Howling at the Moon

I’m wired. Too keyed up to sleep. I think I’m supposed to post today, but I’m not sure. I’m too tired to check my notes. Tired? I’m exhausted. I’ve had a long, productive weekend, which was capped off by an experience I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

Last Thursday, I set out mid-morning from St. Louis to drive to Kingsport, Tennessee. After navigating through the mountains in the dark and the rain, I stopped and spent the night in Knoxville.

Friday morning, I visited Davis-Kidd Booksellers in Nashville, and three independent scrapbook stores nearby.

At 7:30 Friday night, I gave a humorous keynote to a small dinner audience to kick off the Kingsport Times Women’s Expo. We all had fun—which was my intent. Minnie Pearl once said that laughter is God’s hand on the shoulder of a weary world, and lately the world has been plum tuckered out.

Saturday, I spent all day, pitching and selling my book to Expo attendees.

Sunday (which is today, as I’m writing this in advance of posting), I woke up at 7 a.m. and met Karen Travis, a naturalist, for a private tour of Bays Mountain Nature Preserve.

We hopped into my car and wound our way up to the mountain top. I parked, and we walked over to the lake, fringed with trees in shades of dark green, brown and red. The crisp fog roiled across the top of the glassy water like tumbleweed, alternately exposing and veiling the foliage. The scene had a dream-like quality, but the smell of damp, spicy leaves told me it was real.

Inside the nature observatory, I took my time looking at the salamander, frogs, turtles, albino corn snake, rat snake, and timber rattler on exhibition. Then Karen let me into the room where two opossums, a big male and a smaller female, were sleeping in cat carriers. She coaxed them out, and I fed them grapes, holding the treats carefully so my fingers didn’t become snacks. Karen took horsemeat out of the freezer (which I observed would be a great place to kill someone), and we went outdoors. She fed a trio of otters, their sleek coats gleaming as they undulated in the morning light. Next, she gave snacks of horsemeat to three bobcats, eerily large versions of their housecat cousins.

The pack of ten grey wolves was our real reason for coming to the mountain so early. As we started up the path, Karen froze and whispered, “Listen.” From the distance, we heard howls. “They can smell up to two miles away,” she explained. “They know we are here.”

Karen had served as a “den” mother to the young wolf pups, helping socialize them, so she is accepted as part of the pack. She hung back as I went ahead along the trail. When I was close enough to the wolf enclosure to see them clearly through the double fence, she howled. The wolves all howled back—calling her home. The unearthly calls went on and on, first one wolf singing out, then another chiming in. The echoes bounced along the mountain itself and seemed to travel through time. Mesmerized by the chorus, I stood in the half-fog, my fingers pressed against the wire fence, as I stared into ten unblinking pairs of pale eyes.

Karen howled again. Once more, the pack members threw back their heads, their black noses tipping toward the sky, their throats exposing long lines of fur, and their voices calling to her, their pack-mate, each wolf singing with its own unique tonal quality, each one beckoning her to rejoin the group.

Afterwards, I drove eleven hours from eastern Tennessee to St. Louis. I stopped in Lebanon, Tennessee, at Sherlock’s, an independent bookseller, where I apologized for my casual jeans and hoodie. “I spent the morning looking at wolves and listening to them howl,” I said before I realized how odd it might sound.

The bookseller just smiled.

It is, after all, only two more weeks until Halloween

Inkspot News - October 18, 2008

G.M. Malliet's debut Death of a Cozy Writer made the bestseller list at Hard Bean Coffee & Booksellers in Annapolis, Maryland.

Tomorrow, she is the guest speaker as the Virginia Writers Club returns from summer break to meet at the Tysons-Pimmit Regional Library, 7584 Leesburg Pike, Falls Church, VA. Non-members welcome.

Winter is Coming

Summer ended in my northern Colorado town not with a whimper but a bang. Nighttime temperatures dropped, and then one morning we awoke to find each blade of grass finely limned with frost and the rooftops glittering in the sunlight as if the wind had scattered broken glass in its wake. The tender plants in the vegetable garden -- zucchini, peppers, eggplant, cucumber -- withered and twisted in instant defeat. But others, planted in August, relish the cool weather. Crisp Swiss chard leaves, tiny and tender on bright, multi-colored stems give the spinach some serious competition for our plates. Spicy mustard greens combine with baby lettuce leaves, new radishes, purple carrots and scallions to create a salad reminiscent of spring. But the sound of dry, yellowing cottonwood leaves scratching together in the mildest breeze belies any notion of impending summer.

