Papyrus Redux

Annamaria Getting Ready for Bouchercon

You know: Whenever we go on a trip, we pay for our being absent from regular life: tasks that need to be done because you won't be home to do them, preparing to make the most of the time away, to say nothing of the catching up once we return home.  Today's repost is of one I put up just before leaving for Bouchercon ten years ago.  I am in the same position this year.  Working hard to be ready for the conference and paying my dues because I will be away for five days.  Here a second time is my pean to a plant.  BTW: I have seven of them growing in my place today.  And there are many from the same original in the homes of friends and neighbors.   

Here comes  largely a photo essay, given the fact that I will leave in an hour for the airport and LA, on my way to Bouchercon.  It's Saturday as I write, by the way.

Papyrus growing in a well in the Ortigia, Siracusa, Sicily.

I have loved the very word "papyrus" since my fourth grade history book showed me a picture and told me the story of it.

Papyrus figures in my ancestral history.  My paternal grandparents were Siracusani--from what had been the Greek city state of Syracuse.   Here are some pictures of papyrus growing in fresh water a few feet from the Ionian harbor where a great battle of the Peloponnesian War took place.  Some posit that that fresh water so close to the salt accounts for the founding of the city way back in prehistory.

Papyrus in fresh water near the harbor.

The scene of a battle in the ancient war.

During the dreadful AIDS plague of the 80s, David and I lost many friends, including his best buddy from high school and his partner.  When the second of those dear men was dying, he told us to take whatever we wanted from the house.  I chose the papyrus plant.  It lives on.  It has of late become part of the decor in my Egyptian revival dining room.

The gift of Bob and JP.

The mantle in the dining room.

American illustration art: complete with pharaoh and papyrus

Of late, it has given birth, in a manner of speaking.  A few months ago I noticed that in the middle of the fronds, tiny fronds had emerged.  I wondered what would happen if I cut off those stalk tops and put them in water.  Magic is what took place.  So now I have four plants.  The babies have the look of bonsai papyrus.  It won't stay that way, but I wish one would.  What a centerpiece it would make a dinner parties!!

A baby at one month

Two months

Three months and gorgeous.

What We at MIE Owe to Bouchercon

 

Jeff–Saturday

 

The answer to the question, "What do we at MIE owe to Bouchercon?" is simple.  EVERYTHING.

 

I say that because without Bouchercon there would be no Murder is Everywhere. You see, our genesis was a panel moderated by the late, great Leighton Gage at Bouchercon 2009 in Indianapolis, through which seven renowned mystery writers from around the globe, united in common cause and dissolute bar behavior, created MIE. 

Yes, but for “Bouchercon: The World Mystery Convention,” Leighton, Cara Black, Tim Hallinan, Michael Sears, Stanley Trollip, Dan Waddell, and Yrsa Sigurdardottir would not have come together to form MIE and given those of us who now follow in their footsteps a place to welcome our readers.

 

As many followers of MIE already know, Bouchercon is a completely volunteer, fan-driven organization that each Fall offers all segments of the mystery world the big daddy of opportunities to band together in a different locale for four days of nothing but crime.  

 

Nashville

This year it’s taking place August 28–September 1, 2024 in Nashville, Tennessee in what’s billed as the “Murder and Mayhem in Music City” version of camaraderie among the crime writing community.  And by community I mean fans, writers, editors, publishers, agents, and booksellers of every crime writing genre, participating in a plethora of panels and special events embracing virtually all aspects of the mystery world. 

It’s a family reunion-like atmosphere filled with up close and personal opportunities to interact with all who attend. Everyone is approachable, fair game for striking up a conversation or perhaps even sharing a meal.  After all, authors come to Bouchercon to interact with fans—and, of course, the legendary bar scene.   

Even if you don’t drink, the Bouchercon bar scene is an experience not to be missed, for that’s where everyone comes together in late night revelry, and even later night shared confessional moments among folks who just hours before were but perfect strangers.

