Malice: A Forethought, Part II

Sheila York
On the night table: The Question of the Missing Head, EJ Copperman & Jeff Cohen
(who are the same person)

Too bad there isn't a legal term Malice Afterthought. Or Malice After-anything, actually, as far as I can determine. 

So I have to settle for Part II as the title for my follow-up to last week's blog & my visit to the Malice Domestic mystery writer/fan convention over the weekend.

To recap, Malice (as everybody calls it) celebrates traditional mysteries, which are, by Malice's definition, those "...which contain no explicit sex or excessive gore or violence." There is a traditional-mystery subcategory, called cozy, which would certainly add “no profanity".

Thursday, following the Mystery Writers of America’s Edgar Awards  Wednesday night, I took a midday train down to Washington DC. Leisurely, quiet – well, okay, I giggle-snorted most of the trip at comments from buddy Judy Bobalik, who is one of the funniest people I know and one of the biggest "bookies". You mention it, she's read it. Judy's been one of the movers behind several past Bouchercon conventions, including being co-chair of the 2008 BCon in Baltimore. 

That's Judy, fourth from left, hugging on Charles Todd (third from left) outside The Mysterious Bookshop in NYC at the launch party of the Mystery Writers of America Cookbook on April 27. 

Charles gave No Broken Hearts a rave review. I should be the one hugging on him!

When Judy and I weren’t disporting ourselves, we helped a colleague – whose name we will protect to preserve any dignity he has left after hanging out with us – download apps. I always enjoy helping people who know even less than I do about tech.

Malice is held each year in the first weekend of May in Bethesda, and you can ride the Washington DC Metro from Union Station to the Bethesda stop right under the hotel, so there's no cab fare, and this year I traveled light, having finally got around to buying a 22-inch bag, which is just the perfect size for those of us not encumbered by the need to wear more than 2 outfits all weekend. Of course, it won't hold all the books you want to buy written by all the terrific writers you want to read, but that's what Malice's shipping service is for! 

Thursday night, Judy and I went out to dinner, and our restraint, such as it is, lasted just as long as it took for us to spot a burger with whipped goat cheese on the menu. In truth, healthy eating is not something I can often be caught doing away from home. Then I collapsed into bed, hoping I would not be punished for eating more red meat than I generally get in a month. [I was not.] 

Alice writes a series about an ex-nun turned PI.
The latest is Second to Nun

Friday, I got up early and eased into the day in the hotel's lobby catching up with people I hadn't seen in a year, and meeting some new folks, including Alice Loweecey, who would be one of my Saturday panel-mates. Here we are caffeinating together.

Even ignoring the caffeine contribution, the rest of Friday flew by, with panels by Agatha Award nominees, and so I was left at the end of the day to deal with my requisite obsessing about my own panel. To distract me, my writing buddy, John Billheimer (John lives on the West Coast, but we exchange chapters for gentle critique), took me out to dinner and then to Eno’s in Georgetown, my favorite wine bar. Okay, I've never been to any other wine bar in Washington DC, but the first time I went there, a few Malices ago, I was having trouble reading the wine list in the dim lighting, and the server gently pointed out that the cell phone beside me had a flashlight. I thanked him. He bowed and said, "Sommelier and tech support." I was won over. 

Saturday started with the Sisters in Crime breakfast, overseen by President Catriona McPherson. How can a woman be that funny at 7:30 in the morning? (Pick up her The Day She Died, nominated for an Edgar this year.) 

Then, at 10:00a, my panel: Cozy Noir?: Private Eyes. Why had I been worried? How can a girl go wrong on a panel with Sara Paretsky, Elaine Viets, Alice Loweecey, Lane Stone, and moderated by Marcia Talley? The room was packed (thank you, Sara and Elaine!), and it was as if we were all old friends, easy give-and-take on the subject and plenty of laughs for the audience. 

