long overdue...Bristol CrimeFest

Please excuse my missing-in-action absence. I'm finally home, have dealt with computer issues and can post photos of CrimeFest in Bristol. Such a great do put on by Adrian and Donna Moore! It was more than lovely to return after ten years and see the usual suspects!
PS Next week I'm on the road - book tour - for Murder in Bel-Air, celebrating twenty years of Aimée Leduc and her big book birthday.  If I'm anywhere near you please come by. Info at the end.

 Who do I see when I walk in the hotel? Jeff, Barbara, Zöe and John.

 I stopped by St. Stephen's market at Jeff's suggestion...

 Here's Caro's panel and she had them laughing.

 John kept his panelists in line.

 Grabbing a moment with Zöe

 Obligatory fish and chips - delicious

 My panel mates et moi

 Caro and Barbara

 Of course, Yrsa wore shoes that lit up

 Lovely Ely Griffiths who's nominated for mega awards

Dinner with Sarah Hilary, Jake Kerridge and pal Mick Herron.

Love to see you if you're anywhere nearby!

Cara - Tuesday

Death By Panellist

Zoë Sharp

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to be taking part in the eleventh annual CrimeFest convention in Bristol, UK, along with my fellow MurderIsEverywhere blogmates, Cara Black, Caro Ramsay, Jeffrey Siger, and Stan Trollip (Michael Stanley).

Much enjoyment was had by all.

The reason for the title of my blog is partly as a response to the (very funny and sadly accurate) blog posted by Caro Ramsay on May 3, entitled Death By Panel. In it, Caro detailed some of the less enjoyable experiences she’s had on panels at crime writing festivals and conferences, mainly due to poor performance on the part of the moderator.

And yes, as wonderful as most moderators are, I’ve been there and experienced some of that myself. I recall one who demonstrated that they’d never done more than briefly skim my bio by announcing that I wrote a series about a bodyguard called Charles Fox…

More recently, a futuristic short story I’d intended to be about the nature of constant surveillance and how easily what you see—or think you see—can be manipulated or misinterpreted, was summed up by my moderator as being “set in a traffic jam”. Ah well.

(Not quite up to par with Caro’s report of “This is Caro Ramsay. I read her book but it was not to my taste,” but still somewhat disheartening.)

Most conventions—and CrimeFest is no exception—provide a Moderator’s Manifesto for the enlightenment of those undertaking the task for the first time. Advice therein includes:

‘Do your homework. Even if you haven’t read their books, you will need to spend some time on their websites, reading reviews, reading sample chapters and otherwise getting to know their work so you can ask intelligent questions.’

‘Prepare a list of scintillating questions (hint: “Where do you get your ideas?” without more is not scintillating. Nor is asking the same questions of each panellist four times in a row.)’

‘Contact your panellists beforehand and let them know what to expect from you, and what you expect from them (but it’s usually best not to tell them what your specific questions will be beforehand because too much panellist preparation spoils spontaneity.)’

It suggests that moderators discourage panellists from standing their books up on the table in front of them, as this hides the author’s face from the crowd, and often the covers are too small to be seen clearly by those at the back of the room anyway. And I would certainly try to dissuade panellists from holding the book up next to their face in a cheesy way while speaking or being introduced. (Yes, I’ve had that happen numerous times.)

On the subject of introductions, the Manifesto suggests the moderator does not do them, but when a panel length is 50 minutes rather than an hour, I’m afraid I do tend to. That way, I know I can control the time it will take.

Beforehand, I always contact my panellists and ask them for BRIEF bios—preferably the one they were asked to send to the event organiser for the programme book. I also ask for what they consider their best review quote, as I think it always looks much better if they don’t have to quote this themselves. And I ask for an ebook version of the title they wish to promote as well as an author pic so I can make up a social media poster.

Depending on the topic, I invite suggestions for things we can discuss, and usually if there’s anything they would rather I didn’t bring up. Creating an interesting discussion is the aim, not handcuffing them to a chair and shining bright lights in their eyes.

