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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.

I found this excerpt from The Lovely Bones in my notebook this morning:

Ray’s way of describing such things made her feel as if she knew exactly what it felt like–not just what it looked like. He could evoke everything for her, with small verbal pulse points of which he was completely unaware.

I love this passage because it captures exactly what good fiction writing is all about. “Show, don’t tell” is a writing mantra, but “show” doesn’t do justice to what good writing should accomplish. A good writer goes beyond what things look like. Cinema and television provide visual imagery much more clearly than words on a page ever can–but good writing gives readers a deeper feeling.

The story that was originally 8,200 words is now 2,500. I might have cut too much.

I’ve spent the past three weeks revising short stories, and I’m getting cranky about it. I realized this morning that I’m cranky because I need to write something new. Revision is good and necessary. Revision can be fun. Revision can even produce a deep sense of satisfaction when it’s done. But when takes too long, it can get boring and frustrating. I need a break, and I need one soon.

The story I’m revising now is so close, though, that I think it would be counterproductive to pause. I’ll finish it–this week, I think–before I do anything else. But before I start to revise anything else, I need to create something new.

That was a heck of a game last night. I didn’t really care who would win, and I haven’t followed football in years, so I hadn’t intended to do more than turn it on for background noise. At first, I thought it was going to be another dull blowout, but once New Orleans came back from the first quarter doldrums and started scoring, it was riveting football. I’d tell myself that at the next commercial break, I’d get to work on something–a letter, editing, a blog post, something. The computer sat there untouched each time because I didn’t want to miss anything when the game returned.

It was a lot like reading a good novel, when I tell myself I’ll stop at the end of the chapter, but I can’t stop reading when I get there. There was enough tension to hold my interest, and the level of tension varied so that it didn’t become monotonous. Little reversals of fortune grew in importance as time ran down, with a big, climactic moment and a quick denouement.

Maybe we can replace the “three act structure” with the “four quarter plot.”