Which brings me around to my own life-changing Bouchercon moment.  Drum roll please.  It takes place a dozen years ago at Bouchercon 2012 in Cleveland.  

To set the scene, think of the urban legend about an innocent rube who walks into a bar in a Mexican border town, meets three enthralling beauties, and wakes up the next morning in a bloody bathtub missing a kidney. 

Now, back to Cleveland.

As innocent as a new borne babe I strolled into the convention hotel’s bar and noticed three ladies sharing a booth. Not wanting to be rude, I smiled and said hello.  They lured me over by smiling back.  We fell to talking (and drinking) and before I knew it they’d pried my past right out of me—down to the part about being a former New York City lawyer involved in various pro bono organizations.  Here comes the kidney part: The next day I woke up and found myself nominated for a position on Bouchercon’s National Board.

At least I still had my kidneys.  Okay, all kid(ney)ing aside, I found myself in a “what-am-I doing-moment” for I’d consciously opted to exchange the responsibilities I’d felt as a lawyer to any organization I served, for the solitary (not lonely) independent life of a writer.  Now I was back on a board. 

But a strange serendipity came to pass: I found satisfaction in a way I never expected; for Bouchercon allowed me to give back to the mystery community a measure of thanks for all the good fortune I’d found through the writing life, and brought me many new wonderful friends in the process. It also brought me the great honor of spending five-years on the Bouchercon Board, two of which as its Chair.

And speaking of friends, at the top of the list sits the three ladies from that Cleveland bar who will forever have a place in my heart but whose names shall never pass my lips, unless of course, Ingrid, Karen, and Sue allow me to do so.

See you all in Nashville at Bouchercon 2024.  You can also find information about programing, attendees, how to volunteer, and much more at this link.

By the way, a tradition around here is that during Bouchercon week we get to put up our favorite golden oldie of a post in order not to be distracted from all the wonderful events happening during Bouchercon Week.  Mine will go up next Saturday.

 

––Jeff

 

Jeff’s Event Schedule

 

Bouchercon 2024, Nashville TN

Gaylord Opryland Resort & Convention Center

 

Thursday, August 29, 2024 @ 9:30-10:20 AM

Room: Canal E

Marrakesh Express

(Solving Crimes in Foreign Settings – Program ID 32)             

Pip Drysdale

Ragnar Jonasson

Mary Monnin             

Kelly Oliver

Jeffrey Siger

Mark Coggins – moderator      

 

Friday, August 30, 2024 @ 8:00-8:50 AM

Room: Canal CD

Sunday Bloody Sunday

(Crime Fiction as Social Commentary – Program ID 99)

Michael Bennett

Lisa Black

Julie Carrick Dalton

Robert Rotstein

Jeffrey Siger

Stanley Trollip - moderator

Starry, Starry night

I think this works for writing as well!

We did something new today. We went to an immersive art event.  One friend said it was fabulous and another said it was complete rubbish and a waste of money.

It was quite the thing.

It was a Van Gogh immersive exhibition, basically a walk through a series of pictures and quotes by the great man then into the main hall of the exhibition centre - which is a very large space. Entry was by a very small gap in the 'walls' and there were a few settees and bean bags in a line, on the diagonal of the space. The walls, at that point, were white, fading to cream, then the writing started to appear.

There followed 30-40 minutes of the scene changing, accompanied by classical music which threaded through the Don McLean classic of the starry, starry night. 

This screen cannot capture the effect of being surrounded by sunflowers projected onto the walls, the floor, the back of your hands. 4 metre high portraits stared at the audience, then blinked slowly.

Others sequences were a painting developing from a drawing, to an underpainting, to areas being worked up, to the finished article.

The best bit, of course was when the whole hall was enveloped in the starry, starry night.

(Most) People knew to stay in the middle for the duration. We had booked 10.30 a.m. thinking it would be quiet and it was. Peaceful audience, appreciative, nobody talking, everybody enjoying the experience.