When we meet in the Green Room beforehand, I check pronunciation of difficult names, and ask if anyone objects to being asked the first question. Some authors get very nervous on panels and need longer to settle than others.

I remind the authors to speak into the microphone and to keep looking at the audience as they do so, as otherwise they will swing away from the mic and the people at the back of the room will get fed up with not being able to hear more than disconnected snatches of conversation.

I also remind them that we have just 50 minutes for our panel. By the time I have introduced them, which for four authors will probably take about 6 mins, and then opened up to audience questions for the last 10-12 mins, this leaves a little over half an hour. During this time, I have one book-specific question for each author, plus a number of more general questions linked to the topic. Each author will have around 8 mins talking time in total. Although usually down as a Participating Moderator, I try not to participate too much apart from light comic relief.

So, I always plead with them to KEEP IT SHORT AND SWEET.

Sometimes this works more effectively than others.

I have had panellists who decide to immediately start a discussion with the audience rather than waiting for the Q&A at the end. This can often lead to an audience member who wants to show their superior command of the subject by making a long and involved statement, turned into a question only by tacking the words, “don’t you agree?” onto the end of it.

I have had panellists who insist on knowing in advance what questions I’ll be asking, then rush through answering all of them at the first opportunity they get, thus forcing me to improvise for the remainder of the panel.

I’ve seen panellists who stare out of the window looking thoroughly bored all the time anyone else is speaking.

I’ve had authors who name and shame other authors for the accuracy of their work. This never ends well. By all means say, “I read one thriller where x, y, and z happened,” but for Pete’s sake don’t name the writer and/or the book. We all make the occasional blooper and getting personal is just likely to end up with that author’s fans digging for your mistakes.

I usually get an inkling on the run-up to the event who is going to be difficult. Although I ask for a brief author bio, in the past I’ve been sent pages and pages of info with the airy instruction to just ‘use whatever you like’. Or, better yet, being told ‘oh, it’s all on my website’ and expecting you to hunt for it. Bios sent written in first person have to be fiddled with before they can be used.

It really helps if attached documents have the author’s name and the book title or subject as the file name. Same with jpeg images. Huge hi-res images (ie, more than 72dpi) are not much good for online use and just take up memory space.

OK, I think I’m going to stop there, before I get myself into any more trouble. And I don’t mean to whinge. Being invited to moderate a panel is an honour and a privilege, and the majority of panellists are a delight to deal with and chat to. Which makes the ones who aren’t, really stick in the memory…

This week’s Word of the Week is lexiphanicism meaning to use pretentious words or language, named after a character in the works of Lucian of Samosata, who wrote in Ancient Greek.

June 7

Meet the Author—Thornton Library, Victoria Road East, Thornton Cleveleys, Lancashire FY5 3SZ

Friday, June 07, 10:30-11:30

Guest Blogger LENNY KLEINFELD: That Time I Took My Rifle to the Airport

Jeff—Saturday

I’m at CrimeFest this weekend in Bristol, UK along with Cara, Caro, Zoë, Stan and Yrsa, and we’re having more fun than should be legally permissible.  I was thinking of how to convey a sense of all our good times to you who follow what we write, and considered posting photos; but with all the ones Cara is shooting (no pun intended) of the festivities it struck me as rude to scoop hers with mine.  So, I searched for another way to pass along a genuine feeling of the fun generated by this get together while exploring some serious topics.

Enter Lenny Kleinfeld, one of the absolutely funniest writers I know. I was lucky enough to convince Lenny to write a piece for MIE on the occasion of his latest novel, Shooting Lessons.  When I read it, I thought this is what Mark Twain would sound like if he wrote crime.

But don’t take take my word for it, The Austin Chronicle calls Shooting Lessons “A damned good read. This latest Kleinfeld spectacle is no less a clever, culturally aware, and entertaining adventure than the first two tales about Bergman and Doonie. But the game’s been upped a bit here, too. As in, this latest one grabs you by the shirtfront and drags you through its dark and increasingly blood-spattered shenanigans like something engineered for max adrenaline and engagement.”

