Barbara Seranella

I know Barbara Seranella from conferences, mostly’e2’80’94that’e2’80’99s how mystery writers usually meet, since in our daily life we tend to be barnacles, working our own particular patch of the sea bed. Our paths had come together briefly a few times, but not until the Monterey Left Coast Crime were we on assigned to the same panel.

Barbara, Dana Stabenow, and I, on a panel ostensibly discussing first lines. I know Dana well, but I hadn’e2’80’99t read one of Barbara’e2’80’99s books in a while so I bought her most recent, and wondered why I’e2’80’99d let my reading of her lapse. Real characters, a zing of dialogue, clever setting’e2’80’94solid books, and great fun.

I really shouldn’e2’80’99t say the panel was ‘e2’80’9costensibly’e2’80’9d on first lines because we did cover a great deal of solid content, and in fact it turned out to be a hour of fast-paced one-liners, genial insults, raunchy comments, and laughter. I doubt the tape caught half of it. It was an unlikely but brilliant match, and the only reason I was thinking of going to Bouchercon in Chicago this Labor Day was because Dana, Barbara, and I were set for another panel, and it’s not often you get the chance to play with two razor-witted, funny, creative women like them.

Barbara is currently in the hospital fighting for her life, a new liver in place–her second transplant, as her body rejected the first it was given. And yes, I’e2’80’99ve seen the recent study that says anonymous prayer has no power of healing, but still.

Barbara, we’e2’80’99re with you.