Greater than the Sum of the Parts

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by Rachel Brady

Disclaimer 1: The following opinions are entirely mine and do not necessarily represent those of NASA or its employees.

I work for a NASA life sciences contractor. This week, my company had an All-Hands meeting. Usually at these things, they entice attendance by offering us snacks and interesting guest speakers. At Johnson Space Center there is no shortage of remarkable people with fascinating stories to share. I always learn something.

This week’s guest speaker was NASA’s Director of Space Medicine, Dr. J.D. Polk. He spoke about his role in the rescue of the Chilean miners and geared his talk toward those of us in the room, all cogs in the wheel, really, to remind us that the whole is more than the sum of the parts… that our contributions at the lab level really do matter.

I’ll tell you some of the neat things he said, and then as usual I will offer my parallel about how yet another thing I’ve experienced appears to be a metaphor for Life.

Disclaimer 2: I didn’t take notes. Assume all these facts are wrong. It’s the gist that’s important.

The miners, he said, had been isolated for seventeen days before they were found. They were surviving on something like a tablespoon of tuna every two days, only fifty calories a day. They were starving, and for medical reasons I can’t remember, if you feed a starving person too quickly, you will kill him.

NASA had simmed this (our language for “simulated this”) for an old Hubble mission. Back then, the aim had been to prepare for a scenario in which crewmembers were stranded on orbit in a disabled vehicle. Weeks might pass before the next Shuttle could launch. How would we ration supplies? Our scientists had all the original data, including the spreadsheets and graphs that showed how much food to give a stranded crewmember in conditions like these. The folks on-site in Chile were able to bring the miners back to health successfully, thanks largely to the fact that NASA could so quickly produce the data they needed.

The next concern was what kind of health problems each may be suffering. The question was posed, “Which test do we do on-orbit that provides the most comprehensive information about a crewmember’s health?” It’s a urine test. Through urine tests, half of the miners were found to be in the early stages of kidney failure due to severe dehydration. Docs got to work on specific plans for each patient to turn this condition around.

Sometimes the NASA doctor and the NASA psychologist disagreed. It can be as important to care for a crewmember’s mind as it is to care for his or her body. The mental effects of long term isolation are ones I can hardly comprehend (most Space Station missions are six months long – the Russians have gone way longer). Anyway, at one particular juncture, the conversation was not about isolation but about smoking cigarettes. The miners wanted them. The doctor couldn’t abide. But the psychologist rallied on behalf of the miners. Polk said, halfway joking, that the argument was that otherwise they all would have killed each other. I thought this was an interesting example of professional compromise between two specialists focusing on different parts of the total Human.

Orthostatic intolerance is a cardiovascular effect commonly seen after spaceflight. My understanding of the condition is that, upon returning to earth, the cardiovascular system is now unaccustomed to pumping against gravity and can’t always do this effectively. Consequently, blood pools in the lower extremities and folks are prone to passing out. Usually, if a person passes out, they end up horizontal, and this works out fine because now the heart and brain are on the same level and the brain can get the oxygen it needs.

In the case of the miners, I believe Polk said they came up through a tube about 21” in diameter. No one was sure how long it would take to make the trip from the mine to the surface, and orthostatic intolerance was a huge concern. In this configuration, should a miner pass out, they would not go horizontal and the consequences could be devastating. Returning crewmembers are instructed to fluid load to counteract the effects of orthostatic intolerance. They also wear compression garments on the lower extremities to try to force body fluids to go upstairs. I was once a test subject and had an opportunity to wear these “compression garments.” Let me tell you. It is like squeezing your leg into industrial-strength pantyhose made for something the width of your wrist! Spanx can’t touch these things.

The flight docs were very familiar with the fluid loading and compression garment protocols and were able to share this information with the crew at the site. It was another example of how NASA’s experience with sustaining life in extraordinary conditions came into play in the rescue.

There was one other thing. Fuzzy memory here. Something in the body was depleted, I want to say it was some kind of vitamin or electrolyte, who knows… not important. But when this is depleted, and alcohol is consumed, again, death is assured. Just trust me and go along with it. Everyone knew that when these guys came up, there would be some serious partying. So the doctors went to great care to basically dose them up on whatever was required to save them from their sheer, unadulterated, partying joy. I kind of liked the thinking ahead part of the happy ending.

