An Amazing April Writing Symposium

Me teaching a packed room on living a literary lifestyle

Over the winter, I was asked to teach at what was presented to me as a unique opportunity. A literary event was being organized and it would be held at Coppertoppe Retreat Center, where my writers' group spent an unforgettable Halloween weekend in 2015. Caring for a disabled spouse makes travel now both rare and difficult, but I committed to the weekend while snow was piling up and the subzero winds howled around Xanadu. I knew I couldn't say no.

Over the next few months, I made arrangements for round-the-clock nursing care, formulated the workshops I would lead, and also set goals, professional and personal, for the weekend. One of the workshops needed to be on a subject close to my heart -- "Living a Literary Lifestyle", something I both preach and practice. I was also requested to hold a lecture on writing Mysteries, as I've had some wonderful successes in recent months in that particular genre. As winter waned, the towering walls of snow around our home melted, and the date arrived, I grew anxious and excited -- the latter because of the opportunity presented, the former because I would be leaving the house, loved one, and cats for the first time in nearly two years. It turned out they were in the best of hands.

I packed lightly, as I always did when traveling, and departed a full day before the symposium was scheduled to begin with good pals Edwin Berne and Judi Calhoun. We traveled down to beautiful Newfound Lake and the retreat center, the first arrivals. Our hosts, Sheila and Bill, were as gracious and pampering as always. An incredible dinner (pork roast wrapped in bacon) greeted us, and we three hung out in the big bedroom upstairs and talked the writing life. After dinner, we gathered downstairs among the cafe tables overlooking the lake and wrote. I began a terrifying ghost story called "The Woman in the Wallpaper", one of three projects I brought to work on between sessions.

The following morning found me again downstairs by 5 a.m., belting out fresh pages at a dizzying speed. Over that first early cup of coffee, our dear friends and fellow conferees The Sisters Dent motored up the long, winding drive and joined us for a scumptious breakfast. I finished the first draft of my story, and soon the masses descended. The symposium kicked off with spirited conversations and my first workshop as, outside, the sky opened up and rain hammered our surroundings.

Among the other esteemed teachers that weekend were Tor Books senior SF editor Mosche Feder and agent Beth Marshea of Ladderbird Literary Agency. Beth held an insightful open discussion on the writer-agent relationship, and on Saturday Moshe led a Milford method-style consultation with six of us novelists on our current projects. My novel-in-progress, Grave Space, earned high marks from he and Beth, and I am presently tearing through the remainder of the novel for submission.

With Edwin Berne, Beath Marshea, Clarence Young, Roxanne Dent, and Judi

Other wonderful workshops were held formally and informally around the enormous table-for-twenty at the heart of Coppertoppe, where a gourmet feast was offered throughout the weekend. Of particular note was a roundtable held by the amazing Clarence Zig Zag Young, a writer based in Detroit. His workshop on the joy of writing filled me with inspiration, and his body of work is superb. Following the completion of my ghost story, in and amongst I also wrapped a draft of "Absolutely Murderous", a murder mystery set at a drag review. That third project brought along for the weekend didn't get touched because, simply, we ran out of time. There was no lack of passion, which infused the atmosphere. Our final treat before departing for home was a workshop led by Dan Szczesny. Following yet another gourmet lunch, we headed for home, all of us committed to writing to the next level. It was a one-of-a-kind experience, and one I'm so grateful to have experienced as part of my literary life.

Adventure: 2016

You might have noticed the decline in frequency of my blog updates in 2016. When the year began, my list of upcoming events seemed perfect for new postings -- I haven't traveled or planned this many literary adventures since 2012, before we bought Xanadu, when I spent a grand total of three-plus months attending retreats, conferences, and readings coast to coast. 2016 has been a whirlwind. It's also been filled with a rapid-fire succession of fresh pages and completed projects and, as such, my days have been devoted to putting down the words, hitting deadlines, and carpe diem-ing. But I love keeping this blog active (I often used to wonder about why bloggers abandon their blogs, even wrote a story about it that's gotten plenty of love for the brilliant Suzanne Robb's Read the End First, 'The Midnight Moon'.). So, without further delay, a report from my 2016 adventures thus far.

