At Bouchercon

I went to Bouchercon, too. I started to write a post last Friday but never had a chance to get back to it. Here's how I started:

"Sorry to keep this short. I'm in San Diego attending Bouchercon 23. I'll have more to say about that in my next post. This morning, I need to pick up my Bouchercon packet and hit my first panel. 

I slept in after getting up early yesterday to take Fergus, my dog, to daycare. He's going to board with the owner while I'm away. He is such a happy guy, he never minds being boarded. I was a little worried that Penelope, my rescue cat, might be unhappy about being scooped up and sent off to board with Lori, her wonderful cat-sitter. But this will be her second stay, and she seems to remember that it was really cool having a room to herself. Lori sent me a lovely photo of her yesterday afternoon.

As for me, I treated myself to a first-class plane ticket because I was dreading the idea of traveling across  the country in cramped seats. Since I didn't travel during the pandemic, I considered it breaking even. I have to say it was worth it. First on board, a window seat with plenty of leg and and arm room. A drink before take-off -- I had seltzer at that time of day. But I did enjoy the meal en route from Charlotte to San Diego. 

First-class is definitely more expensive than the budget-friendly tickets I usually try to book. But I was reading an essay about "self-care" and it caught my attention because the author  posed the question, "What would you tell your best friend to do?" It's an interesting approach because I've been thinking about what I consider spending money for -- being comfortable on a long flight may seem self-indulgent and it is. But, on the other hand, I make up for that by not spending lots of money on an expensive wardrobe. In fact, given the state of the world, I would like to spend more of my budget on  having travel experiences. Even better if I can combine with research for books in progress."

So, picking up where I left off with this post: 

As I walked into the hotel, I saw Jane Cleland. Years ago, Jane and I were with several other authors on a book tour of North Carolina. Molly Weston, former editor of the Sisters in Crime journal was our host. Nora DeLoach (the author of the wonderful "Mama Detective" series -- one of the first cozy mystery series by an author of color) drove one of the cars. Sadly Nora died not long after our book tour.  

After seeing Jane, I ran into one friend or acquaintance after another. That -- as you all know -- is one of the best parts of attending Bouchercon and other mystery conferences. But I also enjoyed the panel I was assigned to. It was about having a strong voice and a compelling point of view. Our moderator, Dorothy Welles, was well-prepared and the other panelists were an impressive group,

Here's our group photo (courtesy of Dr. Ian Smith):

I stayed over until Tuesday evening to avoid traveling during a holiday weekend. That gave me a bit of time for trolley tours and a water tour. I loved that boat tour (in a vehicle that went from land to water). We saw sea lions stretched out and relaxing with their cubs. I was really surprised when the tour guide explained that they (and the dolphins we saw being fed) are in a naval training program. The sea lions are taught to dive to retrieve objects in the water. They will do deep dives to earn food treats. 

If you haven't attended Bouchercon, do try Nashville in 2024. It should be fun. And, of course, it's also an opportunity to do some business. I had a chance to touch base with my agent and discuss my books in progress.

 Remembering Peter Cooper

By Johnny D. Boggs

“Somehow, Johnny Cash is dead.”

We’re taught in Journalism 101 to tell readers what they need to know in that first paragraph. Make every word count. And force those readers to keep reading.

Peter Cooper nailed it on September 13, 2003, when his obituary of The Man in Black appeared in The Tennessean, Nashville’s daily newspaper.

For 19 years, I’ve been saying that’s the best lede to any newspaper story I’ve ever read.

Peter, newspaper journalist turned musician, songwriter, historian, music producer, author of liner notes and senior director, producer and writer at the Country Music Hall of Fame, died Dec. 6. He had sustained a head injury after a fall the previous week.

He was only 52 years old.

We both hailed from South Carolina. Peter was born in Spartanburg – he wrote Hub City Music Makers: One Southern Town’s Popular Musical Legacy about his hometown’s music scene (the Marshall Tucker Band, Walter Hyatt …) – and taught school in Rock Hill (“I used to live in Rock Hill/South Carolina, South Carolina/I’m glad I’m not living there still/I feel much better now” he sings in one of his songs).

I grew up farther south in the Pee Dee country. Living in New Mexico, I feel much better now, too.

Peter Cooper. Photo by Deone Jahnke

Courtesy PeterCooperMusic.com

After Peter’s death, I started rereading his Johnny’s Cash & Charley’s Pride: Lasting Legends and Untold Adventures in Country Music. If you want to know about Nashville, songwriters and country-music stars, that’s the book to read. And Tom T. Hall’s The Storyteller’s Nashville: A Gritty & Glorious Life in Country Music (Peter wrote the preface).

How do writers improve their writing? They read great writers.

I read Peter Cooper. And learned a lot.

Peter wrote:

“[O]bjectivity is the mortal enemy. …

"But objectivity is dispassionate.

"And we’re in the passion business.

"We’re trying to make people feel something different than what they felt before they read our words.”

That’s a concept White House beat reporters or those covering cops in Dallas might have trouble wrapping their heads around, but for entertainment writers or fiction writers, it’s a subject worthy of discussion in the bar after deadline.

Recalling an interview during which Johnny Cash told Peter, “I read everything you write,” Peter wrote:

“Immediately, I was ten feet tall.

“Johnny Cash reads all my stuff.

“Then I shrunk eight feet down from ten.

“Johnny Cash reads all my stuff.

“All my stuff.

“Stuff I write on deadline … stuff I just can’t nail … stuff where I am writing over my head … stuff where I am unduly judgmental … stuff where I am overly kind.

“All my stuff.

“Johnny Cash.

“Writer’s block ensued.”

Peter was a writer I wanted to sit down with at Nashville’s Loveless Café and talk craft. Now, all I can do is listen to his music and reread his prose.

Because I’m still waiting for my brain to accept this fact:

Somehow, Peter Cooper is dead.