Thursday I managed the only quiet period Iâ€™m going to get here in Madison, a couple of hours in the hotel reading my notes for the panels and ironing the shirts I dutifully pack in a no-iron packing thingie that always need ironing when I arrive. Which is what I get for not liking polyester, I know.
Then a nice lunch in the convivial company of Laura and Kristin and Mary and Meaghan and Jan and especially Meredith, who brought the lunch together. Thanks, ladies, for your kind words and the turquoise bee-pin, which I shall wear with pleasure. And if you post any photos online, stick the address in the comments box, okay?
Then the panel on the topic of who weâ€™d like to kill if we could get away with it, a great combination of humor and content, with Jan Burke, John Connnolly, the newish writer Chris Grabenstein, all ably moderated by David Corbett. After a signing, I found the Random House cocktail partyâ€”where, since it was held in a brewery, one could actually get a beer instead of the ubiquitous white wineâ€”and chatted with friends in a stone basementâ€”pardon me, the Rathskellerâ€”before whipping off to a too-fast dinner with my beloved friends Barbara and Rob, owner of the Poisoned Pen bookstore and Poisoned Pen Press, respectively (PPP being my new UK publishers, and have you all ordered your copies?) Drinks with some of the judges on the Edgars committees, and back to the hotel room by eleven. Today will be breakfast with my editor, lunch with Margaret Maron, drinks with Val McDermid, and dinner with Dana Stabenow. Bliss