In late February, I enjoyed the year's first big highlight -- the official launch of the anthology of New England newsroom-based mysteries containing my tale, 'Exhuming Secrets on a Hot August Day', Murder Ink. What was so fantastic about this particular book party was the grandeur in which it was celebrated -- a lunch hosted by the publisher at M. J. O'Connor's, an upscale restaurant beside Boston's famous Park Plaza Hotel. Along with dear friends Judi Calhoun and Sisters Dent, also fellow co-authors, we drove into the city and were treated like royalty at the venue, our luncheon capped off by tray passes of delicious pastries. The day before, Judi and I traveled three hours south to luxuriate at Karen Dent's wonderful and inviting home, and were welcomed by the most fantastic greeting (as seen in the photograph above), courtesy of Karen's husband. Over the course of that weekend, we dined, wrote, and read together. At the signing, I autographed copies of Ink and got to enjoy the company of the anthology's amazing editor, Dan Szcezesny, who brought me up to the microphone with one of the best intros ever. Later while seated at Karen's big dinner table, I flew through fresh pages of a zombie-themed romance that had me writing like a dervish.

(Reading from Murder Ink in Boston)

I've signed up for three writing retreats in 2016 -- a second trip to The Waterfall House in late September following my wedding, a nature writing-themed retreat to Mount Monadnock in June, and a return visit to When Words Count in Vermont. My time at WWC, March 30 - April 2, couldn't have been more enjoyable or productive. On a bright Wednesday morning, I set out for Vermont with a handful of projects to work on and was borderline giddy when the familiar main house appeared at the left of the road. This time, I stayed in the Hemingway Room (both times before, I was in Arthur Miller -- all the rooms at WWC are named after famous writers). Framed photos of Pappa stared down from three walls, The Hemingway Room desk boasts a glass revolver as part of the decor -- fitting! During that time, I worked on a screenplay, completed three short stories, wrote part of a fourth, and outlined a story assignment (which I later wrote upon my return). My laptop chose to not connect with the center's wifi, so for most of my visit I wrote off the grid. On that Friday, I checked emails on WWC's system and discovered I'd been invited to write for an editor's new project -- horror stories set along desolate highway stretches, had been shortlisted for an anthology I very much wanted to be part of (the story, 'The Night Stalker', has since been contracted for at Blood, Sweat, and Fears: Horror Inspired by the 1970s), and I was invited to write a SF novel for a new imprint out of San Francisco. The food, as expected, was beyond fabulous and included homemade sorbet palate cleansers between courses (coconut one night, lemon rosemary another, orange basil the last night), mussel stew, Cornish game hen, and one of the best cheeseburgers on the planet, the meat, cheese, and bacon all locally sourced. On Friday, I savored homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese with avocado sandwiches for lunch.

(With Pappa in the Hemingway Room at When Words Count)

This coming Saturday, May 21, I depart on the next adventure, one I hadn't anticipated. Last month, I learned that my short story, 'Mandered', won Honorable Mention in the Roswell Awards in Short SF. I'm flying out to Hollywood to attend the ceremony. The Roswells are particularly prestigious -- and doubly cool -- in that winners get to see their stories read/performed on stage by a number of classic TV and film Science Fiction actors. This year's roster includes Dee Wallace (E.T.) and Jasika Nicole (Fringe). At the ceremony on the 22nd, I'll receive my HM certificate, get to rub elbows with some pretty big names, and celebrate another career milestone. Earlier that same day, I'm planning to make a pilgrimage to 7800 Beverly Boulevard in Hollywood, where my beloved movie Xanadu was filmed. And the year isn't even half done yet. To be continued...

BEHOLD -- MURDER INK!

During the summer months at Xanadu, my mornings begin in my spectacular Writing Room and quickly transition to the sofa on our sun porch, where I spend my days writing. On one balmy late May morning, with iced coffee and blueberry seltzer sweating within reach, lap desk on lap, and pen racing across the page, I happened to look up and noticed something out of place in the view beyond the windows. That part of our home faces the bend in the road, and the brooding gray house that has sat empty for over a decade. A black Mercedes Benz was parked at the curb in front of the house. My pen skidded to a stop. I sipped from my iced coffee, got up, grabbed another notepad from my Writing Room, settled back on the sofa between our two rescue cats, and wrote these words: Stare out the same window long enough and you're destined to see something.

In one of those Eureka! moments, an entire new story was born. I put pen to the fresh notepad and began writing "Exhuming Secrets on a Hot August Day", a tale about a reporter obsessed with a crime that took place at his best friend and confident's house a decade earlier. Like me that same month, the reporter had lost his estranged father, and was, in fact, writing the obituary when he noticed a car parked in front of the house, scene of the unsolved crime. That first longhand draft of "Exhuming" dashed itself off over the next two days and was accepted into Murder Ink, an anthology of mystery and crime fiction set in New England newsrooms edited by Dan Szczesny. This weekend, Murder Ink will be given a spectacular launch at The New England Newspaper and Press Association Conference held in Boston at the Park Plaza Hotel, complete with luncheon and author reading. I'll be sharing the opening to "Exhuming" (and long last holding my beautiful contributor copies, which feature stunning cover art by Donna Catanzaro), and there's confirmation that a Murder Ink 2 is in the works. In fact, I've been invited to feature my character from the first round in a sequel for this next installment.