Lenny’s first novel, Shooters and Chasers, was called “A spellbinding debut” by Kirkus Reviews.  His second novel, Some Dead Genius, was one of National Public Radio’s Great Reads of 2014, and named Thriller of the Month by e‑Thriller.com. Back before Lenny was spellbinding, he was a playwright in Chicago and a columnist for Chicago magazine. His fiction, articles, humor and reviews have appeared in Playboy, Galaxy, Oui, The Reader, Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, and Los Angeles Times. According to a reliable rumor he also spent fifteen years writing screenplays.

So, here’s Lenny…

I might be on the wrong blog site. My new novel, Shooting Lessons, tracks a deranged multimedia lobbying campaign to make an Illinois concealed carry permit as easy to obtain as a grocery coupon. So maybe this post should be on Murder Is For Policy Wonks. But I'm not gonna Google MIFPW, because I'm afraid it might exist.

Besides, the story isn't about making legislation, it's about marketing guns. Which America is great at. A recent survey revealed 94% of the Earth's population believes the phrase on our dollar bill, E Pluribus Unum, is Dothraki for Guns R Us.

Hey, I have nothing against guns. I like guns. They were an everyday—literally every day—part of my childhood. My father wore a gun, and a significant percentage of the guys who came to our house for social events were packing. He and they were cops. I don't know if it's still the case, but back in the 1950s and 60s New York City police officers were required by law to carry their weapon whenever they left home, whether for work or not, while they were within city limits. There was always a holstered gun on Dad's belt or strapped to his ankle. Dad packed a piece at our synagogue during the High Holidays, and at Mass when Catholic friends were getting married or being mourned. And in restaurants. And when he and Mom danced together anyplace outside our living room. And when he saw my grade school production of The Pirates Of Penzance, and at parent-teacher conferences. And when he visited the doctor or dentist.  When we went to the beach he'd unload it and sneak the empty gun into my mother's purse before he went swimming. We had to go to Miami for the three of us to go swimming simultaneously.

I got my first rifle when I was twelve. Minutes later I became an Active Junior Member of the NRA. It came with a magazine, American Rifleman, featuring gun reviews and exhortations about firearm safety. The editors were deeply concerned about guns doing damage to people, but deeply unworried about Adlai Stevenson doing damage to guns.

In 1963 I made it onto on my high school rifle team. It worked like any other sport. We had home matches and away matches. To get to a match at a rival school we'd take the train. Imagine five teenage boys carrying rifle cases and a teacher carrying a locked bag full of ammunition boarding your packed subway car today.

In 1966 I took my rifle to college. I walked into the airline terminal carrying a rifle case, set it on the ticket counter, removed the rifle and, with the ticket agent watching, took the gun apart, removed the firing pin, showed the firing pin to the ticket agent and placed it in my shirt pocket, then put the neutered rifle back together and checked it through like any other piece of luggage. Nobody in line behind me said anything, or paid much attention. Imagine that today.

Now let's reverse the perspective. It's 1966 and you're peering into your futurescope. This is what you see:

Today, a growing number of states (but not Illinois, yet) issue handgun permits which automatically include the right to concealed carry.

Open carry of rifles and handguns is legal in many states—including in malls, hospitals, schools, theaters, houses of worship, bars, and on public transport.

Semi-automatic versions of assault rifles with high-capacity magazines have been used in mass slaughter after mass slaughter after mass slaughter—quick, can you tell me off the top of your head, in the US in 2018 were there more major tennis tournaments or mass shootings? But civilianized assault weapons remain legal and easily available.

Could you have imagined all that, way back in the famously turbulent 1960s?

We live in the best of times for writing cell phone apps, the worst of times for writing satire. Satire requires exaggeration. American politics in general and gun policy in particular have grown so extreme that trying to stay a step ahead of them is like challenging the Flash to a foot race.

Another little thought experiment:

If someone told you they were writing a story about a bill being introduced in a state legislature that would decriminalize the use of a firearm while inebriated, would you:

A) Assume the author was a satirist.

B) Assume the author was a journalist.

C) Be unable to decide.

—Lenny, in for Jeff