Reds take Bouchercon again: BALDERDASH!

HALLIE EPHRON: The Reds panel at this year's Bouchercon last weekend -- another game show -- packed the house and laughter rang to the rafters. My only regret was that I wasn't there to enjoy the hilarity and watch my fellow Reds nimbly come up with definitions to fool the audience.

Over to you, ladies! Please, tell us the highlights...

RHYS BOWEN: The first thing I can tell you is that the audience was super smart and really knew their mysteries. They didn't blink at the real name of John Le Carre or that Harriet Welch was really Harriet the spy. And this in spite of the fact that our Red team were really convincing liars.

Well, actually they didn't believe Hank's definition of the word ABSQUATULATE.  And the more she tried to explain it, the more than audience howled with laughter.

I think the only time we really fooled them was with the definition of the word CALLIPYGION...which really does mean having great buns, a shapely rear end.

The only disappointing part of the weekend was that Julia and Hank didn't win the Anthony, but I don't think they were unduly surprised. Kent Kruger's book was truly spectacular.

I thought it was a terrific Bouchercon and was pleased to see so many old friends there. Especially mega stars like Lee Child who don't have to come to these things but still choose to connect to the mystery community. 

And I've come away super-fit as my hotel was half a mile from the convention site. I forgot the books I needed one day and had to put in an extra mile's walk.

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Yes, it's hard to feel bad about losing out to a book like ORDINARY GRACE. However, at the Anthony Awards reception, I did manage to flip the bird to the two writers who have swept their respective categories this year: Kent Krueger and Daniel Stashower.

The best part of Bcon is always seeing old friends: Cara Black, Terri Bischoff, John Maddox Roberts and his wife Beth, Jessie Chandler and her partner Becky, Tim O'Mara -- and meeting new ones: Julia Dahl, Mette Ivie Harrison, Ellen Byron, Lauren-whose-last-name-I-forgot... way too many to recount.

The best for me? Reconnecting with my dear friend Denise Hamilton, whom I hadn't seen in person in many years.
I didn't talk with as many folks as I usually do because Ross and I brought Youngest on this trip, and we stayed at the amazing Queen Mary Hotel. It was perfect for a trio of history buffs. Ross and Youngest roamed all over the ship, she and I took the Princess Diana tour (which was as much about the royal family from King George V on as it was about Diana) we ate at the Promenade Cafe and had cocktails in the Art Deco Bar with Vicki Doudera and her husband Ed. And while our stateroom walls were thin, and the lighting was either period-authentic-dim or fluorescent, the view could not be beat.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Yeah, and there's a certain calm to the certain knowledge that it's fabulous to be nominated but know that there is no way that anyone but Kent Krueger is going to win.  It makes attending the awards ceremony less stressful--in a "looking at the bright side" kind of way.

Bouchercon is so overwhelming--and there's no way to see everyone. My highlights were hanging out with Meg Gardiner, and Linwood Barclay, and Sue Grafton, and Kim Fay and Michael Sears and Clare O'Donohue. And so many more.

I was the Bouchercon auctioneer with the always-droll Simon Wood and raised a total of $10,000 for charity. I was part of the Women Kill at Mystery Panel, an array of 60 authors (men and women) each of whom got to recommend a book by an unknown or unsung author. I moderated Kick Ass Women which included Meg and my fellow SinC pres Laura DiSilverio. (And Sue Grafton was in the audience of our panel!).

Les Blatt moderated a really good panel on journalists as authors--and that was a fun one to participate in. The Sisters in Crime breakfast allowed me to chat with Sara Paretsky!  And the SinC Forensics day (with the amazing Jan Burke) taught me about Locard's Principle and serial-killing nurses.

And of course, the amazing Jungle Reds Balderdash event, where people believed my story that David More Cornwell was the real name of Linwood Barclay.   And I really fooled them with my definition of deuteragonist. Yay, Reds.

 All in all, an amazing and EXHAUSTING event.

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Last chiming in here--still recovering!  But it was a fab Bouchercon. Well organized, relaxed, and oh, did I mention it was WARM in Long Beach????

I always have fun at Bouchercon but this one was truly super. One of the many highlights was meeting so many wonderful debut authors: my buddy Karin Salvalaggio (that does exactly count as meeting, but it was HER first B'con...), M.P. (Martha) Cooley, Julia Dahl, Glen Erik Hamilton, and Leslie Budewitz. The future is bright, I guarantee.