Many of my fellow authors in Murder Ink's stellar Table of Contents shared the back-stories behind their stories.

Judi Calhoun on "Murder at the Monitor": "I was observing city workers out the window as they were cutting down trees -- not just any trees, but the birch, New Hampshire’s state tree. Having traveled across the USA many times, I pondered the idea that in some places in US cities, certain official trees are protected. But the birch, not so much in our state, perhaps because they are so plentiful. I was thinking about the nature of my character, detective Rick Knightly. As I was looking at those tall white trees, I saw him interrupt the workers and irreverently unzip his fly.  The moment I pictured this, Rick Knightly began to unfold in my head. I wanted to know more about him. So, I began to do a voice journal and I interviewed my character. I discovered he really was an exceptionally brilliant detective who could easily solve crimes, but he wasn’t happy because he couldn’t make his wife happy, and this was a very big puzzle to Rick. I thought maybe his wife Wanda was a sort of a demanding woman who really wanted to have some birch trees planted in the yard. Rick told me that after their breakup, he sort of fell apart and began to drink a little heavier, pissing Wanda off even more and without even realizing it he was sabotaging their relationship. Other than his wife, his other love was his job. That’s what kept Rick going: the love of the game…detective work, interrogating suspects, and quickly solving crimes. And at the end of his interview he told me he realized the one thing he wanted most of all is his wife back, but he really doesn’t know how to be that man."

Tom Sheehan on "Grave Robber Extraordinary": "The basis of the story, theft of cemented coins, is true. We were kids loving the Saturday movies which, at that time, included an A picture, a B picture, the news, the coming attractions, a comic or cartoon session in a series, such as The Three Stooges or Popeye, Olive Oyl, Wimpy, and Bluto. Oftentimes there was no promise of a few pennies for the theater. That's when we struck on the idea of doing a little hammer and chisel work. But all those players are gone now, my theater pals, the coin man who decorated his steps, and the theater itself, twisted apart thirty years ago. I am the lone survivor of our group and, as I have captured many other childhood incidents, I thought it best to bring this one to paper. That's how this story started ... and my often going past Mr. Zinias's house on the side of the hill, as close as a house can be to Route 1 heading north, our busiest road. I pass it often. I look up at it often. I remember my pals often, and brought them close once again in this story."

Dan Rothman on "Nothing Nasty on Page One": "In search of a setting for a Murder in a Newsroom, I thought first of Manchester, New Hampshire – thirty-five square miles of mean streets and dark alleys. There’s probably a murder there every fifteen minutes. And a famous (or infamous?) statewide newspaper once had its newsroom just a couple of blocks off Elm Street. However, I’m not a city boy. I live fifteen miles west of the Queen City, in a small town whose hills are patterned with stonewalls and fields and forests. This is a different world. I’ve had moose in my backyard, and the pileated woodpeckers which hammer on my beech trees remind me of prehistoric pterodactyls.  It’s quiet here, except for the woodpeckers; my town recently appeared on a list of New Hampshire’s ten safest. Even so… I’ve got a file of Untimely Deaths in my town’s history that goes back 250 years. Under the cotton-puff clouds which float lazily in the blue sky over my village, who knows what unspeakable deeds might be happening at this very minute? What if I wrote a story of a murder -- or murders -- in a small town? A small town with its own newspaper? Let me hasten to add that my short story ‘Nothing Nasty on Page One’ is not necessarily based on my town nor the local newspaper which appears in my mailbox the first week of every month."

Roxanne Dent and Karen Dent on "The Death of Honeysuckle Rose": "When editor Dan Szczesny and Plaidswede Books put out the call for Murder Ink, a collection of crime fiction based in New England, three words, Noir, Mystery and Newsroom Crime immediately inspired us to write a story. The images they conveyed pulled us back to the 1940s and ‘50s, when the gritty, dark and cynical world of Film Noir and the popularity of newspapers were all the rage. We thought of films like The Maltese Falcon and Double Indemnity and tough detectives like Humphrey Bogart and Robert Mitchum, but decided to turn the genre on its head and focus on an equally tough and cynical female reporter. When we started looking for a New England setting, we were blown away by what we discovered about Portsmouth’s involvement in World War II and a little known story by today’s generation."

