My First Conference

Frankie here. I don't have time to write a blog post today because I'd busy at school with our visiting student weekend. So I'd like to ask our readers and my Type M colleagues to share your individual and collective wisdom. .

Next weekend, the Upper Hudson chapter of Sisters in Crime (SinC) will be collaborating  with the East Greenbush Community Library to present our chapter's second annual "Murderous March" conference.  Our own Vicki Delany will be the Keynote Speaker (invited after another chapter member nominated her from the list of available speakers and we had done an anonymous chapter poll on Survey Monkey ranking our nominees -- how's that for transparent?). Vicki is coming to us courtesy of the SinC National speakers bureau that helps chapters to bring great writers to their communities.

Our Special Guest for the conference will be Edwin Hill, who works in academic publishing and is now a well-received mystery writer. Edwin and I were on a panel together at a conference, and I was delighted when he accepted the invitation from our chapter to join us. One of the highlights of the conference should be the conversation that he and Vicki will have about "Breaking and Entering . . .Into the Field."

Please go to our Mavens of Mayhem website if you're nearby and interested in attending:

 https://upperhudsonsinc.com/

Getting to the title of my post:  I'm moderating a panel on attending crime fiction conferences. We want to provide the audience (which will include both unpublished writers and readers) with information and tips about what is available and what they might find useful based on their interests. We also want to talk about how to navigate a conference when you have never been to one (not counting the one they're sitting in).

I would really appreciate input from anyone with thoughts to share. I will compile for our attendees. What is the one tip you would offer? Can be serious. Can be humorous. No names attached unless you'd comfortable being identified. In that case, just include your name after the tip.


 

Not There Research . . . and a Question

I've been following the discussion about research and setting, and it reminded me once again of the dilemma I've created for myself. I use real places, but because of my slowly-developing series arcs and my reluctance to write in a "present" that can change in a moment, I can't physically be in the places I write about at the time of the story.

When I write about Gallagher, Virginia, my fictional stand-in for my hometown, Danville, Virginia, I can go home to Danville and walk through history. As in this photo of the courthouse. The statue is of Mayor Harry Wooding, who was a young officer in the Civil War and served as mayor for over 40 years.

But then there's the matter of  Danville/Gallagher in 2004. I have no memories of the city or the state during that era because I lived in Albany, New York. I made occasional visits home, but I don't have the same sensory memories that I have of the years when I lived in Virginia. When I write a Lizzie Stuart book, I need to rely on newspaper accounts of the city to provide the chronicle of changes and fill in the empty spaces based on what I know and remember.

The books set in Albany in the near-future are a different matter. I can see what exists now, and I need to walk into an imagined future. I imagined what Central Avenue would look like if the traffic pattern changed. I imagined a building downtown with a vertical garden and an attached restaurant.

Now, I'm imagining what urban explorers would find inside a deserted building. Sometimes, I'm ahead of the curve. I gave Albany a convention center because it was being discussed. Now, there is one. Not my convention center because my Albany exists in a fictional, parallel universe. But it's a little creepy -- if I conjure it, will it come?

I have another unrelated question. Tomorrow, the Mavens of Mayhem (our Sisters in Crime chapter) will host our first, "annual" Murderous March afternoon event at a public library (East Greenbush). I think we know why writers attend such events even if they aren't on panels. I've been thinking about readers. What brings readers in, even when the weather outside has a hint of spring, and there are other competing events?  Thoughts?

Weekend Guest Poster: K.A. Laity

I'm delighted to welcome K.A. Laity, a fellow member of the Upper Hudson (Mavens of Mayhem) chapter of Sisters in Crime as our welcome guest.

K. A. Laity is the award-winning author of White Rabbit, A Cut-Throat Business, Lush Situation, Owl Stretching, Unquiet Dreams, À la Mort Subite, The Claddagh Icon, Chastity Flame, Pelzmantel and Other Medieval Tales of Magic and Unikirja, as well as editor of Weird Noir, Noir Carnival and Drag Noir. Her bibliography is chock full of short stories, humor pieces, plays and essays, both scholarly and popular. She spent the 2011-2012 academic year in Galway, Ireland where she was a Fulbright Fellow in digital humanities at NUIG. Dr. Laity teaches medieval literature, film, gender studies, New Media and popular culture at the College of Saint Rose. She divides her time between upstate New York and Dundee.

Simplify

by K. A. Laity

I used to have Thoreau’s mantra posted on the wall of my Cambridge apartment. I had illusions that somehow my huge piles of books and papers would magically disappear or tidy or somehow look less cluttered. Living in three countries in the last three years, I have managed to unload a good deal of belongings, but I’m a writer. There’s only so many books you can manage to pry from your hands.

I’ve been more successful in trying to employ it in my writing. The reminders keep coming at me lately. The other day Bish’s Beat posted a reflection on a conversation with a best selling writer who went on about simplifying everything: “Cut exposition to an absolute minimum.” Maybe you don’t want to write a bestseller, but as my pal Saranna DeWylde posted, classic authors also tend to write more simply than you think.

“The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter.” ― Dashiell Hammett, The Maltese Falcon

I’m in the midst of teaching a noir fiction course and re-reading Hammett, Chandler, Sanxay-Holding and Hughes has reminded me how lean their prose is. As usual I teach to learn and I am excited by the re-discovery of why I love these books so much. There are so few wasted words. So much is left to the reader to fill in.

Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York: they assume you know the cities or will take their word for it about how they are. Specific locations we need to know practical things about get just the important details: Sam Spade’s apartment, the Sternwood family estate, the Holley’s boathouse. We know Effie Perine’s boyish face—and we know that no romance will happen between her and Sam because of that description. She’s able and attractive, but no femme fatale. Carmen Sternwood doesn’t just suck her thumb, her thumb is weirdly formed, another finger, so the image becomes an indelible part of her character and her wrongness. And after our introduction to Dix Steele imagining himself flying in the midst of the fog then following the girl even though he “didn’t intend” to do so, there are no more direct words than “She was afraid.” You learn all you need to know about him from his pleasure at that knowledge.

“Simplicity is the most difficult thing to secure in this world; it is the last limit of experience and the last effort of genius.” ― George Sand

I’m changing my own writing. In the midst of a new novel, I am taking the unusual step of backtracking. I like to burn through a first draft without looking back and then edit afterward. But I feel bloat creeping in and I want to snuff it out at the start and go on the same way. It’s the same way with teaching. You can see on their faces when you lose them. I stop and go back, try other words, find out where we parted company. You can do that in a class room. In a novel, a reader’s patience only lasts so long. As a reader, I’m rather ruthless when it comes to giving up on a book. There are so many books to read after all.

So I cut the words that are unnecessary. I cut the passages where my joy in describing a scene goes beyond what the reader needs to know into my pleasure at throwing words on the page. I cut to the best words, the specific ones, because the right word is more indelible than a whole paragraph of prose. I cut until it bleeds.