The intention of his talk was to encourage us. Each of us in our various labs contribute in ways that sometimes feel insignificant and he wanted to remind us that yes, the work matters.

Throughout the talk, he had one slide up in the background, and it wasn’t even a picture of the miners. It was a picture of a boy, about ten years old, with the most poignant blend of grief and relief on his face. Polk said, “Because we do what we do, this kid still has a dad.” I’m tearing up again just thinking about that.

Disclaimer 3: I heard nothing in his talk that tied the work of my particular lab (Neuroscience) to the Chilean rescue, but I cried like a girl anyway.

So I’ve been mulling over this speech for a few days and realizing that so much of life is this way. We see through our own lenses, and reach only our own small circles of influence. But when your circle of influence overlaps with mine, and mine overlaps with his, and his touches Oprah’s… well, you see what I mean.

We all have unique strengths, some of which may seem insignificant to us but are enormous to another person. The only way to optimize our gifts in life is to share ourselves.

Carpe diem, friends.

Twisted Sisterhood or Small Acts of Kindness, by Misa

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Recently, I was on my way to Dallas to attend a Texas Beef Council special event hosted by a fellow blogger (shout out to June Cleaver Nirvana Holly Homer!!). My daughter had been having a horrible time adjusting to 5th grade. She wasn’t sleeping, was angst-ridden over EVERYTHING, was so unhappy with her body (she’s 10!!! This worry and seeking of validation from others starts WAY too young), and was obsessing about middle school (which is still a year away).


I heard Katherine Schwartzenegger on a radio show, talking about her new book, Rock What You Got. I sat in my car and listened as she expressed how she’d felt exactly what my daughter was feeling. Needless to say, I stopped by the bookstore on the way home and picked up Rock What You Got. We’re reading it together and it’s really helping! Amazing.


Today I heard Kelly Valen talk about her new book, Twisted Sisterhood. It goes beyond the issues discussed in Rock What You Got (and I’m anticipating needing it as my girl gets older), tackling the complicated relationships women often have with one another, including passive aggressive behavior, mean girl behavior, bullying (anyone hear about Joy Behar on The View with her “comic” bullying?), and other layers of complexity and judgement within these relationships.


I see them starting now with my daughter, and while it’s great to observe and use in character development, it’s definitely not good for a girl trying to figure out who she is, what she believes, and where her validation comes from.


All this got me thinking about why it is we (meaning our culture) work so hard to tear others down instead of build them up.


I’m absolutely of the simplistic mindset that little acts of kindness go a long, long way, and shouldn’t we spend our energy on that kindness instead of on negativity?

Think about these scenarios. What would you do if:


  1. You’re on a two-way surface road driving south and there’s a lot of traffic, including a line of cars coming the other direction, in their turn lane, trying to turn left across your lanes. Do you stop before the intersection and let the cars make their turn, or do you block the intersection? (As I drove to a class I teach in Dallas tonight, I watched as car after car after car stopped in the middle of the intersection, blocking those cars who were trying to turn. When I approached the intersection–and mind you, traffic was slow up ahead so it’s not like I was blocking traffic behind me–I stopped so the cars could turn. But cars in the lanes on either side of me kept going, edging forward. It took a good minute or two before the cars in the other lanes stopped so those people could make their turn).
  2. You walk down the aisle at the market and come across something that had fallen from a shelf and is on the floor. Do you pick it up and put it back on the shelf, or leave it? Time after time, I watch as people walk on by. My kids do it at home. Walk ON the pillow instead of picking it up! ARGH!!
  3. People are coming out of a concert. You’re in a hurry. Do you wait your turn, or dodge people, cutting them off as you dart in front of them? Why not slow down and just wait?


I wish we could all be just a little more kind, because the reality is, you never know the impact your small act of kindness will have on someone else. Case in point, I got an email two days ago (at exactly 9:51 am 🙂 and it changed my whole day.


Misa,

OMG! This book [Cursed] was good. It’s a good thing that I DVR’d my shows, because I could not put this book down. That twist with the brothers, I did not see that coming. This was a great read.

I’m starting The Chain Tree tomorrow. I anticipate another giving up the TV show for this one as well.

Again, what a great story.


I think the fact that this reader took the time out of her day to tell me how she loved my book is amazing. She didn’t get anything out of it (except my everlasting devotion), but her message made me smile and feel giddy inside. It made my day (still is, in fact, two days later). I’m sure she had no idea how her message would make me feel.