O. Lucio D'Arc on "One Way Dead End": "I had been working for several months on a novelette loosely titled, "Pine Street Blues," and was up to about 22,000 words when this anthology opportunity came along. Was there any way I could reduce my work to the 8,000-word limit required for the book? Sure, I told myself. I've been editing for four decades in the newspaper business in one way or the other. So I did. It's probably a better tale now. I tell everybody I whittled it down by deleting all the sex scenes, which is only partially true. When I first started writing I just had in my mind a scene in a ratty bar, where the finished story, ‘One Way Dead End,’ begins, and I had no idea where it was going, how many murders there would be along the way or who-dun-it. It all came out of my head. I've never had so much fun."

Mark Arsenault on "Murder by the Letter": "A reporting colleague of mine came across the call for stories for the Murder Ink anthology a few days before the last call for submissions, and referred it to me. So ‘Murder by the Letter’, a crime story about newspaper reporters, is itself a piece of deadline writing. I’m normally pretty slow with fiction, but in this case I managed to get it done because I was so painfully familiar with the larger setting of the story, which formed the atmosphere and guided the tone of the writing. It is a crime story set within the slow-motion murder of the newspaper industry, which I have watched for twenty years. Most people understand how and why the industry has suffered. Publishers, facing falling revenue, cut back on their newsrooms and weaken their product. Readers aren’t fooled; they understand when they’re getting less, and some won’t stand for it. So revenues drop some more, and the cycle repeats like a mindless snake eating its own tail. So when I dropped a smart-mouthed protagonist into this setting, the writing went unusually fast. I got the tone I wanted on the first try. With a little sleepless, hysterical, forget-to-eat effort, I made deadline."

Victor D. Infante on the “The Death of a Copy Editor: “I have a confession to make. I began writing the first draft of this short story at 6 a.m. the day it was due, and I finished it by noon. What can I say? I’m a journalist. I thrive on deadlines. But I had wanted for a while to capture that frustration of that vanishing aspect of journalism, the despair and anger that came when a job that’s already implicitly invisible disappears even more.” 

Amy Ray on "A Nose For News": "As any New Englander will remember, we were slammed with snow last winter (Boston hit a record 108.6 inches!) While digging out my walk, hoisting the shovel high enough to clear the snow bank that towered over my head, a crime started to form in my imagination. What if a murder occurred just before one of these killer snowstorms hit, covering the victim under an icy mound until the spring thaw? Drawing on my prior freelance experience, my protagonist was naturally a female reporter for a small weekly newspaper. I wanted to make my story different from what I imagined the other submissions would be like -- gritty, hard-boiled, noir -- so I wrote a cozy mystery, complete with animal sidekick. The canine hero, named Poe after the newspaper owner’s favorite author, was inspired by my friend’s adorable pug, Peter. I enjoyed writing in the cozy genre so much that I’ve since e-published the first of my Antiques Alley Short Mysteries. Even though I grumbled my way through last winter’s succession of storms, the endless shoveling let my mind wander and unearth ideas as fresh as the snow falling around me."

Donna Catanzaro on creating Murder Ink's killer cover: "When George Geers, the publisher, asked me to create a collage for the cover of a pulp fiction newsroom collection I immediately imagined the scene. It would be a smoky, dirty room, cluttered with files and old crime photos, placed in the past, back in the heyday of pulp fiction. I hadn’t read any of the stories that would be included in the book -- in fact I don’t think the stories had been chosen at that point. But as George informed me, pulp fiction covers rarely ever related to the contents of the books. As I worked on the piece a story developed. I placed a man’s body under the desk with an empty bottle of alcohol. Is he dead or passed out? A beautiful but tough newswoman, smoking a cigarette, is holding an old Graflex camera. She’s worked extra hard to get this position, so of course, she has arrived earlier than her male co-worker. Or maybe she’s been there all night. Has she photographed a crime? Or did she photograph the man under the desk for blackmail? The newsman clutches the phone. He just walked in. But who is he going to call: the police, the man’s wife, or his boss? He hesitates. Around the office are possible weapons: a gun and a letter opener -- but have they been used? Like most of my work, I imagine it to be a scene from a movie, or in this case, a short story. I invite a writer to finish this story if they find it inspiring, for the next Murder Ink!"

From the Bookshelf: THE JANUS DEMON by Roxanne Dent

Forget rainy days -- Roxanne Dent's The Janus Demon is the perfect read for any day or night, regardless of the weather.  The author’s paranormal dark fantasy, which travels a gritty roadmap from New York City all the way to Fey-ville and back, tells the tale of detective Mick Grimaldi, a private eye dogged by more than one dark secret.  Grimaldi’s world is populated by demons and a vengeful vampire crime boss, Kryak, responsible for murdering Mick’s parents.  From the moment readers enter the detective’s office – finding it overturned by a third-rate demon thug in search of information – they are treated to a nonstop thrill ride.  Soon on, Grimaldi crosses paths with his first love, Jasmine, who leads him deeper into a myriad of dangers.  Gorgeously written, even at its bloodiest (ie, the roasted white elves and theater scene battle between shape shifters), Dent's latest novel, released by the fine folks at Great Old Ones Publishing, is a must-have for any bookshelf!