The sweaters are back in the closet, returned from their summer hiatus in the guest bedroom. Flannel sheets and down comforters warm the beds. Menus veer toward soups and chilis and the house smells of fresh baked bread. Evenings are spent in front of the fire for all nine innings as the championship teams hammer their way -- or not -- to the World Series. On the arm of the sofa, a half-completed hat in chunky red wool perches on a pair of circular knitting needles.

Green tomatoes cover the window sills. Those that don't ripen quickly will go into cake, chutney, or spicy green tomato catsup. The big freezer in the garage is packed with local produce and a quarter of grass fed Charolais beef from a rancher down the road. The pantry shelves hold neat rows of pickles -- beans, watermelon rind, cucumbers and asparagus -- and bright yellow chutney, dark raspberry jam, jalapeño pickled carrots and purple sauerkraut. On the top shelf, a few bottles from my first attempt at making wine, strong enough to make your eyes water. Bunches of herbs hang from the ceiling to dry. The weekly vegetable delivery from our winter CSA share begins at the end of the month.

There will still be plenty to do: cleaning up and putting away the yard, getting a few more bulbs in, carving pumpkins to light the front porch for the costumed trick-or-treaters to come.

But for now, my desk beckons.

I've indulged in fresh notebooks and another cluster of my favorite pens. I've purged and archived computer files, defragged and backed up. Books for research sit ready on the shelf. On my clean desk, three new writing projects await my attention. At this point it's my choice which one I go with first.

Fall has arrived, as full of promise as any spring. And winter is coming.

Winter: my favorite time for writing. The anticipation is delicious.

Scary Clowns and Fictional Reality

by Julia Buckley
A man wearing clown make-up and holding balloons attempts to lure children into his van with missing windows. No, this isn't Steven King's latest brainchild--it's an item from my local news, as reported in the Chicago Sun-Times and all of the local television news stations. For those of us who aren't fond of clowns (and for Chicagoans who saw the two faces of John Gacy), this is much too horrifying an image.

It just so happened, though, that this morning was the first time this school year that neither my husband nor I could walk the boys to school. And when I got to work, I realized that I had forgotten to warn the boys not to get into a van with a clown. As if my boys needed to be told that--it's an image from a nightmare. This guy must not be psychologically savvy if he thinks clowns are appealing to kids these days.

Still, when I got home I learned from my husband that the boys had not called him as promised, so I called the school to make sure they had arrived. They had. Relieved, I went about my business until it was time to pick them up.

Once we were home and safely tucked indoors, our new pumpkin lights blazing in the windows, I got a call from my neighbor, Laura. Her daughter Jenny, a sixth grader, had been given permission to walk home and had not arrived when expected. Laura wanted to know if one of my boys would watch her four-year-old while she searched the streets for her daughter.

Images of the clown loomed. "Sure," I said. "He'll be right over." My oldest son went to watch the little guy while his panicked mother drove away.

"My sister is lost," said little Jonah. He stayed by his phone, dialing random and plentiful numbers, my son reported, and then told the buzzing at the other end that his sister hadn't come home. My son let him keep doing it, since it seemed to give him the illusion of control.

Meanwhile, back at my house, a feeling of dread began to creep over me; I thought Laura would be gone for a few minutes, but half an hour went by and she hadn't returned. My son sat at their house, reading his homework. Little Jonah made his emergency phone calls to no one.

Finally, finally, they came home. Jenny had decided to join a new club after school; then she forgot that she said she'd walk home, and was sitting in the school waiting to be picked up.

Meanwhile Laura died a little inside. She said she almost crashed her car on several occasions while she scanned the sidewalk for a sign of Jenny. She experienced that special fear that is always present in a corner of mothers' hearts--and it's kept alive by people who dress as clowns and try to lure children with balloons. Or people who ask if children would like to see a puppy. Or those who say that they have candy, if a child will just follow them.