The full-panel picture taken by the Malice photog won't be available for a while. Trying to get an amateur group shot before or after was impossible because of the crush of attendees wanting to chat. (My favorite kind of crush.) But here is one taken during the panel of me and Lane Stone (author of the Tiara Investigations series; we are sisters in hair color).

It was a glorious ride. Thanks, ladies, and especially to Marcia, who stepped in at practically the last minute as replacement moderator. And well done, Malice!

And while I was away for only 3 days:

Copyright 2015 Sheila York

Malice: A Forethought

By the time you read this, I’ll be on a train to Washington DC, sleep-deprived, but ready to commit (to) Malice. 

The Malice Domestic writer/fan convention celebrates the traditional mystery, giving the “Cozy” its due in a world that sometimes seems to think that the darker and more inaccessible a mystery is, the better it must be.

This year, for the first time, I’m headed down on Thursday at a reasonable hour. 

For years, Malice competed with the Mystery Writers of America’s Edgar Awards (the Oscars of the mystery world), which were held on Thursday night. So, if you went to the Edgars, you missed part of Malice. Unless you stayed up and took the 4am train.

I did that once, when Death in Her Face came out. I was lucky enough to get a spot in the Malice Go Round, which gives authors who’ve had books published since the previous Malice a chance to meet a few hundred readers in a sort of speed-dating for authors.

There was not enough Refresh in the world to get the red out of my eyes. I looked like a character in a paranormal. 

This year however, the Edgars were held on Wednesday night. I think there might have been some confusion about dates on the part of the hotel. It would explain two bottles of free wine on each table.

The Edgar Awards are the culminating event of Edgar Week, which kicked off Monday evening with the launch of the Mystery Writers of America Cookbook at Mysterious Bookshop. 

“Wickedly good” recipes from dozens of celebrated writers. Here are two. From left, contributors Alafair Burke and Chris Pavone, with editor Kate White, and administrative director of MWA, Margery Flax. 

And here is non-contributor me, catching some cool air and outdoor conversation with the legendary Otto Penzler, Charles Todd (contributor), Judy Bobolik, Ruth Jordan and Crimespree Cats. 

Tuesday, it was the MWA Symposium, panels of really famous writers and the Edgar nominees (some of those are the same people) with cogent insights on the craft, business and heart of writing. That’s followed each year by a cocktail party for MWA members, with agents and editors as guests. That's followed by going out and staying out late in NYC with friends you haven't seen in months!

Then the Edgars. Repeat last sentence above.

Hence, my sleep deprivation.

But I'm looking forward to Malice, especially my panel.  Although there was a frisson of anxiety about that late last week.

The moderator had to bow out suddenly, and moderating is not a job just anyone can step into. It’s not simply coming up with a few questions that fit the topic and asking each panelist the same thing, and hope interesting discussion magically occurs. Not if you do it right.

But – sigh of relief – the excellent Marcia Talley, the author of the Hannah Ives series, agreed to step in. Here’s Marcia with her Agatha for Best Short Story a few Malices ago.

Actually BIG sigh of relief. I know I'm in excellent hands. And this has not always been the case.

I’ve attended dozens of different conventions all across the country and have had largely very enjoyable panel experiences. But I've had a few bad ones, and they haunt me and can cause nervous tics to develop just upon entering a hotel ballroom. Let me give you two examples.  

Second-worst panel I was ever on, the moderator let one panelist hijack the whole show, allowing him to go on and on for about 10 minutes to each question, while the rest of us politely confined ourselves to the 3 minutes that were the alleged maximum. I was halfway into answering only my second question when the timekeeper at the back of the room held up the Time for Q&A sign.

The worst was the one in which the moderator gave us no idea what she was going to do with the topic because she liked to “wing it” and thought that was a great way to encourage spontaneity. I think it's a great way to encourage stuttering and half-considered answers that can make a person look addled. Her focus and the panel topic bore no resemblance to each other. She talked about what interested her, not what the organizers thought might appeal to the readers. In addition, she apparently paid no attention to the bio I sent her, as her introduction got my series wrong; she had confused me with another convention attendee named Sheila.