I first met Roxanne seven summers ago, almost to the day, and was instantly smitten with both the author and her flare for telling stories.  It was my pleasure to sit down with the brilliant scribe and genuinely lovely lady to discuss Mick Grimaldi, his world, and hers.

Mick Grimaldi and his world are spectacular! Take us into the genesis of your novel, The Janus Demon.

I have a great many favorite authors in different genres, but the ones who influenced me to write The Janus Demon, are Jim Butcher, George Martin, Charlene Harris, Ann Rice, Robert Jordan, J.R.R. Tolkien and Ann McCaffrey.  As a child and teen, I also read fairy tales. Once I started reading adult paranormal novels, I couldn’t stop, often reading until the wee hours of the morning I liked them so much, I decided to write one myself, and began collecting information on myths and legends of ancient Ireland, Celtic names (I’m a quarter Irish), elves, the Fey, demons, witches, Griffins, shape shifters and all things magical.

You’re what I’d call a born writer. Share with us the Roxanne Dent story.

Although English was always my favorite subject in school, I didn’t start writing creatively until I was in my teens. Instead, I created stories in my head. When I’d see a movie or television show I loved, I’d act out the different parts with me in the starring role. If I didn’t like the ending, I’d change it. This might have something to do with my early upbringing by two actors. My mother would act out dramatic roles, usually Shakespearian tragedies in order to entertain me. As a child, I loved adventure stories, which included westerns, pirate movies and mysteries, although Peter Pan left an indelible impression on me that lasted for years. Later on, I became addicted to shows like Twilight Zone, Alfred Hitchcock, Star Trek and Outer Limits. Growing up, I avidly read National Geographic magazines and watched shows dealing with foreign cultures or ancient civilizations. They fascinated me. When I began writing, my love of foreign and dead cultures led me to place many of my stories in other time periods.

In High School, I began writing poetry. For the most part it was sad, tragic and full of teenage angst. However, I wrote a poem “The Devil’s Disciple,” which tackled racism in and around New York City. I entered it in a statewide competition. When it was accepted, I began to think for the first time about the possibility of becoming an author. I wrote my first story, “Karine”, a Regency novella for my sister Karen who was a teen and addicted to Georgette Heyer Regencies. A year later, I sold my first two novels, Island of Fear, a Gothic mystery and The White Fog, a Gothic paranormal to Avon Paperbacks.

What’s your process? How do you work?

Since I’m an early riser, I get up every day by 6 or 7 a.m., make a pot of French Roast, check out my e-mails and Facebook for about forty-five minutes, walk with my sister for about three miles before I start writing. I always have several projects in the works or a new idea to work on. I never lack for ideas. If I don’t have one, don’t wake up with one and am not inspired by something on the news, I will troll the internet to see what contests are out there and appeal to me. I keep a deck of playing cards by my side to shuffle when I’m stuck or just looking for the right word. If my sister, Karen, also a very talented writer, who has recently completed her first novel, A Case to Kill For, a paranormal Noire, is not on her way to work in Boston, we head out to Panera’s or Starbucks to write. I love this as I often get a lot more accomplished than at home. There’s something about smelling the food and coffee, the murmuring of the people around us, while free of guilt over chores not done that spurs me on to write. If Karen’s at work, I’ll sometimes grab my laptop and walk around the corner to the awesome café, “Wicked Big,” and write there.

You are prolific and juggle multiple projects, in multiple lengths and genres. How do you manage to maintain your consistent level of quality?

Perhaps it’s because I’m a Gemini, but ever since I first started writing and selling, I’ve always written in different genres, including Regencies, mysteries, westerns, fantasies, sci-fi, horror and YA, short stories and novels. I’ve also written screenplays, one of which The Pied Piper, won first prize in Fade-in Magazine. Karen and I also collaborated on plays together, which were put on at the Firehouse Theater in Newburyport, Massachusetts and collaborated on short stories. When we lived in NYC, we belonged to “The Sunday Club,” a group of independent filmmakers who gathered together to write and direct short movies made in one day. Out of this came Valentine’s Day, a three-minute thriller which won the Audience Choice Awards at the Bare Bones International Film Festival. Whenever I begin to write in a new genre or form, I find it exciting and inspiring and sometimes nerve wracking but always interesting and a great learning experience.  My father once said if you’re a writer – write. I’ve taken classes, workshops, attended conferences and belonged to critique groups and support groups. They are all helpful and enriching, but I also believe if you keep writing, you will get better and better. It’s the nature of the beast.