Then a woman decided to bring in her baby....and we left....

The flowers grew out of one painting and swamped the other, to be swamped back in turn.

The entry hall was full of quotes.

The 4 metre high wall, plus the floor, and somebody's errant bean bag.

A huge close up of a star.

Girr....

Everybody was still in the sitting zone at this bit,  Van Gogh's signatures being written on the wall.

A ghostly voice whispered the quotes, easily heard over the music. 

If you haven't seen it and you get the chance----go!  

Caro
 

Old Media, Again

 

Wendall--every other Thursday

 

I am in the midst of prepping new lectures for my LIVING ROOM LECTURE webinar series, and have DVDs and VHS tapes all over my office, and bed.

Typical lecture prep for me. . .

 

So I thought this week I would revisit this post on my enduring love for old media:

As I sat last night in front of a friend’s very highest definition television, it reminded me again just how old school I really am.

In case anyone doesn't recognize that thing on top...it's an antenna.

 

Needless to say, they were a bit shocked that, as a film teacher at UCLA, I am still using two analog televisions (one a gift from 1987) in my house and will only get a flat screen when one of them dies. And even then, I’ll probably get a used one that is less high definition, since to me, the newest technology makes all the 70s films I love look like bad BBC/PBS two-dimensional videotaped dramas from that era.

I still have vinyl, of course. That's hip again, apparently?

 

 

One of my LP stacks.

A few favorites, including a signed Bangles release...

I will never abandon Mr. Newman.

Sigh.

I still have cassettes, I still have VHS and DVDs and I still have working equipment to play all these things, along with my true blue old media electrician, Joe at Stone Electrics, who keeps them all working. As he once said to me, after returning a beloved machine three days earlier than promised: “When a woman asks if you can fix a VCR and when you say yes, she says ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ she needs her damn VCR.”

 

Someone told me "reorganizing is hoarding." Too bad.

Of course, I also have a crazy number of physical books, which I guess also qualifies as old media, or old school, or both.

 

And it’s not just media—I still have the original Krupp’s coffee grinder that I bought in 1983, as well as the Osterizer blender I took away with me when I went to college. And a few t-shirts from those days, too.

 

So, that qualifies me, probably, as the worst and most pathetic type of “Boomer.” I don’t know for me if it’s nostalgia, an inability to change, a high tolerance for static, skips, and pops, or it’s because I hate throwing away things that still work. Or fit!

 

However, I recently happened into a video store in our new neighborhood, and found I’m not the only one who is turning back to VHS tapes in all their low-definition glory. After the owner and I compared notes and he took me through his most precious and most popular items, I couldn’t stop laughing because, unless they were horror, I pretty much owned all of them.

 

A section of the "media" closet in our old apartment. Each shelf has a layer of tapes behind the ones you can see.

 

And then, I saw an article about that very video store in the Washington Post just before Christmas called “With VHS and video stores, ‘tape heads’ are fueling an analog revival.” You can read it here: https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2023/12/17/vhs-comeback-stores-analog-revival/

 

And this followed another Washington Post article and a Twitter flitter featuring Guillermo del Toro and Christopher Nolan declaring people who hold onto old media as saviors of these films for posterity, as so many great pieces of work float in and out of streaming, or have licensing issues and never stream at all.

 

del Toro and Nolan, on my side!

You can imagine how much that bolstered up my case for keeping all my movies with my non-hoarding husband. This is an argument we have been having for so long the picture below is actually one of the anniversary cards I gave him a few years ago. But even he can’t argue too much with two of our greatest living directors . . .

 

 

So, maybe I am not as out of touch as I thought. Or maybe I’m just old enough to know that everything, good or bad, comes back around. So, here’s a cross section of a few of my alphabetized tapes, just in case anyone else fancies a trip down VHS lane, or wants a reminder of something they might want to see again. 

If anyone wants info on my webinar series, you can find it here:

https://www.wendallthomas.com/private-classes

 

                    -- Wendall