Small acts of kindness. Isn’t that what we should spend our energy on, rather than the complicated twisted sisterhood relationships we focus too much time on? I imagine we’d all smile a lot more, don’t you?





The Election Season

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In another week, life as we know it will return to normal.

Why? You ask.

The election will be over.

I know I say this every year, but I have never seen so much mud-slinging as this season of the mid-term elections has brought. In New York alone, we are assaulted by negative campaign ads—apparently the only kind that exist anymore—on a continual basis and when we’re not being forced to watch those, we are receiving robo-calls every hour imploring us to vote for a certain candidate.

In my opinion, they all stink.

In the governor’s race here in the Empire State, we have a Buffalo bazillionaire running against a rather bland, yet effective, Attorney General. We have several people running for State Senator, none of whom I know a lot about except for the fact that one has recently lost a lot of weight and was featured in a Vogue spread. I don’t know how that’s going to affect the things that matter in our state if she is elected, but at least she’ll look good making some changes? I’m grasping at straws here.

We have another candidate running whose campaign placards around the village boast “Women 4 Ball.” If you couldn’t guess that his last name is “Ball” you might wonder what the women of my village were actually supporting. I, for one, am not supporting ball of any kind, except maybe Jet football. (We’re 5-1…go Jets!)

Then, because I’m lucky enough to live in the tri-state area, we’re subjected to negative campaigning that relates to the races run in Connecticut. So, if I get bored with Ball or the bland, yet effective Attorney General, I can watch former WWE chairwoman Linda McMahon beat the verbal stuffing out of some guy who pretended he was in Viet Nam but was really only a reservist stationed in Nova Scotia or some hotbed like that. Newsflash: Peggy’s Cove is not as dangerous as Dien Bien Phu so don’t try to pretend it is. We, the people, are a little smarter than you give us credit for.

Then, there’s the gubernatorial race in California with candidates Jerry (I dated Linda Ronstadt) Brown and Meg (eBay) Whitman. The only thing I know about these two candidates is that they, or their political operatives, have both used a derogatory word to describe the other and that it rhymes with “bore.” Nice.

It has gotten so bad that I don’t know who is running for what or what their platform is or even if they have a platform beyond “Hey! That guy stinks!” This election season is bringing out the worst in everyone with any single message being diluted. There seems to be an incredible amount of anger in the country, which to my thinking, is about six years too late, but that’s a post for another time.

Is there an honest politician left in this world? Is there someone who can run a campaign with integrity without resorting to calling the other guy/gal schoolhouse names and dredging up a missed credit card payment from their college years? Is there any basic decency, not to mention courtesy, left in American politics? It would seem not. And that, to me, is even more disappointing than a candidate who doesn’t know that yes, Christine, there is a separation of church and state in this great land. And because of our Constitution—a masterpiece of tolerance and acceptance—you can practice wicca, free from fear of persecution.

What’s going on in your states, Stiletto faithful? (And you Canadians on board can comment and laugh at us…I give you permission.) Is it as disgusting, and off-message, where you are as it is here?

Maggie Barbieri

Do I Really Write Cozies?

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When I was first invited to be on this list, I think it was because it was assumed I was writing cozies. Every time I read the definition of a cozy, I don’t think my books quite fit that category.

In my Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery series, of course Tempe is a resident deputy sheriff. Most deputies don’t solve murders, but she lives in a small town in the mountains–the Southern Sierra in California to be specific. She covers a much larger area than the town, including the local Indian reservation. Often times, just the fact that she is Native American is the reason she is involved in murder investigations.

The Rocky Bluff P.D. series, set in a small beach community, revolves around the lives and families of the members of the police department and how the job affects the families and what’s going on in the family affects the job. Of course, there is always a murder.

In neither is the sleuth a non-professional with a hobby or job that is what seems to constitute a cozy.

What might qualify my books as cozies is the fact that I don’t use any bad language and I shut the bedroom door.

In any case, I’ve been with the Stiletto Gang since the beginning, and I love hanging out with all these bright young women.

My latest Tempe Crabtree mystery is Invisible Path. Tempe is taken away from planning her family’s Christmas celebration by the murder on the reservation of a popular young Indian man which somehow seems connected to a para-military group with a compound hidden high in the mountains. Mundania http://www.mundania.com is the publisher.

