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I am in the middle of a great purge of books. It began late last year when I realized I couldn’t organize my library because there was no space to move anything. I decided to get rid of roleplaying game books I knew I would never use again. They filled two large boxes but their absence barely made a dent in my overflowing shelves. Next, I weeded out about 100 other books and donated them to the public library. In doing that, I discovered another cache of roleplaying game books that I’d forgotten I owned.

The discovery made me look at my library with a critical eye. A double-row of books crammed on every shelf, I couldn’t find things I wanted and didn’t know what I had. The clutter was overwhelming. I needed to do more than weed a few books. I started in the closet, where I long ago installed overflow shelving that was now overflowing. I picked up each book in turn and asked myself, do I need this? The answer was usually no. I followed up with, do I want this? Surprisingly, the answer was rarely yes.

That’s not to say that I regretted buying any of them. I enjoyed reading them, and I don’t regret the money spent on them. But so many were either novels I’ll never read again or research material for projects long completed or abandoned. I freed over fifteen feet of shelf space.

What’s left are books I actually want to own. Sure, there are a handful  that are borderline–I erred on the side of keeping things because it’s impossible to un-donate them once they’re gone and I can always get rid of them later–but the library is less cluttered and I no longer feel burdened by possessing books I don’t even want.

This week I started rewriting No Humans Involved after spending some time rethinking the characters and plot. I’m making slower progress than I’d hoped. A combination of lack of sleep and work stress has made it difficult to focus, and I’ve written less than 500 words a day.

The good news is that what I’ve written so far looks good. I’m currently taking Margie Lawson’s Empowering Characters’ Emotions course on-line and while I have less time than I’d like to participate, the lectures and assignments have helped me improve my writing a great deal. Now all I need to do is pick up the pace in order to meet the September 1 deadline.

At a bookstore last weekend, I was browsing the mystery shelves when two women started doing the same. One wanted something to read on a plane ride, and her friend’s idea of helping was to spoil the ending of every book she pulled from the shelf: “Oh, you’d like this one. It’s about this girl who gets killed, and at the end they find out it was her father who killed her.” Or “That one was so cool because it turns out that her boss was embezzling money and he killed her to cover it up.” She gave away the ending to at least ten books.

Last week, a part on my notebook computer broke. The machine still runs but I can’t cart it around anymore. It’s now stationary in my library and I’m online less frequently as a result. It’s inconvenient to trot to the back of the house. When it was right there, it was easy to check email whenever the urge hit me.

I’m appalled to discover just how often that urge does hit. Like a rat in a Skinner box, I’d become conditioned by infrequent, random rewards to keep pressing that lever. Now, even though it’s not sitting next to me anymore, I still find myself thinking about “getting on the computer” every few minutes.

The worst part is that I knew what was happening to me and couldn’t break the cycle. I’d frequently tell myself that I should put the computer away, only to turn it back on moments later. Thank goodness for shoddy parts. I’m too cheap to spend money repairing the machine or replacing it, so I’ll have to find something else to do with my time instead of continuously reinforcing a useless conditioned reflex.

I’ve heard that you can tell how good a party was by how long it takes to recover from it. The same thing can be said about writers’ conferences. By that measure, this year’s Sleuthfest was a tremendous success, because I’ve been home for three days and I’m still not fully caught up on my sleep.

I was stunned that guest of honor David Morrell not only remembered me from Murder in the Grove 2008, but recalled several things we’d talked about. I got to spend a good ten minutes or so talking with him between panels on Friday and again after lunch on Saturday.

Agent Donna Bagdasarian also remembered me from a past conference. We exchanged maybe two sentences at last year’s Sleuthfest, but during a Friday Q & A session, she spotted me with my hand up and said, “You in the glasses. I know you.” Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that my sunglasses were on my head, so I looked behind me to see who she was talking to. So… now one of the most sought-after agents in the biz knows I’m a flake. C’est la vie. She’d have found out eventually anyway; it’s not like I can hide it.

My biggest regret of the weekend was that there weren’t two of me. Several forensics panels ran concurrently with panels on craft and business that I felt like I couldn’t miss, so I didn’t get to play with fingerprints, learn about blood spatter, or explore the nuances of probable cause. Sweetie attended those panels, though, so I can pick her brain when I have questions.

Meanwhile, in the panel on plotting, Rhonda Pollero gave us a worksheet called “Creating Trouble in Paradise.” It’s a plotting tool that could also be called “The Care and Feeding of Red Herrings.” Before the panel began, I’d remarked to my seatmate that I struggle with how to weave multiple suspects into a plot in a way that doesn’t make the real killer obvious yet doesn’t leave the reader feeling cheated. Moments later, the answer was literally handed to me. This worksheet will come in handy as I revise my current work-in-progress.

Saturday’s spotlight panel was a Q&A session with Barbara Poelle of the Irene Goodman Literary Agency. Not everyone who attends the conference has a polished manuscript ready to pitch, so Sleuthfest organizers provided this opportunity for us. This was a brilliant idea. Instead of feeling compelled to pitch, we were able to sit around a table and ask questions about pitching and about the publishing industry in general. Barbara’s inside scoop punctured more than a few myths about getting published–like you don’t have to be a veteran private investigator to publish a P.I. novel. You do have to write a damned good novel, but I think I’m up to that. I left the session feeling like I have a good chance at achieving my dream of world domination publication.

In addition to attending panels, I connected with fellow writers, both published and not, over card and dice games at the bar. I made new acquaintances and forged deeper friendships with people I’d met in previous years. I was sad to see it end, and I look forward to next year.