So you can see how relieved I am that at 10:00 Saturday morning, I will be with Marcia and Alice Loweecey, Sara Paretsky, Lane Stone, and Elaine Viets chatting about “Cozy Noir?: Private Eyes”.

Cozy Noir? I can’t wait to see what we do with that one. 

"Traditional mysteries" – by Malice's definition – are "...mysteries which contain no explicit sex or excessive gore or violence."  For cozies, one would certainly add “no profanity". 

My best friend Kathy once described extreme noir as "never love; never hope."

So, we have quite a spectrum here, and I started thinking about where my series would fall on that spectrum from Cozy to Noir?

I don’t write explicit sex, though you can certainly guess what might have just happened or is about to between Lauren and Peter. It never felt right to make the sex explicit. Lauren’s a lady, a lady of the 1940s, circumspect about her personal life. She’s the first person narrator. I can’t imagine her suddenly being graphic with the reader about sex. 

I don’t do gruesome violence. A couple of people have been shot on the page, and plenty of bodies have been found after the killer was through with them. But my on-page violence is more like the time Peter took the security chief of a major studio and put him headfirst into a file cabinet because the guy had put Lauren in danger, and Peter thought it was a good idea to point out to the guy that he shouldn’t ever do that again.

My series does have some profanity. Occasionally characters who are the kind of people who would swear, do. Though nobody does it very often.

However, my series’ view of the world is considerably darker than a cozy. While the killers are always caught, I'm keenly aware while I’m writing of the difference between justice and the world being put right again. People die, and the lives of those left behind will be changed forever. Those who loved the victim and those who cared about or were betrayed by the killer. And there are some recurring unsavory characters (including one based on the most dangerous gangster in LA in the mid 1940s) who will never get their just desserts.

But I hope Lauren’s wry humor keeps the tone from ever settling in too dark a place.

Speaking of a darker place…  I was going to include a picture here of me and fellow panelists at last year’s Malice.  But I was sitting right under a super-harsh florescent spotlight. Turned to the sky, it could have signaled Batman. Photoshop doesn't seem to have an option for "Make top of subject's head look normal."

Note to self: This year, pick a seat more on the noir end of the spectrum.  

Sheila York

Malice & Mr. Poe

For the last decade, since my first novel was accepted by a publisher, the last days in April and first days of May have been reserved for the Edgars and Malice Domestic.

The Edgar Awards — yes, named for Mr. Poe — are sponsored by the Mystery Writers of America, and are the Oscars of the mystery world. Each of 9 categories is judged by a separate committee of mystery writers. The awards are great fun in a laid-back and witty evening. And you don’t have to show cleavage and be under 40 to get your picture taken! 

Caroline Hart (center) was named a Grand Master this year (along with Robert Crais, far right). 

She gave me my first cover blurb, saying of A Good Knife’s Work “Sheila York combines glamour, humor and the late 1940s in a clever and challenging mystery.” I was a total newbie and she gave me a blurb. It was so kind of her. 

See the full list of this year’s nominees and winners here.




By happy accident, at my table were two of the staff of the Edgar Allan Poe Museum in Richmond, Virginia: Jaime Fawcett, the executive director, and Chris Semtner, the curator. They're young, eager, and super enthusiastic about their jobs. I snapped a picture of them, but while it looked great in the darkened banquet room, I had cut off half of Chris’s face (a Poe-esque touch). A new cell phone. I hate learning curves. 

Then a group of us went to the after-party hosted by the legendary editor Otto Penzler, also owner of the famous Mysterious Bookshop, and after that, slid over to an Irish bar across the street. 

That's Reed Farrel Coleman at the left end of the table with his wife, Roseann. Reed will continue the Robert B Parker Jesse Stone series. The new book, Blind Spot, comes out in September. 

I collapsed into my hotel-room bed about 3:00am, then was back up at 7:00am to catch the train for Washington DC and Malice Domestic.