Children today, thank goodness, understand that they cannot trust any random person, especially not strangers offering presents. And it's not that likely that anything will happen. And yet . . .

Last year the people who sold us our house (and who still live in town) had a terrible experience. Their six-year-old daughter was playing in their fenced back yard. Her mother was in the house and occasionally looked out the window (don't we all do that?)

The little girl, in her sandbox, was approached by a man who looked over the fence. He asked if she'd like to see a puppy. She said yes. He said, "Don't worry, your mom said it was okay." He lifted her over the fence and put her into his car, where he had installed a child seat. He strapped her in and drove away. It all took about one minute.

How often can a story like this have a happy ending? But this one is almost happy. The man drove the little girl from our suburb into Chicago. There, for some reason, he told her to get out of the car. He instructed her to go to a nearby mail carrier and tell him that she was lost. And he drove away.

By the time the girl's parents were contacted, they had been frantically searching for her for two hours. She was returned to them, frightened but unharmed.

I can only imagine the nightmares that mother must have when she thinks about the fact that someone had her child--someone with evil intentions. What had made him let her go? Had someone seen him? Someone who could have identified him later? Had he suffered a twinge of conscience? (I find that option unlikely). Had she made noise and persuaded him that his abduction would not go smoothly?

In any case the girl was returned to her family.

But it reminded me, once again, that there are many people who wear masks--and the one in the clown make-up is the easiest to spot. More frightening are the masks of friendliness that convince innocent children that nothing bad would ever happen.

(art link here)

Random Bouchercon

What I did, thought and learned at Bouchercon...

Laura Caldwell, though very nice, may not be the friend I thought she was...at least not as Facebook is concerned.

Karen Syed is my new best friend and is energetic, excited and a marketing wizard. She can promise my hugs to anyone if it sells books. The fact that she had two basset hounds only sweetens the deal.

It's not a good idea to get lost in Baltimore. The third time you walk around the block you might as well paint "Victim" on your forehead

If you have bourbon in your room Joe Konrath will like you.

Henry Perez's book "Killing Red" will be the book everyone is talking about next spring. When Henry gets hungry he won't wait for you.

I'm happy to hang on Jane Cleland's arm at St. Martin's cocktail events.

Bob Ward is a cool guy not just because he wrote for Miami Vice and Hill St. Blues but because he was the writer who interviewed Reggie Jackson when he said he was the one who "stirred the drink." That, and the fact that he thought Duffy would be a good TV series and asked to see "TKO" and "On the Ropes."

Having Ken Bruen refer to me as a good friend and asking me how my "dear mum" and "beautiful wife" were were worth the 6 hour drive.

Sean Chercover wins awards every 3 hours. I'd hate him but he's a wonderful guy who blurbed "TKO"...even though he beat me twice for awards.

I found out that fellow Notre Dame alum Tasha Alexander cares even less about Irish football than I do.

Lee Child throws a good party.


Lucy's Irish Pub--Site of Lee's Bash










My old agent Joe Veltre is a good guy.

It's fun to talk to Otto Penzler about boxing...or for that matter, anything.

The Berkeley cocktail party was fun and I noticed that by tipping the bartender he would continue to give me beer long after the bar had closed.

I think Jennifer Jordan is amazingly insightful and I liked serving her beer.

Maleeny is some sort of voodoo electric babe magnet. They come to him in droves just to fawn over his MacAvity nomination.

Bouchercon 2008

by G.M. Malliet

I've only been to Bouchercon a few times, but each time is completely wonderful, in completely different ways. In Toronto, I (by chance) had a drink at the bar with Ian Rankin. This time, in Baltimore, I had a drink (by design) with Laura Lippman. For a chance to name drop forevermore, it doesn't get much better than that in the mystery world.

Alas, I did not get to have a drink with Mr. Lawrence Block, who was quickly swallowed up by the huge crowd. His signing line stretched about half a mile.

