Las Vegas was a trip and a half. I still can't get the smell of cigarette smoke out of my nostrils. The general opinion around Bouchercon 34 was that the Riviera Hotel's definition of a non-smoking room was one that wasn't currently on fire. But how can a bunch of crime writers really complain about such perfectly cheesy accommodations in the world's most bizarre city? Beyond the duct tape and cigarette smoke, I had a wonderful and wonderfully productive time at this year's Bouchercon.
I arrived on Wednesday and met up with Victor Gischler(Gun Monkeys), Neil Smith (Plotswithguns.com), Don Bruns (Jamaica Blue) and several other acquaintances from last year's shindig in Austin. It should come as no surprise that writing can be a very lonely, insular and isolating career choice. Bouchercon affords us an opportunity to break out of that isolation and share our experiences, frustrations and joys with the other lunatics who've made writing their lives if not always their livelihoods.
On Thursday, Steve Hamilton, Jamie Katz and I made our way to Las Vegas National and played a rather civilized eighteen holes of golf under the baking desert sun. Dry heat-smy heat. It was hot, man. And it didn't help that Steve kicked my butt up and down the course. Even with five one-putt greens, I was terrible. Jamie gave a much better accounting of himself. They're both great guys and were classy enough not to laugh at me. Not to my face, anyway. As Bouchercon's in Toronto next year, I think I'm going to have to wait awhile for a second chance with my playing partners.
After the opening night reception, a bunch of us congregated in the Bouchercon Bar. Writers at a bar, what a surprise! Several of us bonded while watching the Yankees break Boston's hearts again. As Jim Fusilli and I said, we were rooting against both teams. Don't tell anyone, but I'm a Mets fan. Fueled by cigars and scotch, Jim, me, Peter Blauner, Peter Spiegelman, Stephen Hull, Sheldon McCarthy and others got into a long discussion of music, movies, anecdotes, publishing... Hell, you name it, we talked about it. While not exactly solving the problems of the world, we did manage to have a great time.
Friday was a big day. In the morning, I had a long discussion about Milwaukee, New York and Kosher deli with Richard Katz from Mystery One Books. Let me take this opportunity to thanks Richard's associate, Jon Jordan, for his support. At noon, we had the annual S.J. Rozan Basketball game. As I told S.J., there's nothing to worry about until it becomes the S.J. Rozan Memorial Basketball game. The turnout was huge and the facilities were great. Kudos to whomever was involved. The game was very competitive. There were some amazing shooters and the battles underneath the basket between Gary Phillips and Jeff Tindall registered on the Richter Scale! In keeping with my New York playground roots, I lost my temper. But when order was restored, we shook hands and joked about the incident the rest of the time in Vegas.
I was on a great panel about the future of the lone wolf detective in the 21st century. It was very well attended and I think, thanks to our moderator, Jack Dobbyn, we stayed on point and focused. The audience was receptive and asked thoughtful questions. S.J. was great and did me the favor of acting as my photographer. From my panel I went straight to the signing room. Nothing like sitting next to Joe Gores to put things in perspective.
From the signing room, it was straight to the MWA reception. From the MWA reception it was a short limo ride to the Shamus Awards. How should I describe the Shamus Awards? Well, it was part tailgate party, part buffet, part theater, part... It was a lot of things. My friend, Dan Judson, was one out of two and took home a Shamus. Sue Grafton won the Lifetime Achievement Award. During her acceptance speech, she got sidetracked and told a story about fixing the flushing mechanism in the lavatory. I wondered out loud if "T Was For Toilet?" That got a few laughs.
Saturday, Peter Blauner and I wandered out onto the strip and took in the Wynn Art Collection. It was quite impressive and included works by Rembrandt, Picasso, Van Gogh, Matisse, Warhol and others. Only in Las Vegas could you walk out of such an exhibit to be confronted by a sign that reads: Cold Beer and Dirty Girls, Naked Bull Riding and Mud Wrestling. We went to the Venetian, the Mirage and walked through the Star Trek exhibit at the Hilton. That evening, I attended the Bantam party at the Venetian thanks to Dan Judson and S.J. Rozan. The damn hotel's so big, the employees didn't even know where the room for the party was. Once I ran into someone who actually had an idea of where it was at, it took me so long to walk to the party I could have kept a log of the journey!
Lee Child, a man I've never formally met, was very generous and invited a whole crowd of people to this wonderfully odd grill/lounge next door to the Riviera for drinks. Here I had great discussions with fans and met a fellow New York writer, Ralph Pezzullo. After that party broke up, we found ourselves back at the Bouchercon Bar in the bowels of the Riviera.
Sunday, as all Sundays are, was a day of mixed feelings. I was sad to be leaving the new friends I'd made, but glad to be heading home to my family. This was my second Bouchercon. Allowing for unforseen events, it won't be my last. It's odd for a writer to be lost for words, but I am. It is difficult to express just how I've come to value the experience. Maybe next year, I'll do it justice.