Malice Domestic is a writer/fan convention dedicated to traditional & cozy mysteries.  

Here’s a shot of me and my cohorts on the panel It’s Alive! Mysteries that Bring History to Life. I wish we’d had more time. I was just getting revved up on the subject of how much the Great Golden Age of Film might owe to the censorship of the Production Code when time ran out.

Congrats to my buds Charles Todd (actually Charles and Caroline Todd, who write as a team) and Chris Grabenstein for their Agatha Awards wins — respectively, Best Historical Novel and Best Children's/Young Adult Novel.  

The best moment for me might have been on a quiet ride up in a packed elevator. Just as she got out, a woman turned to me and said, “I just love your books.” And the doors closed. In unison, everybody else in the elevator turned to me and examined my name tag to see who the heck I was. 

Way too quickly, it was time to go home. Red Caps are the best-kept secret (and let’s keep it that way, all right?) in travel. You check in at the Red Cap station, then when the train is ready, you’re escorted (unencumbered by bags) to the train, boarded before the other passengers. Your bags are stowed in a convenient and empty space — no elbows, no fisticuffs — and then you get to pick your seat (mine’s always in the quiet car). You settle in, relax. Let the other people search, dragging their bags behind them, for the last empty seat on the train. All for a tip. I’m $5 a bag, unless it’s full of books that I’ve greedily acquired at an awards celebration and a convention, then the Red Cap gets hazardous duty pay. 

But may be best to avoid asking Amtrak's virtual chat lady for any help. Last month, when I was making my reservations, I typed in "Senior Discounts" and I got hits on how to get information in Spanish. Golly, I hope that was a tech glitch. 

Sheila York
Copyright 2014

How I Became A Woman of Mystery

“Oh, you’re being such a snob!”

I am a snob, but I always hate it when people catch me at it.

The judgment came from my friend, Jean Griffith, who had just announced to me that she read only mysteries. I sniffed a bit and allowed as how I never read them.

“Well, try this,” she said, brandishing a copy of Cover Her Face by P.D. James as if it was a sword.

Coles House

Jean and I lived at Coles House, then a residence for young ladies in Center City Philadelphia, so I returned to my tiny room and read most of the night. It changed my life (and I still remember whodunnit). Though I had studied and learned to revere contemporary fiction, I couldn’t deny the pull of a book that boasted a beginning, a middle and an end. The characters were well drawn and actually did things (like kill people); they didn’t just sit around displaying their exquisite sensibilities.

So I became quite the little mystery addict. My substance of choice was cheap (when I started reading mysteries they were a mere $2.50) and Jean, like any good supplier, was full of sage advice (“Try Ngaio Marsh. The books are only $2.25 and the print is REALLY small!”)

James Ellroy

Jean and I went to the 1989 Bouchercon. James Ellroy signed my copy of The Big Nowhere (“Stephanie—To the wooooo of your sensuality”), kissed my hand and suggested we might spend the afternoon discussing his books. Alas, the 150 people behind me in the book signing line had other ideas.

While that was a cheap thrill, it was not nearly as important as my introduction to Robin Hathaway. (Jean worked with Bob, Robin’s husband). Robin was not yet published and was at Bouchercon to learn from those who were. On the last day of the conference Jean and I came home with Robin and feasted on cheese, crackers and wine which if you are having them with good friends constitute life’s most perfect meal.

Unfortunately, Jean died in 1997 around the time that Robin was published. Robin and I subsequently became frequent mystery conference roomies going to many Bouchercons and Malice Domestics. (or is that Malices Domestic?)

Somewhere along the way Robin and I discovered that we liked a lot of the noir writers. I still remember the first time I read Cornell Woolrich’s Waltz into Darkness. It made me feel cheap and dirty. I couldn’t wait to feel that way again. Then Robin discovered Noircon, a mystery conference designed to honor David Goodis and other noir writers. Who knew that moral turpitude and depravity could be hilarious? I still remember the early Friday morning panel on erotic elements in noir novels. There was a lively discussion of bestiality with the exchanges like this:

“What’s the big deal about bestiality?”