And of course, our brilliant (if we say so ourselves!) Jungle Red version of Balderdash! Next time we will have to try harder to fool the audience--but then I think the audience really liked winning. I only wish Lucy, Hallie, and Susan had been there to share the fun.  Next year???

HALLIE: Here's peek at what we missed. What's the right definition for...

Deuteragonist?Debs: Someone who reads the Bible intensely
Hank: The second most important person in a book
Julia: From the same root  as Deuteronomy, meaning someone who focuses on numbers

Analepsis?
Julia: Another word for flashback
Hank: The medical term for the body's reaction to arsenic poisoning
Debs: The use of two  of ellipses in one sentence

BUT BUT BUT... Hank, dying to know, what was your definition of ABSQUATULATE?

What We're Writing: Julia Spencer-Fleming #notactuallywriting #becauseofbouchercon

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I'm not even going to pretend I'm doing any writing this week. Between getting myself ready for Bouchercon (at warm and sunny Long Beach this year,) getting the children's schedules/dog and cat care/transportation ready for Bouchercon, flying to Bouchercon (a nine-hour trip door-to-door) and now, of course, attending Bouchercon, I've gotten diddly-poo done and I'm not even ashamed about it. #Sorrynotsorry, as my Youngest would hashtag.

I should probably give you lots of background to the scene I'm posting today, or talk about my writing process, or something with some vestige of depth to it. But I am here in Long Beach, at Bouchercon, and that means I would rather be A) Taking the Queen Mary Haunted Ship tour or B) drinking at the bar with 2,000 of my closest mystery-loving friends.

I will say it's getting harder and harder to find excerpts, because I don't want to give anything away about the plot of HID FROM OUR EYES, of course, and I also don't want to give anything away about a certain blessed event in Russ and Clare's life or what might be happenening with our latest pair of star-crossed lovers, Hadley Knox and Kevin Flynn.

So I'm playing it safe with a trip back to 1952, when Harry McNeil was in charge and future chief Jack Liddle was just a wet-behind the ears junior trooper.

Jack waved toward the folder in Harry's hand. “It's all in there.”

“You got the autopsy report?” 

 

In the evening dimness, he could make out Jack shaking his head. “They didn't do an autopsy. Just a visual exam.”

“Oh, for--” Harry reined in his language. No need to set a bad example for the boy. 

 

“Carruthers said they didn't need the added expense. The doctor did say she might haveit's possible she died from the cold. I've got a death picture of her I've been showing around Cossayuharie when I can. So far, nobody's recognized her.”

“Be careful. Carruthers finds out you've been working the case behind his back and he'll have your badge.”

Jack flipped his hand open in a big deal gesture. “He doesn't pay close enough attention to my beat to know what I'm doing.”

“Did they find anything else at the scene? Footprints? Tire tracks?”

“Nothing. And no witnesses to any traffic up that way in the small hours.”

Harry sighed. “Okay. If we're going to crack anything, it'll have to start with her identity.”

Jack pointed to the folder. “There's another death picture in there, along with a list of the folks I've shown it to.”

“You realize she might not have been from around here, right? She could have been passing through, or brought her from God-knows-where by her killer.”

“Yeah, but according to the doctor, she was alive at eleven or twelve o'clock the night before. So even if she were killed and brought straight here to be disposed of, she was only in the car for three hours. Less, with the time he must have spent getting her in and out of the vehicle.”

Kid, do you know how wide a circle three hours drive time spans? Harry kept the thought to himself, opting instead for a more optimistic, “Well, at least that limits the search area.”

Jack withdrew into the shadow of his car. “Chief, if you don't want to pursue this, I can--”

Harry shook his head. “No. I want to. I need to. Cossayuharie has been cheek-by-jowl to Millers Kill for two hundred years. Cossayuharie kids go to Millers Kill High School. Millers Kill boys go to work in Cossyuharie dairies.” He slapped the too-thin file he was holding against his steering wheel. “It may not be our duty, but by God I won't leave some poor woman dead and dumped without a question because the G – D state investigator won't do his job.”

Barbara Early — Bloom and Doom

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Welcome, Barbara Early! (AKA, Beverly Allen — Roberta/Lucy, you'll relate...)

