Super, Super Sleuthfest! Thank You

Throngs of mystery/crime writers swear by their favorite conferences—Bouchercon, Thrillerfest, Love Is Murder, Left Coast, Writers' Police Academy, New England Crime Bake, Cape Fear Crime Festival, Malice Domestic, Public Safety Writers, Crime Fest UK, to name a few. If you have the time, the wallet and a suitcase—you can now go to a writers' convention/conference just about every week in the year!

A longtime Manhattan colleague, Barbara Bent—member of MWA, RWA, Authors' Guild—shares my favorite conference—that showcases many of the Best and the Brightest Mystery Writers—SLEUTHFEST of the Florida Chapter of Mystery Writers of America.

I invited her to give Crime Writers' Chronicle some of her thoughts on Sleuthfest 2014, that featured some of America's favorite writers—Hank Phillippi Ryan, Reed Farrel Coleman, Laura Lippman, P. J. Parrish, Chris Grabenstein, Ace Atkins…

Take it away, Barbara—you're on center stage!!!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

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Hank Phillipi Ryan and Me

Sleuthfest, the annual gathering of writers, agents, publishers and others connected with mystery writing and sponsored by the Florida Chapter of MWA is my favorite conference.

For starters it takes place in Florida in late February. Having suffered through nonstop snowstorms in New York this winter, escaping to Florida would be enough to get me there even if there were no program.

The conference is big enough to attract top name speakers—Hank Philippi Ryan, Laura Lippman and Ace Atkins. But, the size is small enough, and the atmosphere casual enough, that all these authors and other luminaries walked among us.

We could stop and talk with them between sessions, buy their books and chitchat over drinks or lunch. In fact, this year, the wonderful conference planners, Sharon Potts and Linda Hengerer, arranged for an editor or agent to sit at every luncheon table.

For people like me, who don’t sit at the VIP table or the table where all the agents and editors usually sat together, this was a great way to have access to people who could help our careers. In the foot in mouth area, I wondered why the woman sitting next to me at lunch was so interested in what I was currently writing. I gave her short shrift until I found out she was Rachel Ekstrom, a charming and enthusiastic agent from The Irene Goodman agency. Then, of course, I tried to be her new best friend!

And despite the advice from my mentor in New York, a wise and wonderful woman who knows the ins and outs of the business, and told me to hand out cards, be friendly, smile and don’t make wise cracks, I managed to insult the designer of the beautiful themed baskets that were being raffled off. Having not won anything in several years, I teased the multi-talented Vicki Landis, (artist, graphic designer and author) that the people who bought their raffle tickets last always won. She assured me that the tickets are mixed thoroughly before the drawing. Embarrassingly enough I won a basket and slunk over to apologize to her. Good thing. She’s a Co-Chair for the conference next year.

But it wasn’t all fun and faux pas. The panel discussions and sessions yielded a lot of helpful hints, both scripted and ad libbed. Chris Grabenstein instructed us “never throw anything away” because he turned some of his saved words into new books! (My collection of saved manuscripts only turns my apartment into a candidate for an episode of “Hoarders: Buried Alive.”)

During the Q&A some interesting tidbits emerged. When asked, several writers mentioned, when stuck in their book, they took a shower. While no one admitted to Writing in the shower, many of them worked out Whole Chapters or Scenes before drying off and getting back to work! (I never thought to ask if you could take your water bill as a writing expense, but I may ask next year.)

Mostly, I was struck by the generosity and honest self-revelation of the guest stars and panelists. All were willing to pose for pictures. Panelists distributed handouts and were willing to answer questions long after their sessions. Even more impressive was the fact presenters would open a vein when speaking. If one of the speakers had lost a publisher or had trouble with a critique group (yes multi-published authors belong to critique groups!) they shared their stories honestly and without reservation.

Roaming the halls, I could always pass by the official table and ask the knowledgeable administrative director Margery Flax any questions about MWA.

I also exchanged pleasantries with Oline Cogdill, well-known reviewer of mystery fiction!

Because I’ve come to this conference for over seven years, I feel as if I know these famous people.

This year, determined to get all I could out of this special conference, I listened carefully at Every Single Session.

So! What did I get out of Sleuthfest!

No matter if you’re Prepublished, Multi-published, a Bestselling Author, writing and selling books is hard work! As someone said, if it were easy, everyone would do it.

I vowed to step up my game.

After all the inspiration and wonderful advice from Hank, Reed, Kristy, Chris, Sharon, Michael, Twist, Laura, Ace and Oline, I came back to New York and finished the book I’ve been working on for one thousand years!!!

Thank you, Sleuthfest geniuses!

I FINALLY GOT YOUR MESSAGE!

Barbara Bent

Dodging the Bad Guys in Arabia (Or, Setting the Setting)

A Tale of Life and Death in Yemen . . .

Today I am delighted to welcome a longtime colleague, a veteran member of The Author's Guild, member of Mystery Writers of America and the Romance Writers of America. In addition to using her considerable acumen in the world of finance, the life-or-death problems her characters endure in her suspense novels come straight from this author's own life-threatening experiences in her world travel. She is also a master in the field of short fiction. CRY FROM THE EMPTY QUARTER, a pre-published thrilling novel set in Yemen, showcases the real dangers American travelers face in many spots featured in today's TV news and the international newspapers. Please welcome Barbara Bent to Crime Writer's Chronicle!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

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My international intrigue novel, CRY FROM THE EMPTY QUARTER, is based on a real trip to Yemen—always fraught with danger—which I took several years ago.