Marilyn

A Note from an Old Neighbor

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I loved the old house the moment I saw it. There was an elegance to it. It had, as the realtor reminded me, “good bones,” despite the old-fashioned kitchen and bathrooms that we had no money to update. But it had seven bedrooms, a Palladium window on the landing of a staircase that would have enchanted Scarlet O’Hara, and a back stairway from the attic down to the kitchen (for the maids who undoubtedly lived in the attic when the house was first built). It was way too big for our family of three, soon to be four, but I loved it.

It wasn’t until we had moved in, however, that I learned what I really loved about this old house – the neighbors that came with it. Right next door was a sweet retired couple, Jean and Raymond. He had been the librarian of the Divinity School, and in a cruel twist of fate, had developed macular degeneration. By the time we knew them, he could no longer read. But his wife, a kind, gentle lady who did beautiful cross-stitchery, could. I can still hear her reading to him as they sat on their enclosed screen porch, throughout the spring and summer months. When I had the baby I was carrying when we first moved in, she made totally impractical, but absolutely gorgeous cross-stitched bibs. I still have them. And for the “big brother,” she made a tin of chocolate chip cookies on which she had written, “Charlie’s Cookies.” I still have that too.

Next to them lived another lovely couple, Kathleen and Achille. He was the assistant superintendent of schools, while she taught hospitalized children. They had five kids of their own, but all were grown except the youngest son, who was a senior in high school. They were devout Catholics. She attended Mass every morning, but never failed to send me a Rosh Hashonah card, even after we moved out of state. Christmas in their own home was a wonderful mix of faith, traditions, and just plain fun. They collected crèches and every surface in the house, during the season, was covered with manger scenes, large and small. My favorite, and I think theirs too, was the one their son had made when he was a preschooler: the three kings were Fisher Price little people and the animals around the baby Jesus were from the Fisher Price barn set. Achille was a master baker and spent one afternoon teaching me the rudimentary basics of cake decorating. On the dining room table at Christmas would be a gingerbread sleigh that he had made, filled with home-made gingerbread men, women, and children. It was a family comfortable in and comforted by their faith.

We moved oh too soon, but kept in touch with annual cards that would bring each of us up-to-date on the families. Kathleen was the one who told me in her annual Rosh Hashonah card about the passing of Jean and Raymond. I learned of Kathleen’s death when Achille sent me the annual card, saying he wanted to honor Kathleen’s tradition of staying in touch. His card was late arriving last year, but when it did, I learned that he had cancer, had had seven operations that year, but still wanted to wish me and mine the very best. When the card didn’t arrive this year, I feared that the tradition had ended. Today I learned that Achille had passed away in the spring.

I only knew these four remarkable individuals for a few years, but they left a lasting impression on me. They taught me about grace in the face of adversity; of generous spirits and genuine kindness. And I know that my life has been richer because I was blessed to have known them all. Rest in peace – and thank you.

Marian

_________________

Evelyn David’s new e-book series is debuting another volume of the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries today. The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah is a novella featuring “Brianna” the psychic who planned to travel the U.S. in her motor home. Instead she’s gotten stuck in Lottawatah, Oklahoma dealing with ghosts, murder, and a local detective who may or may not be the one to keep her tied down. Available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Read more about the series and our other books at http://www.evelyndavid.com/.

Top Ten List of Why Amateur Sleuths…

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Thanks to the Stiletto Gang for inviting me here today.

Since my new release, Swift Justice (St. Martin’s Minotaur, 12 Oct 2010) is a humorous, soft-boiled private eye novel, some readers who know my amateur sleuth books (I write the Southern Beauty Shop series as Lila Dare) have asked why I’ve made the switch from amateur sleuth to PI. I’ll tell you: it can strain an author’s creativity to keep coming up with *good* reasons for an amateur to poke her nose into murder investigations. It’s much easier to have clients come to a PI and pay her to investigate.

Readers of amateur sleuth mysteries kindly turn a blind eye most of the time, not questioning why an elderly woman in Maine would trip over a body every time she bikes into town (would you move to Cabot Cove with its murder rate?), or how come knitters and scrapbookers drop dead so frequently. And don’t get me started on the number of customers who end up murdered in food establishments: coffee shops, caterers’ kitchens, bakeries, tea shops, cheese shops, cookie/cupcake emporiums. It seems like one in every twelve restaurant customers gets bumped off. If Applebee’s had stats like that, they’d be out of business in a week.