Is there a sequel to the novel in the works?

Beyond the Iberian Sea, Book Two of The Janus Demon, is in the works. It shifts between Mick Grimaldi, the lonely, sardonic, shape shifting NYC detective and Bronagh, the bitter, vengeful daughter of a Volk King. In addition to Beyond the Iberian Sea, I’m nearing the end of a Steampunk novella. My short horror, “The Haunting of Jemima Nash,” based on a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier, was accepted into an anthology for the Whittier Museum. It’s debut is September  26^th at the Whittier Museum. I’m proud to say my story “Heart of Stone,” was in the fabulous horror anthology, Enter At Your Own Risk: Dreamscapes Into Darkness by Firblog Publishing, which was recently released.

Anthocon 2012 Report

Anthocon 2012 loomed large and exciting at the end of a year-long schedule that found me traveling from one end of the country to the other, to conferences, writing retreats, and readings in venues as large as New York City, as intimate as Concord, New Hampshire. The second annual conference for writers in my home state was the culmination of a year's worth of adventures that put me on the road and took me away from home for a grand total of almost three months -- a full season!  I had such a great time at last year's Anthocon, I couldn't wait to reunite with so many of the wonderful writers and readers who made that time unforgettable for all the right reasons.  Though after realizing how long I've been gone from home and family in 2012 and cutting my Sophomore stay from four days down to two, the time was even more wonderful than expected. In addition to the aforementioned reunions with such fantastic folk as one of my favorite publishers, Charles Day, Jon Michael Emory, David Bernstein, Marianne Halbert, and the fabulous Sisters Dent, my good gal-pals Karen and Roxanne, this year's festivities introduced new luminaries to my world and included numerous attendees from my weekly writer's group.  Of added sparkle, my creepy short story, "The Guests," was accepted to appear in the gorgeous conference release set to have its unveiling at a special Saturday night ceremony, the anthology edited by con-guru Mark Wholley, appropriately titled Anthology: Year One.

I planned to ride in with Charlie, who's been my excellent hotel roomie now through four conferences. But an icy gray day punctuated by a Nor'Easter that was more blather than bluster left me craving the warmth of my little home on the hill.  So I instead headed up on Friday with my good pal Philip Perron, who runs the fantastic Dark Discussions podcast.  Philip is effortless to hang with.  We arrived to Portsmouth and the hotel wherein the conference was in full swing to be greeted by dozens of beloved faces -- friends from our writer's group, the Dents, even new chums known formerly only via Facebook, like the inimitable and vibrant Mandy DeGeit.

Friday night with the Sisters Dent

After acquainting and reacquainting, I retired to my room on the fifth floor and put down a few fresh pages on one of my works-in-progress, a memoir about a summer memory from childhood started in June that has mutated and grown monstrous in size -- some 54,000 words at latest count, with at least another 10 k to go.  Up early the next morning, I met the Dents for breakfast at the diner next door for delicious Eggs Benny and iced coffee, and then moseyed into the Dealer's Room, where I promised Charlie I would cover the table while he took story and novel pitches from writers hoping to break in with Evil Jester Press, specifically the new graphic novel project (one of my short stories is being scripted to appear in the first issue, alongside a tale by Jack Ketchum).  It was my absolute pleasure to be seated beside the dealer's table of the fine folk from Firbolg Publishing, helmed by the brilliant Dr. Alex Scully.  Alex and I talked at length, and within minutes of meeting, she offered me a story assignment in an upcoming Lovecraftian project. The press is republishing Lovecraft's "The Call of Cthulu" and I'll be writing a story told from a most unexpected perspective.  I was floored, inspired, giddy.  Adding to my excitement was seeing every print copy of my gargantuan collection of stories both short and long, The Fierce and Unforgiving Muse, vanish from the table.  I signed autographs on that book and The Call of Lovecraft, rubbed elbows with so many wonderful fellow scribes and fans and, following a light lunch, took in a reading by Alex's talented sister, B. E. Scully, who shared from her incredible short story collection, The Knife and the Wound. B. E. knocked it out of the park -- I left the conference's dedicated reading room with chills!