Barbara and I met at Bouchercon last fall. It was about three in the afternoon — we'd both gotten cups of coffee and found a table near the booksellers. We both gave the same heavy sigh. We both had the same sore feet. But then, we started to talk. 

Lo and behold, our fatigue dropped away as we discovered we had a ridiculous amount in common. Such as — we're around the same age, we're both from the same itty-bitty suburb of Buffalo, New York, and not only had we written novels, but we'd both written novels using flower symbolism! Barbara's is Bloom and Doom, a delightful cozy mystery set in a flower shop. 

How did she get the idea? Is she a gardener? A florist? In charge of filling the vases at a country manor house? Read on....

BARBARA EARLY: Since the release of Bloom and Doom, I’ve had a couple of people ask me about flowers, as if I were a florist. After all, “write what you know” is probably one of the more bandied about writing rules. But before you hire me to make the bouquet for your daughter’s wedding, perhaps you should know the truth…

 I was overjoyed when one of my manuscripts attracted the attention of an agent. “I’ll work with you on it,” she said as she detailed its flaws (ouch!). “But I loved your voice, and I think you’d be a good match for a series that Berkley is looking for someone to write. Would you like to prepare a proposal?”

Now, cozies often revolve around popular crafts and pastimes. In my mind I ticked off the various skills I’ve dabbled with over the years. I’ve sewn, cross-stitched, embroidered, and knitted. I’ve cooked, baked, churned my own butter, decorated wedding cakes, made homemade chocolates, gardened, and learned how to can and preserve. I’d scrapbooked, decoupaged, made stationary from recycled paper, and dipped candles. And I have cats. 

“The protagonist is a florist who specializes in bridal bouquets.”

Flowers? 

Whoosh. That was the air being let out of my ego and enthusiasm at the same time.

What in the world did I know about flowers besides the fact that they made my nose run and my eyes red and watery, so much so that my husband was strictly limited to gifts of chocolate?

But bridal bouquets?

“Do you think you can do it?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

So I stuffed wads of tissues into my purse and visited florists. One let me poke around the back room and watch them work. Yes, I took notes of what tools and supplies they were using and witnessed the techniques I’d read about. But I was enthralled with the knife the florist was whipping around like the master chef in a Benihana restaurant. (You probably know where I’m going with this…)

After the contract, I managed to find a florist that was starting a new floral design school. I enrolled in their very first course. I got some hands-on experience with fresh flowers. I even left with an idea for a character: a chief of police who has terrible allergies. All of a sudden, every crime scene in town is filled with flowers.

Poor guy. I know how he feels.

When I first met Susan Elia MacNeal at Bouchercon in Albany, we both were writing novels that touched on the language of flowers. There’s something inherently mysterious and romantic about attributing meanings to flowers. I’m not talking about the modern florists’ version, where everything means some kind of love. (They’re out to sell flowers.)

But to many Victorians, flowers had distinct meanings. And not all of them were quite so romantic. Yes, red rosebuds meant “You are young and beautiful.” But the suitor who wasn’t careful could send the wrong (or maybe right) message with a few blooms. A spider mum (Fuji mum) might get the girl packing. It can mean “Elope with me.” A crabapple blossom, although pretty, could say “You are ill-natured,” while the ice plant says, “Your looks freeze me.” Ouch.

Some flowers are even well suited to mystery.  I had fun in the second book with foxglove, which can mean “insincerity.” Coltsfoot says, “Justice shall be done.”

And Monkshead warns, “A deadly foe is near.”

Ooh...

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Lovely readers, do you have a black or green thumb? 

Would you rather have a bouquet or chocolate as a gift? 

And what kind of flower do you think would best symbolize you?

 Beverly Allen (aka Barbara Early) grew up buried in the snowy suburbs of Buffalo, NY, where she developed a love for all things sedentary: reading, writing, classic movies, and Scrabble. She holds a degree in engineering, but her creative streak caused her to run away screaming from the pocket-protector set. She taught secondary English and science for several years before home schooling her daughter successfully through high school. When not reading or writing, she enjoys cooking, crafts, home-improvement projects, and spending time with her husband, daughter, and four naughty, but adorable cats.

She cooks up cozy mysteries with a healthy dose of comedy and sometimes a splash of romance. Bloom and Doom, the first book in the Bridal Bouquet Shop Mystery series, released from Berkley Prime Crime in April.