day keeping things tidy over there and in return I've gotten a fair number of new readers who have contacted me and let me know they discovered me on MySpace.

It's vapid and crass and ugly as sin, but it's a tool and it works. It provides an easy way for people to find out about you, since they're there already, trawling for internet hook-ups or IMing underage pages. I may not have gotten millions of dollars in sales from MySpace, but I clearly sold more books than I would have without it.

It's like putting up a billboard in Vegas. Yeah it's tacky and there are a million other competing billboards right next to it, but, bottom line, more people are gonna see your billboard in Vegas than in North Dakota.

- Christa