With tongue only slightly in cheek, I offer this Top Ten List of Why Amateur Sleuths Involve Themselves in Murder Cases:

10. The soon-to-be-sleuth is the police’s main suspect.
9. Her spouse/ex-/friend is the murder victim.
8. The murder occurs in the amateur sleuth’s place of business.
7. The main character is a nosy old biddy with nothing better to do with her time now that she’s retired, unemployed, or dead (a nod to Carolyn Hart’s mystery-solving ghost).
6. The protagonist needs a good way to meet hunky cops, EMTs and firefighters, and figures hanging out at crime scenes is a better way to meet men than joining a Jane Austen book club.
5. The amateur sleuth wants to one-up her cop or reporter boyfriend/husband by solving the case before he does. Note: This approach does not result in relationship longevity.
4. The main character is a reporter who knows that the obvious suspect—the guy or gal the cops arrested—is never the real killer. The silly cops are almost always led astray by clear motives and actual evidence.
3. The murderer is after the protagonist and s/he must identify the killer to avoid becoming the next murderee.
2. The sleuth’s life is so humdrum that she appreciates the shot of adrenaline she gets from stumbling over corpses, dodging bullets, and getting arrested.

And the Number One reason an amateur sleuth gets involved in a murder case is . . . Her feline companion sticks his curious nose in, leading his mistress from clue to clue, and identifies the villain (probably saving the world and all humankind in the process) just in time for kitty kibble and a nap. What other reasons are there for hairdressers and librarians and booksellers to get involved in investigating murders? Best idea gets a signed copy of Swift Justice.

___________

Laura DiSilverio spent 20 years as an Air Force intelligence officer–serving as a squadron commander, with the National Reconnaissance Office, and at a fighter wing–before retiring to parent and write full time. She resides in Colorado with her hubby, tweenage daughters and dog, and is currently working on the second Charlie Swift book. Visit Laura at http://www.lauradisilverio.com/.

Swift Justice: When Charlotte “Charlie” Swift, former Air Force investigator turned barely-solvent Colorado Springs PI, confronts an armed woman in her office Monday morning, she knows the week is going to suck. And when she finds out she must accept the intruder, Gigi Goldman, as her partner in Swift Investigations, she hatches a plan to get rid of the pampered, mid-fifties socialite who has none of the qualifications or abilities, Charlie’s sure, to succeed as an investigator. As if having to deal with Gigi weren’t enough, Charlie must also solve a missing person case involving an abandoned infant, a long-ago adoption, and a client who wants to offload her grand-child on the daughter she’s never met. Huh? And, of course, there’s a murder . . .

Reviewers wax enthusiastic about this series debut:

“Swift Justice . . . may appeal to fans of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum and Lula. DiSilverio deftly mixes light, zany humor with the darkness of the crimes. Readers will leave this one impatient for the next book in the series.” Booklist, Starred Review

“This is a delightful series debut, full of zany humor and female bonding. Sure to attract fans of soft-boiled and chick lit mysteries.” Library Journal

“A winning debut . . . with an engaging community of characters readers will want to revisit.” Publishers Weekly

10 Things I learned This Week, by Misa

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I had an array of experiences this this week, had a slew of emotions to go with them, and learned quite a bit.

Here are ten things I learned this week:

  1. Having a deadline is pressure
  2. Missing a deadline is even more pressure
  3. Especially when you can’t quite figure out how to wrap up a story
  4. Sitting at a computer for hours on end makes your buttocks/bum/derriere really hurt
  5. Knowing you can’t do anything about said aching buttocks because you have to stay at that computer and get the book done makes it hurt even more
  6. Pushing through the pain (pertaining to both deadline pressure and throbbing gluteus maximus) is HARD
  7. But rewarding…after the fact
  8. Your child’s broken heart is your broken heart, too
  9. A broken heart (& the plethora of emotions that come with it) is not a good thing to have when you’re trying to write
  10. But at least you can be surprised by who the killer turns out to be in your own book, incidentally NOT who was planned

I managed to get through the writing of the manuscript, figured out the ending, and am really happy with it, new killer and all.

