The Hungry Detective

Jared and I drove away from Indianapolis four years ago. At this point we had attended the last three out of four Bouchercons. We were pros. San Francisco was financially our of reach, but St Louis was a year away, so maybe. Soon Cleveland and Albany would virtually be in our backyard. We attended none of them.  St. Louis was just far enough away. Cleveland rolled around right around the time I was trying to get out of town, and Albany is now a whole country away. Its been a bummer. The place is fun and it was always great to spend some time with my pal. So finally, Long Beach. I get to fill our a registration form. Make a hotel reservation. Awkwardly try to met authors. Go into the book room. Spend a lot of money. Ya know, fun stuff. Save your money Jared. Your kids can go to public school one more year...

I put off looking at my credit card statement for a few days. I had, indeed, spent a lot of money on books recently. Perhaps I should have been more concerned. I wasn't. What I knew was three years ago my interest in Crime Fiction switched off. I cast about trying to figure out what was wrong. I beat myself up about. This blog, the free books people were sending me, and 25 years of reading Crime Fiction will give you serious pause when suddenly you lose all interest. I was more concerned by that, so much more than the money. Three years ago was also the summer that the wife and I decided it was time to pull up stakes and give Rochester the long goodbye. It was the summer I would make and lose a number of friends due to geographic separation. It was the summer Wallace laid his head down for the last time. I wish I had given away the books sooner. Stopped reading so many authors who were not worth my time. Wished I had made the list. But I didn't. Timing, a friend told m...