BCon Hangovers, Part the Last (I think)

But these things were just too good not to share.

On the serious front, Duane Swierczynski uses his recent BCon experience as a jumping off point for a very important topic: how to balance marriage and parenthood with the whole writing gig?

One recurring theme from this past weekend at Bouchercon: spouses.

It came up at the panel I moderated, even though the topic was "Crime Pays in Many Ways." How do you make a living as a writer? someone asked. Panelist James Lincoln Warren replied: "Marry rich. And marry often." He was kidding (I think), but his comment prompted some talk about marriage and the writing life — two great tastes that don’t often go great together. Let’s face it: writing can be an extremely selfish pursuit. Marriage, by definition, is often about being selfless. You do the math.

Why this fixation with spouses this past weekend?

Well, because the Bride wasn’t there. And I very much wanted her to be.

Go read the rest. I’m single and childless but it’s making me think seriously about personal responsibility, because there will come a time when I’ll have to make far harder choices than what occurred last weekend.

And on a more light-hearted front, Charlie Huston attended his first Bouchercon and learned some very important lessons about drinking with crime writers — and what to do if you just can’t anymore:

Worse fates there are than to be asked repeatedly, “What are you drinking?” Indeed, for that first day it was something of a fantasy come to life. Not only were drinks being purchased for me, but they were being purchased by people who had read my books, people who had read them and took occasion from time to time to mumble a word of praise. As I drank deep, my ego drank deeper.

The only fault with the scenario being on the second day when I realized I was supposed to repeat my performance as sloshed-youngish-writer-with-an-attitude, found that I was in far over my head, and tried to cry uncle.

You’d think I had squatted in the middle of the carpet and shat upon it.

There is, I promise you, no gracious way to bow out of a round that has been offered by a far more experienced writer than yourself who has just told you he likes your work. If you ever have the good fortune to stumble into this situation, humbly nod your head and repeat after me, “Hell, yeah, I’ll have another fuckin’ Bud, just let me take a quick puke in this potted palm here, HHrrrruuuuPPP, whew that’s better, now where was I? Cheers!”

Ah yes, matching rounds — the quickest way to oblivion….

And if there’s any report I missed, this tracks them best, and of course, there’s lots more of these.