With Marianne Halbert and our beloved babies

Saturday night's big book party to celebrate the release of the official conference anthology arrived, but as soon as I had my copy in hand, I departed.  I was physically and mentally exhausted, not only from Anthocon but eleven months of adventures to islands, inns, retreat centers, and readings.  I returned home, and the next day began to cook in anticipation of our now-annual post-Anthocon dinner gathering.  The Scullys, my friend Douglas Poirier from writer's group, David and his gorgeous girlfriend Sandy Shelonchik, and Charlie all rendezvoused at our casa for a delicious buffet that included artichoke heart dip, crackers and grapes, roasted chicken and vegetables over broccoli and cheddar rice with a bleu cheese sauce, a romaine, strawberry, and red onion salad with raspberry vinaigrette, frosted brownies, deviled eggs, and cherry-seltzer punch.  It was a fitting follow up to last year's time.  Like so many conferees, I can't wait for Anthocon 2013, one of my few travel plans for next year.

Camp NECon 2012 Report: Part Two

(with the Sisters Dent, Karen and Roxanne)

I woke rested on Friday, July 20, the first full day of NECon 2012.  Down to the lounge area, where the mythical sofa from 2008 was sadly missing from the landscape (the matching ottomans remain, set before other less-comfortable sofas).  At just after six in the morning, I uncapped my pen, withdrew a fresh pad of lined paper, and began writing "The Eclipse," one of the short stories for my new collection forthcoming from editor Rob Reaser, 13 Creature Features (deets to follow).  The cafeteria's manager-ess graciously brewed a pot of iced coffee.  Based upon my request (read: groveling), she took pity and the iced coffee flowed 24/7 throughout the rest of the weekend.

It poured for most of our gray Friday in Rhode Island. Karen and Roxanne, Scott Goudsward, and I pulled off our Lovecraft panel at 3 that afternoon.  Though the panel was not what I originally conceived and presented to the NECon committee -- one specifically devoted to The Call of Lovecraft -- the hour went well and my wonderful authors in the anthology were still able to discuss their stories to a decent-sized audience.  The heat in the conference room was borderline volcanic; following the panel's conclusion, I returned to my igloo under the a-c upstairs and wrote for an hour before moseying back downstairs for dinner.  After the meal, sisters Dent, the talented Morven Westfield, and I headed to the farthest corner of the lounge to write.  Rain flowed down the greenhouse-style windows.  It was like writing beneath a waterfall, an experience similar to one I enjoyed at a writer's retreat in North Conway, New Hampshire.

Friday night saw a multitude of events -- movies, social mixers, music.  I retired early, passed out quickly, and woke to a gorgeous and sunny Saturday.  The rain blew the humidity out and after a decent breakfast buffet, I returned to my room and slid open the big window facing down on the central courtyard.  Fresh, sweet air swept through the room.  I wrote "The Eclipse" to conclusion just in time to welcome Evil Jester Press publisher and good pal Charles Day, who drove up from Long Island for his first-ever NECon.

(with Scott T. Goudsward on the Lovecraft Panel)

At dinner, which boasted delicious roasted pork and a variety of cakes, I, Charlie, Sisters Dent, Scott, David Bernstein, Sandy Shelonchik, Morven, and others flocked to the longest table at the back of the cafeteria, jokingly referred to as 'the naughty table.' Conversations about writing flowed until well after dinner service concluded and most of the conference's 140-plus attendees disbanded for the next leg of the Saturday schedule.  This, like writing at the desk in my hotel room beside the open window, became one of those wonderful recollections that will stay with me forever.  I returned upstairs and wrote for an hour or so, promising the others that I would join the gang downstairs for the traditional NECon roast.  The victim/guest was Darrell Schweitzer, the Lovecraft authority who moderated our panel a day before.  In the hellish heat of the main conference room, we were entertained by numerous musical numbers from which the official anthem of NECon was chosen.  At 11:30, I excused myself from the roast and headed back upstairs, barely conscious of my own name when my head hit the pillow.

Up early on Sunday, the conference's final day, I wandered downstairs, guzzled iced coffee, and completed the longhand draft of "Sticks and Stones," my second full story penned while at NECon 2012. Before breakfast service, I also got down another 1,000 words on a new novella aimed as my follow up to "Mason's Murder," available on August 3, my first release from the fine folks at MLR Press.  Another decent lunch and then NECon officially concluded.

(Dinner with the cool kids -- Charlie Day, Karen, Roxanne,
and David Bernstein's elbow)

When all was said and done, I had been invited to submit a short story to an anthology, another to a new graphic novel line, and was given four solid professional market leads.  Agent Lori Perkins asked if I would be interested in penning a pop culture book on the TV series Glee -- having never watched it, I declined; instead, I pitched a similar book on a show that I'm more than conversant with, Project Runway. There was also discussion about other novels, my back list, and new projects at the front.  The level of excitement I returned home with was supernatural in its intensity.  That wonderful energy, I am sure, will sustain me until next year's conference.  NECon 2013, I'm so there!