This Bouchercon started out badly, however, and throughout there was a theme of firetrucks and sirens and general mayhem. The worst example: My husband and I had barely arrived at noon on Friday when he took a bad tumble down the short flight of stairs leading to the lobby. He landed on his chin, the EMTs were called, and he was taken to Mercy Hospital, where it took seven stitches by their wonderfully efficient staff to sew him back up. He is fine now--thank you to all who have asked--and there was no underlying reason he fell. (This being a mystery conference, I did have to wonder: Did he fall, or was he pushed? Several people came to grief on those slippy stairs, we heard later, but Bob won the award for falls: nosedive category.)

This being Bouchercon, wouldn't you know: As I chatted later with the EMT technician who helped take care of my husband, she mentioned that she is writing a book based on her life. I hope she remembers to email me. Hers would make a terrific story.

So. After the visit to emergency, things could only get better, right? And they did. I ended up going to very few panels because I kept getting caught up in fascinating conversations in the hallways. Thanks to an introduction from author Ellen Crosby, I met and had a long, wide-ranging talk with Genie and Rebecca of Books & Crannies, a beautiful bookstore in the hunt and wine country of Middleburg, VA. And author Wilfred Bereswill was instrumental in pointing out Bill Cameron, whom I finally got to meet, and in describing Tom Schreck so well I could also spot him (he told me you stood out because you were really ugly, Tom. He lied).

Felicia Donovan and Tim Maleeny were, like Laurence Block, swallowed by the crowd. Next time, guys!

The second emergency of the weekend came on Sunday morning at 8:30, just as the panel I was on (First-time Novelists) was starting. Moderator Chris Grabenstein had literally just opened his mouth to start the introductions when the fire alarms went off, and we were told to evacuate. Resourcefully, Chris simply restarted the panel outdoors. (We were soon able to return to the room, which is good: It is challenging having a panel with firetrucks roaring about in the background.) Panelists (see photo) were Howard Shrier, me (futzing with my gear), Peggy Ehrhart, Scott Sherman, and Meredith Cole. (That's Chris's back--sorry, Chris!)

Now code-named The Fire-Drill Panel, it was a panel no one will soon forget.

I have one more photo to share with you. This is Meredith Cole, my fellow panelist, with Laura Lippman. I won the charity auction for the chance of a drink with Laura. She had just won her two Anthony awards (best novel and best short story) and she was graciousness itself. We spoke of the mysterious ways of Barnes and Noble, among other things.

AND: Laura agreed to an interview here at InkSpot before the end of the year, so watch this space!

I could go on forever, and I have a few more photos which I hope to be able to provide a link to soon. Now I throw it open to the floor for discussion: Wasn't it a fabulous Bouchercon? And who's coming next year, to Indianapolis?

News from Bouchercon

by Felicia Donovan

I've just returned from Bouchercon 2008, held this year in Baltimore, MD.

For me, it was a very special trip because I went with my sisters and it's been many years since we traveled together.

Among the many highlights was getting to visit with many fellow authors including Donna Andrews. Here we are at the Sisters in Crime Luncheon where we chatted about technology and writing. Donna posed with her upcoming

holiday book, SIX GEESE A-SLAYING. Love the title!

One of the nicest parts of Bouchercon for me was getting to meet new/old friends, many of whom I've known only "virtually," including former Midnight Ink author Tim Maleeny who was nominated for the Macavity Award for "Best First Novel," seen here with our agent, Jill Grosjean. In case you're wondering, indeed, that's a black widow spider emblazoned on my shirt. THE BLACK WIDOW AGENCY did not win the Barry Award, nor did Tim win the Macavity, though Tim was well-prepared to celebrate.

I did take a break from the conference to enjoy the beautiful sights of Baltimore's Inner Harbor. Here's a photo of the famous Dragon Peddle Boats.

Overall, it was a great conference with many bestselling authors in attendance. The "Belle of Baltimore," Laura Lippman, was this year's honoree and delivered a compelling address about her hometown and how some areas are very safe, while others have some of the highest homicide rates. She pleaded for understanding of the hotel workers' plight, some of whom were picketing outside and begged the crowd to be thankful and generous of their hard work.

Bouchercon 2008 will be set in Indianapolis. If there's anywhere near the turnout that this conference had, place your reservation early!