The BCon Pregame Special Continues

From Laurie King:

Why go to Bouchercon?

I ask myself this every year, this being the fifth or sixth year in a row that I’ve attended.  I started with the 2001 DC convention, which I signed up for because my daughter was doing an internship in DC and I could use the excuse to see her, and was doubly glad to go to because so many people cancelled after 9/11—one small way a West Coaster could express her solidarity with the besieged East.

There are a number of good reasons to go, although in the end, reasons are not why I’m there.  I see my editor, always a good thing, and get a chance to talk about what’s next and why.  As a business move, going to a convention of 1500 or 2000 readers of crime fiction is like doing a whole bunch of events at once.  I am seen by a lot of people, both established readers and people new to the LRK industry—and it always astonishes me how many people tell me they’ve never heard of me.  I always think that surely, LRK must have been shoved down the throat of every reader of fiction in  he entire country, and that if you don’t read my books, it’s because you don’t like them, not that you’ve never come across them.  But no, I invariably hear two or three times during the convention “Why have I never heard of you before?  I’m going to buy your book now.”

But selling alone isn’t why I go.  I go to Bouchercon not because publishing is an industry, but because it is a community.  A writer forgets that it isn’t all about her and her laptop, that there are other people who do this job, people the writer would never see if not for the effort of flying to bloody Chicago over goddamn Labor Day Weekend.

I live in a town, or anyway near a town, with a handful of writers, and some of us meet for lunch from time to time.  I live in an area with a richness of writers, and I see them even more rarely. But friends who are writers?  They live in places like Anchorage and Manchester, and how often do I get  there, or do they get to Santa Cruz County?

But at Bouchercon I can have a drink with Lee Child and SJ Rozan, I can have breakfast with Dana Stabenow, I can spot a bunch of writers whom I don’t know but whose work I do having lunch, stop to introduce myself, and find myself invited to their spare chair. 

I admit, it was tougher when I was one of the Great Unknown, which was probably one of the reasons why I didn’t go to many conferences early on.  However, even now I have to consciously tell myself that I am among friends, that maybe seven out of ten participants will see my name badge and not scorn me openly. 

And a lack of open scorn is surely reason enough to trek across the country on Labor Day weekend.

And from Billie Bloebaum, Powell’s bookseller at Portland International Airport:

So, you asked why we go, what we plan to accomplish, etc. etc.

My first B-con was Vegas and I went to stargaze. I’m an author groupie and get as star-struck when I meet a favorite writer as many others do over actors and rock stars. I did some of that, but I ended up meeting a fantastic group of people (you know who you are) who have ended up being more than just drinking buddies (although they’re that, too) and have become true friends.

My first two Bouchercons were paid for by my company, so I felt the need to attend as many panels as I could and stay awake during them, but this year I’m on my own. Although I’ll still attend panels, it’ll be more as a fan or friend than to get any useful information. And, if I don’t make it to one, there won’t be the overwhelming guilt that comes with getting paid to nurse a hangover. This year, it’s all about me. (Which makes it different from past years how, exactly?)

I want to live on coffee, cigarettes, and cocktails for three days straight. I want to sleep until noon. I want to see some of the city. I want to go to Vosges and buy really expensive truffles. I want to attend the Jazz Festival. I want to meet new people and make new friends. I want to catch up with those friends I just haven’t seen in awhile.

I want to make it through a whole Bouchercon without a cameo by one or both of my breasts.

The red dress is staying home this year.