Left Coast Crime

I have just returned home from Left Coast Crime in Vancouver, where I had a "whale of a time". The weather is the perfect metaphor for my adventure. I left frigid, snowbound Ottawa, which has broken all sorts of records for snow, cold, and just plain dreariness this winter, and arrived in Vancouver to five straight days of cloudless blue sky, glorious sun, and temperatures of 13 - 17C. Everywhere I looked, fruit trees and daffodils were in bloom. I listened to writers I have long admired, like Guest of Honour Maureen Jennings and Local Legend Bill Deverell, and learned from their insight into character, their dedication to research, and their continued passion for their craft. I met old friends, made new ones, talked about all things writerly, and was uplifted and inspired by the warmth and enthusiasm all around me.

Talking to mystery fans at the author speed dating

I also took long walks along the sea wall past the downtown glass spires and the towering forests in Stanley Park. Sometimes I was with fellow writers, talking lazily about books and publishing and new hopes, and sometimes I walked by myself, escaping from the crush and hype of the conference to be with my own thoughts. I listened to the sea, watched the hordes of migrating birds, and breathed in the salt air.

A beautiful wood duck paddling in Lost Lagoon

What a balm to the spirit!

Writers work in isolation, often for years, with little encouragement or guidance and a very uncertain goal at the end of the journey. We have to maintain a belief in ourselves in the face of rejection letters, dismal earnings, and nasty reviews. To sustain us, we cherish the companionship, advice, and affirmation of other writers who share what often feels like an aimless trek through the wilderness. Crime writers are a peculiar subset of this wandering clan. Not only do we wrestle with mushy middles and characters gone awry, but we also think about the best places to bury bodies and the least detectable way to kill people. We get inspired by a steep staircase and a dark motive. It's a great thrill and relief to meet kindred souls who share these twisted interests. We inspire and excite one another. We make each other laugh when the rest of the world, including our families, look at us askance.

A walk along the sea wall with Brenda Chapman

Now I am back in Ottawa, where the temperature is 15C colder and the snow in my front yard is still 18 inches deep. Back to my taxes and to my neglected first draft. But I am filled with new energy, some fresh ideas, and renewed hope that spring, as it always does, will come.

Juggling schedules and other silly things

Barbara here. Well, here it is, Tuesday evening just hours before my Type M post is due. Yikes! I am flying out to Left Coast Crime tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., I have ironing and packing to do, and because 5 a.m. is too early to even think of blow-drying my hair, I have to shower and do my hair tonight. Left Coast Crime is my favourite mystery conference, being held in Phoenix this year, a city about which I know almost nothing, except that it's in the desert and it's hot. Right now in Ottawa, the temperatures range from -25C on a bad day to 0 if you're lucky. My typical winter wardrobe consists of fleeces, wool long johns, fleeces, parkas, toques... Well, you get the idea.

In Phoenix, the temperature is apparently in the 25-30 C range. Tank tops, capri pants, and flip flops weather. So yesterday, I had to dig out my summer wardrobe, see whether any of it fit (winter, as we all know, is the time to add extra fat cells for insulation), wash and iron those articles of clothing that passed not only the "does it still fit" test but also the "can I wear this anywhere fancier than cleaning the oven" test. It's amazing the number of stains and holes that have appeared since I last wore those clothes.

But I now have a suitable wardrobe selected, washed, and piled on the ironing board. The suitcase lies open on the bed, half packed, waiting for those freshly ironed clothes. And I remember. Toenails! That's part of the summer fashion statement. All winter long the toenails are rarely seen, buried beneath socks and fur-lined moccasins, or stuffed into giant, clunky boots. Now they will be on full display! I love the freedom of sandals and flip flops. I love the sexy, flirty feeling of red-tipped toes. But I have a lot of work before these sorry-looking specimens are going to flirt with anyone!

Ta-dah!

I was just figuring out my timeline for the evening. Ironing, packing, showering, blow-drying, painting toenails... And then I remembered this blog. My schedule is shot to hell. So I apologize for this frivolous, fashionista-style rant. It will have to do for tonight. I promise that the serious writer will return next time, and report on all the important and profound things I learned at the mystery conference. But for now, red toenails await!

And if you're in Phoenix for Left Coast Crime, look me up to say hi, and I will show you the shallower, sillier side of being a writer! But what's a ying without a yang?