“The animal can’t consent.”

Robin wrote furiously and pushed a piece of paper in front of me.

I looked down. “They don’t have these kinds of discussions at Malice,” she had written.

Yes, I really miss Robin and am delighted to have a spot on this blog.

Spring High and Low Points

April and May are always filled with activities, most pleasurable, a few, not so. Sometimes too much socializing can be hard on the body and soul. My face is stiff from smiling, my throat is sore from gabbing, and my emotions are ragged from being torn between happy and sad.

Martha Grimes

It began with Edgar Week, the MWA Symposium and the Agents & Editor’s Party. The high point of the Symposium was hearing Martha Grimes bravely admit she had no publisher, and meeting this gracious lady afterward. She has been so prolific, I felt ashamed of my own poor showing. And she is still going strong. At the party, later, it was fun to meet up with friends I hadn’t seen in awhile.

At Malice, again I saw people who I had missed and whose friendship I cherish. I joined in drinking a toast to the memory of Ruth Cavin, my former editor — a sad moment. But I enjoyed the banquet and cheering the latest Agatha winners.

The next event was pure joy. Seeing my eight-year-old grandson as Napoleon in his school play. He was perfect. Didn’t crack a smile, but caused a lot of laughter in the audience. I caught a glimpse of my 2½-year-old grandson and got to push him on a swing. Unfortunately, I missed my five-year-old granddaughter’s dance program because I had to be back in Philadelphia for my 60th High School Reunion! (That’s what I mean about spring being too full!)

The reunion was a mixed blessing. It was fun to see everyone who was there, but not much fun to listen to the list of those who had departed, followed by a moment of silence.

This week I’m staying home, getting rid of the dust that has gathered, giving my husband a break from his diet of Lean Cuisines, and attacking my current manuscript which has languished on my desk far too long.

Robin Hathaway

Onward and Upward

I promised you pictures from Malice Domestic, but I must renege. Due to a number of malfunctions and screw-ups my camera will not turn its pictures loose into either of my computers in their present configurations. Many people took great pictures: Kaye Barley, Beth Groundwater,  Gigi Pandian, and various souls on Facebook such as Liz Zelvin and Robin Templeton. I can't hook you up directly with the Facebook pictures because you may or may not have an account, and if you didn't, the link wouldn't work. But if you're on Facebook you can seek out these people.

Not my machine,
but my camera doesn't work

Malfunctions and screw-ups are infesting many of the tools I use to carry on my life this week. I have to get rid of my ancient sewing machine, a 1962 Kenmore made in Korea that I bought in 1978 for $60 from a fellow state worker who lost her job and became homeless a few weeks later, and subsequently died sitting up in the Trenton railroad station. Her last words to me were to keep oiling the sewing machine. I must have overlooked a crucial oiling, because little rust spots are causing the thing to tangle the thread and rip the fabric. I guess I got my $60 out of it, though.

Tell you what. I'm going to start a home-grown Project Runway thread on my personal blog (http://kategallison.blogspot.com/) as soon as the new machine comes. I found a new online source for yard goods direct from Seventh Avenue. If you like clothes, or you like sewing, you can come on over and follow that. But if you're looking for tidbits about Malice you're out of luck here, because I've been brain dead since about five o'clock last Saturday.

Kate Gallison

Going to Malice

I'm off to Malice Domestic this morning. If I figure out how to co-ordinate my various technological devices sometime over the weekend I'll let you know how it's going. Otherwise I'll put up some pictures next Friday and let you know how it went. Many lovely people will be there. Maybe I'll get to say hello to them and even take their pictures.

Sunday morning I'm on a panel, something about the writers sharing their secrets, wherein we have all promised to spill our guts. We'll see how that goes. Stay tuned.

Kate Gallison