Ready, Set, Go, Return, etc.

2010 Bouchercon Logo:  isn't it cool?

So, long time no post.  We were in San Francisco at Bouchercon, the mystery convention, and then in Reno, Tahoe, Gerlach, NV, and finally back to Boston via Reno, Las Vegas and Providence. 

A long trip, in distance as well as time.  We didn't stay at the convention hotel but across town at the Seal Rock Inn, which is at Land's End at Sutro, and around the corner from the Cliff House where we dined one evening and propped up the bar one afternoon watching a Giants playoff game.  The Cliff House serves seriously good food, as has a nice vibe.  The whole dining room grew quiet as the sun dropped behind the horizon.  Yeah, fab view, too.

I read some reviews for the Inn which weren't exactly stellar, and yes, it's a bit funky, (Hunter Thompson wrote a book there),  but the price is right and parking is free and there's a bus to downtown next door, and a Walgreens and a laundry down the street and parks and walks and oh, did I mention the Cliff House?  And that the rooms are suites with a stove and a fridge and a coffee maker along with a nice new shower and fresh wallpaper.  Free WiFi?  A cafe that serves a decent breakfast and lunch for a good price?

We've stayed there many times and it's like home, now.  Well, that helps too.  End of rave.

So the convention was like all mystery conventions with everyone trying to network like mad and he b-team sucking up to the a-team and the c-team likewise to the b-team, and somehow it was hard to schmooze at the bar this year, but the Sisters in Crime had a great hospitality suite with lots of food and coffee.

I haven't published anything for a year, and find an ugly gloom setting over me in the midst of so many success stories. 

We went to an instructive  editing session the day before the conference, and I learned so much from Elizabeth Lyon, who conducted the seminar that I'm scared to death I won't be able to apply it before I start forgetting.  Already I reworked some of In Flight, both beginning and end.  I still have a page and a half to write, but I'm in no hurry.  In the meantime, the world count  is like, totally incredibly HUGE, and that will have to change.  Except one cuts a paragraph here and adds a sentence there, so you never actually  slash and burn.

We returned home with a big bag o' books.  I read a Janet Evanovich Stephanie Plum novel  on my Kindle, one of her better ones, and now I'm almost done with the latest Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear, who was also at the conference.  Her books just keep getting better and better.  Don't know how she does it.  Hard work, for starters.

On Thursday, there was a noir evening.  You had to pick up a black envelope at City Lights Bookstore that told you where and when.  Knock three times and the password (I can give it away now) was "fleurs du mal."  Booze was free, but I was sated with wine and collapsing with jet lag and kept a low profile all evening.  The readings were riveting and the bad was so cool.  This was really fun.

We went to Fisherman's Wharf for a seafood dinner on Friday.  Delicious halibut.  I rampaged through the seafood all week.  

Suffice it to say that San Francisco is a primo city, beautiful and challenging, and always exuding an air of mystery.  Ah noir!

Grapeshot, glad to be home to laundry and a newly cleaned house for company Wednesday.  Cats delighted to see us.   The orange one has decided nothing beats sleeping on a human.   We "share" him.

My beautiful begonias froze two nights ago.  Fall is here.  The orange cat caught two more mice in the garage, and is eyeing the chipmunks that scamper around collecting acorns.  Yes, fall is definitely here.

Finally, Grapeshot  with more anon        

Chicken Pot Pie

Roast chicken last night with garlic and lemon and thyme.  Such a heady infusion.  We ate it with mashed potatoes and cauliflower.  The pan drippings made a lovely sauce.  This was a big chicken (4 pounds) and we had generous leftovers.  Tonight I'm whipping up a 2008 Wine and Food recipe for a pot pie.  It's made in a skillet and baked in the oven, and instead of a crust, one takes thickly sliced bread and makes a crust, buttering generously, natch.  Sounds pretty good.  I made a broth from the scraps and bones of the chicken, adding some aromatics.  If I remember, I'll post a photo of the pie if it's gorgeous.

We tend to dig into the meal and remember the photo when the dish has been decimated.  Note to Blog:  It's Gorgeous!

Fall chores mostly done.  Still have cherry and grape tomatoes ripening, an extra unexpected bonus.  The dahlias have a new life, as do the tuberous begonias.  Greedy finches suck the food out of the feeder like it's water.  Woodpecker on the house this a.m.  The cats were most intrigued.   