Regarding #s 8 & 9, I remember having a broken heart. I remember it vividly, in fact. I know nothing I say will take the pain away. But, holy mackerel, I never expected my boy’s emotional reaction to be what it was, and my tired, stretched-thin state-of-mind didn’t help me help him very much, I’m afraid.

So I have only one question. How do you help your child get over a broken heart, which includes not only the loss of love, but the loss of a best friend?

~ Misa

Untitled Post

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Maybe it’s because I’m a writer, but I’ve become very attuned to reviews of any kind. Movie reviews, shoe reviews on Zappos, clothing reviews of items on my favorite online store. Having become a student of the review, I’ve come to the conclusion—way too late for my self esteem—that they are all completely subjective.

I know—I’m late to the party. Everyone apparently knew that but me.

It’s hard when you’re a writer, or anyone else whose work is critiqued regularly, to remember that. As far as I am concerned, the good reviews are great, but the bad reviews carry more weight. So for every positive thing that I have heard about one of my books, I only carry around in my head the ones where the reviewer was critical. For instance, I’ll always remember the one where the reviewer claimed I was ‘not funny’ (that’s a dagger through my heart…really) or the one that accused me of not resolving a plot point (I had…it’s called ‘subtlety’). When things get really bad, I’ll conjure up the rejection I got from an agent who said that while she loved everything—everything!—about my story and my characters, she just didn’t like the way I wrote. Lordy.

I started thinking about this as I chatted with my mother a few weeks back. My mother and three girlfriends have a weekly date for lunch and a movie. When I say that they have seen literally every movie produced by a major movie studio, I’m not kidding. They have disparate tastes, but the idea of getting together dishing the dirt either before or after the movie over a plate of hot wings is really the draw for all of them. As a result, the one who hates violence has suffered through some horribly violent war and suspense pictures, while the one who loves World War II movies has sat in silence through a sappy Katherine Heigl movie or two. My mother, however, is happy watching anything. In all of the years that I been privy to her movie reviews, only one—“Four Weddings and a Funeral”—stands out for being a film that she didn’t like. And if I recall correctly, that was a film that was universally loved for its happy, sappy storyline and Hugh Grant’s tousled mop. I thought it was a great movie. Mom hated it.

When I reflected on my mom and her friends’ movie-going habits, one thing became clear: they don’t see movies based on reviews. Nor do they shy away from movies based on some critic’s comments about it not having a good plot or good acting. They see the movies that they want to see and don’t pay attention to what Roger Ebert is saying or any other reviewer. If the movie looks good to them, they go. If it doesn’t, they pass on it or see something else. My mother has told me repeatedly that she doesn’t give any credence to what a particular reviewer might say; if a movie or its plot line speaks to her, she’ll see the movie and for the most part, usually ends up liking it, because if there’s one thing she knows, it’s what she likes. And she’s not going to let anyone who sees movies for a living tell her any differently.

We in the “cozy” or “traditional” mystery world have a lot of fans like my mother, I would guess. They read our books because they know what they like and look forward to spending time with old friends, as one fan recently characterized my main characters. So why do I care if a trade publication doesn’t like the latest installment? (Although I did get a nice review in PW, so that did make me happy for a bit.) I write for myself and for the people who read my books and not for the critics. After all, it’s all subjective, right? There are certain authors out there whose books I don’t like and I don’t read them. And then there are others who I love and wait patiently for their next work. As my friend Annie would say, “That’s why we have menus. Everyone has different taste.”

Ok, remind me of that when new book–Third Degree–comes out on November 23rd, please?

Thoughts, Stiletto faithful?

Oh, and PS–happy 48th anniversary to my parents!

Maggie Barbieri

My Bouchercon Report

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I took this photo while on a cable car tour of San Francisco, showing one of many steep, steep streets in this most beautiful city and the setting for this year’s Bouchercon.

Bouchercon is the largest mystery con there is and I’ve been to several in various cities: my first was in Monterey, CA, and hubby and I went together to Madison and Milwaukee, WI, Austin TX, and a couple of other places I can’t really remember right off. One of the pluses is visiting places you might never choose as a destination.

If you ever wanted to meet a particular famous mystery author Bouchercon is the place to do it. This year some of the greats in attendance were: Lee Child, Laurie R. King, David Baldacci, and someone spotted Sara Paretsky, and so many more.

