WRITERS GONE WILD

by Melodie Johnson Howe

Bouchercon is an event where writers, who spend most of their time in self imposed solitary confinement, are let loose in a hotel without proper supervision and begin to talk and drink, and drink and talk. Now and then they make it to a panel where they speak wisely or comically or stupidly and then go back to talking and drinking. Thrown into this mania are some genuinely wonderful moments and great camaraderie. Bouchercon is my favorite convention, not only because the writers have a grand time, but most importantly so do the fans. You can tell the fans from the authors because they carry lots of books that they read and love in their bags and their arms to be signed. Thank God for them otherwise writers couldn’t go wild.

Favorite Moments

Meeting up with Angela, James, and Steve. And finally getting to meet Rob Lopresti who looks much younger in person than he does in his CB picture. He played the autoharp filling the book signing room with the haunting sounds of Appalachia.

Harley Jane Kozak and I, in between signing books and photographs, exchanged Hollywood war stories. It was a wonderful paradoxical moment for two ex- actresses turned writers.

Speaking of Hollywood stories, the creator of Columbo and many other TV series, Bill Link was there with his wife Margery Nelson. Bones and I have known them for years and we sat around a table talking about such things as how Walter Wanger (pronounce his last name like Bugs Bunny talks), a producer in the forties, shot Jennings Lang, an agent, in the (how should I put this for you, gentle readers?) genitals because he was having an affair with Wanger’s wife, the actress Joan Bennett. The joke around Hollywood at that time was that Jennings’ last name used be Langs before the shooting. Oh, yes, talking and drinking. Parnell Hall joined us and serenaded Bill Link, Steve Steinbock and me with a song he wrote about the Kindle. He said he taped it for YouTube. Oh, yes talking, drinking, and taping.

Having lunch with the writer and critic Dick Lochte, his wife Jane, and JLW. It was there Dick reminded me that he had reviewed my play “The Lady of The House” that I’d written in the eighties. Reminiscing with Michael Connelly and his wife about a house they once lived in, in the Hollywood Hills. And Terry Moran welcoming me back to CB.

The Rex Stout dinner was held in an old darkly panelled mansion reminiscent of Nero Wolfe’s brownstone. The evening was as quirky and as eccentric as the Great Detective himself. Gayle Lynds gave a humorous informative talk about Nero Wolfe the spy. Each table was asked to create a ditty about Nero and Archie and then get up and sing it to a tune of their choice. Our table seemed to tacitly decline, but Gayle’s boyfriend, John Sheldon, wrote one. He stood and a sang a very funny parody in a beautiful tenor voice. I know his voice was good because my husband, Bones, who has perfect pitch, did not make a face as if someone were standing on his toe. The real treat was meeting Rex Stout’s daughter, a gracious woman. And yes, she was wearing golden spider earrings.

Why am I feeling like Hedda Hopper or Liz Smith right now?

The other spectacular dinner was created by James Lincoln Warren at a restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf. It was there John Lutz and I discovered that we both loved and an old movie of which neither could remember the title. So I googled William Powell, the star of the movie, on my iPhone, and found it was called “Libeled Lady.” Where upon everyone went “Uh?” This film has one of the great comic scenes, of William Powell learning to fish. John Lutz reminded me it was later made into a movie staring Rock Hudson called “Man’s Favorite Sport.” I told him that I appeared in a still photo in the titles. That was before they let me talk in the movies.

Jill Amadio did an admirable job as the moderator of our panel. Janet Hutchings and others told us that it is was one of the best short story panels they had been too.

I could go on and on but I think I’ll leave you with this: Sitting in the front row listening to our panel was a group of youngsters. They were studiously taking notes. When we finished the woman who was with them brought up young girl named Denise Marie Scott. Denise gave me a hand printed essay on my short story, “A Hollywood Ending.” The woman leaned close and told me that the children were mentally disabled, and that it took Denise some time to write her report for me. I sat there and read every word then took the girl’s hand and told her how much I treasured her thoughtful essay. Here eyes went wide and she beamed. Then she told me she liked the ending of my story because we don’t know for sure that the actress in it really drowned herself because we don’t see her die. “Maybe she lived and would return,” she added hopefully. Something I had never considered. I was deeply touched by her perception and perseverance. The essay, printed so carefully on its smudged lined paper, is now being framed to hang on my office wall.

And that is what Bouchercon is all about. And that is what writing is all about.