I just finished reading The Help, and loved it.  Since it's been on the best seller list for 78 weeks, I must be one of the few   still to read.  I read it on my Kindle.   Love that e-reader.

One more chapter to go in my WiP.  Wheee!

Grapeshot

Life is a Cabaret

Into town on Thursday for dinner and theater.  Didn't call ahead to Sandrine's because we were eating early, but they were closed for a private party, so for a while it looked like we weren't eating at all.  Nipped into Daedalus for a nice dinner, then around the corner to Oberon which used to be Zero Arrow Street, and is always a little confusing to find even if you have been there three times.

Little confession:  I do like sleaze and decadence.  The girl can't help it.  Goes back to the days of far yore when I was in college in Houston.  Some areas and neighborhoods, you could cut the sleaze with with a knife.  The hot, muggy climate had something to do with it.  Galveston in the old days!  Sleaze and decadence personified.   Don't know what it was in Houston or if it even still exists.  Still, I'll bet there are pockets.

I had a good college friend who felt as I did, and once I had a car senior year, we drove to a little  place on the corner of Post Oak and Katy--out in the middle of nowhere then.  Called Pokay's naturally.  Sort of run down.  The kind of place where James Dean and Marilyn Monroe hung out together.   

My friend and I would have our coffee and drive back to campus to study.  Nice respectable girls aren't supposed to like sleaze which made it beckon even more. 

So Cabaret had the sleaze and decadence factors nailed!  I loved Amanda Palmer.  She was just so good and so absolutely right for the roll of MC.  This was NOT your parent's Cabaret.   Even less, their parents. 

I have two more scenes to write in my novel.  It's both a high and a low to finish a novel.  You're just so happy to be done with the first draft, and the let down is that you ARE done with the first draft.

Writing is rewriting, so you will be seeing a lot more of that manuscript.  I am going to have to cut thousands of words.  Sigh.  I never really permit myself to write the so-called "shitty first draft," and now of course I'll have to cut perfectly good words.

Oh well, water under and over and around the dam.  I have some short stories perking and I want to get into my 1920's California book. 

Observations

From thegreenmonreview.com Lucious, no?

Last Friday on the "T" was one for the books.  7 noisy girls and one boy  got on at Quincy Adams.  They did not use "indoor" voices.  Although the train became crowded, nobody sat in their area.  A girl, one of the loudest, wore a "North Quincy Apaches" sweat shirt.  Now as one from a western state, and a westerner by birth, the idea of North Quincy (Quincy is that most Boston of suburbs)  Apaches boggles the mind.  Why didn't they choose a new England tribe?   

You might want to know I have both  New England Indian blood and Cherokee Indian blood from various sides of the family. Not a lot, but some.  I think my parents love of nature and mine is carried in these Native American genes.  But no matter.

The loud-mouthed girl had thunder thighs, and an enormous butt which she had squeezed into very tight jeans.  Where the sweat shirt and the jeans didn't meet, was an area revealing an old green thong.

Ladies, if you exhibit your thong, make sure it's fresh and new looking.

On the way home, when we picked up the "T" at Park Street, the crowd was so huge that no train must have come by for an hour.   A nice couple  offered us their seats.  She had really cool  sandals with studs.  Note to self:  search for same in spring.

The Red Line from Quincy Adams is always an adventure.  One acquires an entire repertoire of "T" stories.  I have a lot.   At the end of the month we have out of town relatives visiting, and I suspect that neither of them have ever ridden a subway.  They will be initiated.  I've done this before.  It's fun.

Tonight we have some pork tenderloin sliced, dipped in egg and breadcrumbs and fried, served with a yogurt caper sauce.  And Brussels Sprouts.

New flash!  The reasons a lot of people won't each their veggies is that said veggies are undercooked and under seasoned.  A pat of butter, a cheese sauce, a  toothsome garnish and the veggies approach deliciousness.  I guarantee you that EVERYONE eats my made from scratch green bean casserole with fresh beans, fresh mushrooms, and a homemade sauce.    Trouble?  Sure, but delicious.

O.K.  A scene to write, the last with my drug lord.  It pains me to say goodbye to him.  Adios, Lotto!  May your life in Colombia be mellow.  He's retired now.  At least I hope so.

Adieu, adieu,

Grapeshot