Camp NECon 2012 Report: Part One

When I think fondly back on my first Camp NECon experience in 2008, it's to the lounge area of the Bayside Conference Center in Portsmouth, Rhode Island I travel.  On a ridiculously large and comfortable sofa decorated in wild colors outfitted with matching ottomans, I and two of my favorite wordsmiths from my first writer's group sat and wrote on a lazy Saturday July afternoon while other attendees played miniature golf, bowled, swam, or hung about in the dealer's room.  I wrote several stories at that year's NECon, on that sofa, and sold all of them upon my return home.  I was courted by the as-yet un-launched Ravenous Romance to be their first signed novelist (and as of this entry have seven novels and numerous short stories in both their back and front lists).  Briefly, I entered into a relationship with a New York agent as a result of the conference.  But it's that afternoon's session under the cool, beautiful a-c on a miserably humid day with Scott T. Goudsward and Tracy L. Carbone, writers whose work I adore and whose friendships I cherish, I remember most.

I missed the intervening years of the Northeastern Writers Conference's summer gatherings between 2008 and 2012 for a number of reasons, so it was with great anticipation that I prepared for this season's event, a late birthday gift. Tracy would be absent for the first time in memory; a regular NECon fixture, Scott would be there.  So, too, would good friends David Bernstein and Sandy Shelonchik, the dynamic duo I'd last seen during my trip to New York City.  Also of paramount excitement, the Sisters Dent, Karen and Roxanne, invited me to carpool to Rhode Island with them. On the Wednesday night before heading out, a silver Volkswagon traveling at Mach 12 ran into a telephone pole down the hill from our home. Lights flashed and flickered.  The power lines waggled as though tightrope walkers were having a conference of their own up there.  But while the rest of the neighborhood went dark on a brutally hot night, we never lost the juice -- we never do at our antique fortress thanks to being on the same circuit as the fire station.  Despite worries of bad omens and portents, I traveled to Wednesday Night Writers Group as roadblocks were raised around us and emergency vehicles took up guard duty.  I returned from writer's group to see the lights on in our home while the rest of the landscape sat dark, packed efficiently in the morning, and headed out for Massachusetts to meet the lovely Dent Sisters.

(Me, with Scott T. Goudsward, Karen Dent, Roxanne Dent)

Despite one or two last-second snags, we hit the road on time amid a flurry of talks on the writing life, our present and future projects, and what to expect when we reached our destination. Honestly, I didn't know apart from my own dated previous experience.  I was wearing one of my three new WRITER T-shirts, the one with the dripping red candle for the "I", and when we stopped for a quick bite and a bathroom break somewhere near the Massachusetts border, two young men working behind the counter jumped upon me with glee, driven into a frenzy by the message.  It turns out, both are writers.  We told them about the conference, I offered them a few leads on where to submit their stories, and off we went, soon there.

Seeing the conference center unleashed the happiest of emotions.  I loved my one previous NECon stay, and I was hopeful the experience would be like the literary equivalent of a palate cleanser following my spring visit to World Horror Con.  From the moment we arrived, my expectations were exceeded!  To start with, I discovered that I had my own private hotel room -- no roommate (not a bad thing, but there was something decadent about knowing the space was mine, all mine!).  Within seconds of checking into the conference, I met up with Scott and was able to hand him a copy of The Call of Lovecraft, which contains his excellent story, "That Place."  Up to my room, a-c cranked, I turned on my new laptop and got onto the WiFi, listened to a little music, found the local ABC affiliate, and enjoyed my afternoon dose of decadence, General Hospital (featuring the return of the fabulous Kassie Wesley-DePaiva in the role of Blair Cramer, her character from my late, lamented One Life to Live). I moseyed downstairs and shook hands, hugged, and enjoyed reuniting with a parade of lovely, literary faces.  Scott, Karen, Roxanne, and I gathered in the central courtyard outside and caught up. It was another of those moments I'll never forget, memorable for all the right reasons.  My biggest 2012 resolution has been to be around healthy, happy folk; to surround myself only with good people away from home, as I am surrounded at home where I spend 99% of my life.  I couldn't have been in the company of better.

Thursday nights at NECon culminate with an annual welcoming event known as the 'Saugie Roast.'  Saugies are the prime rib of hot dogs and are found only in that region of Rhode Island.  The Saugie Roast was scheduled for 10 p.m. -- a notorious early riser, ten is normally well past my bedtime.  But I was hopeful that I'd join the rest of my peers in the central courtyard.  At 8, immersed in the new season of Project Runway up in my icy hotel room, I figured I'd make it, but then the dinner I ordered arrived, and Runway ended with me passed out and sleeping soundly.  I didn't get a single Saugie.  But I left Camp NECon with so much more.  Read Part Two for the deets!