However, that’s not the reason I went to Bouchercon. I also didn’t go to sell books as I knew the competition would be horrendous. There’s nothing worse than attending a signing with long lines heading to Michael Connelly (yes, he was there) and sitting alone and forlorn with no one waiting for you to sign a book. In order to have books in one of the bookstore displays, I would have had to bring mine. This year, I decided that I wasn’t going to worry about selling books, though I did hand out my card with my latest book cover on it to new people I met, my main purpose would be to have fun.

Having fun I did, from the 3 hour cable car tour all over San Francisco on cable cars that had been transformed into busses, to attending the Private Eye Associations award dinner where Marcia Muller was given an award. (Marcia Muller was the first author I ever met in person years and years ago.) She was in attendance with her husband, Bill Pronzini.

With my roommate, Gay Kinman, I walked all the way to the hotel from Chinatown at 10 p.m. at night. Fortunately, the road was downhill all the way. Also with my roommate, I toured the wharf area and all the shops and ate delectable meals in some upscale restaurants.

The Sisters in Crime, No-Cal MWA branches Hospitality Room was a great place to meet people–as was the bar. I was invited to eat breakfast with people I didn’t know-and soon became friends.

I participated in a Continuing Conversation titled Procedural Pros with DP Lyle, Robin Spano, Michael Black, Dennis Palumbo, Laura Caldwell and Michael Norman. Though I’ve never considered myself a pro, I think I held up my end pretty well.

Yes, I had a good time. One really big plus was meeting a fellow Stiletto Gang member, Rachel Brady. We had a short chat when the cable car made a brief stop.

Going to a Bouchercon is an experience. It is not necessarily a great place for a small press author to promote books, but it is a place to meet a lot of people, talk about mystery writing, and have a really fun time.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com/

Grandma at Four Months

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By Evelyn David

She’s rolling over now. She burst into tears the first time – shocked at the turn of events that had her on her back reaching for a stuffed animal, and all of a sudden, she was on her belly facing the wrong way and no stuffie in sight. Plus, how to get back to where she started?

But now, Riley, age four months, is rolling like the proverbial river.

And I’m growing more confident as Grandma. From the first second I knew my daughter-in-law was pregnant, I was in love with this little baby. But when Riley was born, I’d forgotten how tiny, fragile, even scary these little people can be. Despite raising four children of my own, I found myself worried that I couldn’t meet her needs. A set of baby tears was enough to prompt me to shed a few myself.

But then came the smiles – and wow, I’m willing to do cartwheels to get a grin from this little one.

So here’s how I knew I had passed the Grandma test.

I was to babysit for one hour starting at 7 pm. As an experienced parent, I know that is nobody’s finest hour. Riley normally goes to bed at 8 pm, so she would be getting tired in any case, but her Mom told me upon arrival that the baby hadn’t slept a wink the entire day. I believe the correct response is: OY!

Now the rule of the house is that the television is off when Riley is in the room. She’s absolutely mesmerized by the colors of the huge TV hanging on the wall in the family room. I respect that. Heck I limited TV viewing when raising my own kids.

But as the hour progressed, Ms. Riley began to fret. I walked, swayed, sang – you get the drift. Nothing, and I mean nothing, would comfort her for more than 15 seconds. I changed her diaper; then offered her a bottle of breastmilk, which she promptly spit out, clearly the wrong vintage, or at least the wrong nipple. She refused all pacifiers. And of course, most of all, she refused the one thing that would have helped – she wouldn’t so much as close her eyes lest she actually fall asleep.

And then I whispered what I’m pretty sure my mother and mother-in-law both did when watching my kids (including Riley’s daddy). I said, “Riley, this is Grandma talking. How would you like to watch “Wheel of Fortune?”

I clicked on the TV and silence descended. She sat transfixed in my arms.

I had hoped to turn it off before her mother returned, but alas I was busted.

The little one gave a huge smile when her Momma reached for her. Upstairs, a brief nursing session, and Ms. Riley was asleep for the night.

Personally, I think Riley was relieved that the contestant figured out the final puzzle. I’m pretty sure that she had. It said:

GRANDMA ROCKS

Please share your favorite Grandma stories (whether as a grandparent or grandchild).

Grandma Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries — short stories available for Kindle and Nook
Murder Off the Books
Murder Takes the Cake
Murder Drops the Ball — Spring 2011