As my friends know, I’ve done a lot of traveling with a particular emphasis on the Middle East and North Africa—Yemen, Egypt, Tunisia, Morocco. My forays into these exotic countries always leave an impression on my imagination that surfaces in my suspense novels.

As part of a Canadian tour group of about sixteen experienced travelers, I explored Yemen in a caravan of Toyota Land Cruisers, each with its own armed driver. From day one, we were told to stay together—never be separated from the rest of the group, because, at that time, warring tribes would kidnap tourists to negotiate with the government. Men were more at risk than women. So even in the midst of chaotic outdoor markets we were always all aware of the location of the rest of the group.

The mandate to stay together was constantly emphasized. In fact, on day two as our caravan wove through a narrow road between two cliffs, I could see men on the top signaling with mirrors to those on the other side. Our local guide in the lead car leaned out of the passenger window from the waist up, and motioned urgently for the rest of the cars to keep up.

In Sa’da, Yemen’s northernmost province, we toured the ruins, had lunch and were just emerging from a gift shop in the center of town, when a gunfight erupted on the street. We quickly sought cover back in the shop.

The situation in Sa’da and its environs on the border of Saudi Arabia was thought to be so dangerous, that we were stopped at an Army road block just outside of town. Our local guide negotiated with a high ranking official for at least an hour, as to whether we could return to our hotel in Sana. Stuck in the sweltering cars alongside a ditch, a young soldier gazed in at us every fifteen minutes or so. When he looked my way, I didn’t know whether to smile or look scared, since his camouflage uniform resembled the skin of a giraffe.

Finally, we got permission to return to Sana, but only if we were accompanied by soldiers driving a flatbed truck with a 50 millimeter howitzer aimed over and around our cars.

Trips into the desert, The Empty Quarter, an expanse of sand almost as large as Texas, required the services of a Bedouin guide who, in his own vehicle would ride ahead to “interpret the sand” and plot a safe course for us.

The morning of our trip, our cars were loaded with provisions—hard boiled eggs, water, pita, a couple of watermelons—before dawn. As the sun rose, we pulled into a gas station and a lanky, white-robed Bedouin, with a mop of dark curly hair and a gap in his front teeth, stepped out of his car sporting a rifle slung over one shoulder.

“Ah, the Bedouino,” our driver said, using the term his last group of Italians had used. The Bedouino surveyed us with a wolfish glare, climbed back into his car and motioned to us to follow with his loose white sleeve blowing in the wind.

Soon after we entered the desert, the Bedouino tore off like a bat out of hell. In the distance I saw a truck and heard numerous gun shots. I was ready to hit the floor of the car. Surely there were enemies ahead. But no. He had missed the qat truck, full of green leaves that the natives chew for a narcotic effect. He was signaling the driver to return so he could buy his daily supply.

With a cheek full of the qat, he sped off again. In an effort to keep up, we jounced and bounced and careened through the sand. It was hot, gritty and flat.

Bathroom breaks were no problem for the men, who simply turned their backs to the crowd, but the women stood in a circle to hide one of their own.

Around noon we came to a Bedouin camp that was set up for modern caravans crossing the desert. They had cold sodas and a large, colorful, open sided tent with long rectangular pillows around the perimeter. The tent was positioned so that the desert breeze cooled the air. It was delightful, despite the fact we were totally exposed to drones or roving bands.

The Bedouino disappeared to “relax” with his girlfriend at the camp while we ate, enjoyed the time out of the bouncing vehicles, bought jewelry and knick knacks from the Bedouin women until it was time to go.

Of course, we got stuck in the sand and while two of the drivers tried to dig out the car, our driver put a tape cassette in the car tape player and to the Arabic strains of a song that sounded like Alvin and the Chipmunks do Arabia, they danced in the sand. A kind of Arabic do si do.

We approached Sana as the light was growing dim. It was a race to reach the safety of the city before dark, and the government had shut the cell phone towers down in order to gain control over some problem or another. So our communication was cut off.

In my novel, CRY FROM THE EMPTY QUARTER, my protagonist, Omar, an Arab American, becomes obsessed with going to Yemen to donate money for a school. He and his wife Sara, also an Arab American, become estranged over this decision, because she feels getting involved with the people in a country as unstable as Yemen, is not something you dabble in.

When he lands in Sana, his allies turn into enemies and he is used as a pawn by his uncle, Mustafa, whose son has killed a boy from another tribe. Omar, unaware of the feud between his father and his uncle, is caught in a trap where he will be handed over to the other tribe in an eye for an eye exchange. In many cases, this exchange is forgotten for a large sum of money.

Omar is forced to call Sara to bring the ransom money and he asks her to bring his friend Ali, whose family is from the same area of Yemen, to accompany her on her rescue mission. Not only is she is angry at Omar’s naiveté, but also, she dislikes Ali. And, it turns out Ali’s family is involved in this tribal feud as well.

When Sara and Ali get there they are instructed to deliver the money, in cash, to destinations that are constantly changing. In the meantime, Omar and his kidnappers are traveling to locations dictated by Mustafa and his minions. Every journey involves a road block, cell phone outage, missed messages, off road travel, bad food, distrust, fist and gun fights and culture clashes.

This harrowing and, at times, terrifying trip made such an impression on me, that it gave me the impetus to use the setting as a major character in my novel.

Because you know, folks, I couldn’t make this stuff up!

Barbara Bent