Back From ThrillerFest; Into The Arizona Heat

ThrillerFest was an amazing event for me again this year.  My third time attending the fan, hopeful author, and published author convention, now in its sixth year, I was once more overwhelmed by the generosity and warmth of a community of writers and authors of whose success I can only begin to imagine having a thumbnail of myself.

Take for instance Gayle Lynds.  Gayle has written nine novels and has been called the "queen of espionage" in the thriller writing community.  I was lucky enough to sit next to Gayle at a table where authors signed their books for attendees of the convention only because "Ma" came next after "Ly" in the alphabetical scheme of things that particular day.

Her chair remained unoccupied for most of the 40 minute signing session (as did the chair to my left, planned by the place card sign in front of the empty space to be occupied by Steve Martini. I was very fortunate that within those first few minutes to have one fan come up to me and ask to have my book, IDENTITY: LOST, which she had just purchased, signed.


The "Queen of Espionage"

I was ecstatic. A fan bought my book at ThrillerFest in New York City.  Is this really happening to me? It was only one book but I figured one is better than none. I inscribed the book to the new fan, Paula Lanier, who told me she "devours books." I'll never, ever forget her.

The very next moment Gayle Lynds came around the corner, looking for her seat.  I recognized her because, well, after all she is a best-selling author, and, as well, I had befriended her on Facebook a while back and knew her from her profile pic.  I pulled out the chair for her and gushingly said before she could even put her seat in it, "Hi, Gayle. You don't know me but we're Facebook friends."

Talk about stupid is as stupid does.  Forest Gump here couldn't take back his words, wanting to reel them back in like a fishing line that had snapped after losing the proverbial big one. But Gayle was gracious. She asked me my name as she pulled my place card toward her, saying, "Oh yes, Pascal. I know you. Great writer's name."

Did Gayle Lynds actually just say she "knew" me? She was being kind, I know, but it still sounded wonderful, warm, and so gracious.  She may as well have said, "Welcome. Welcome to the family!" That's how good her greeting made me feel. A fellow ThrillerFest author, welcoming me to the gang.

"I just sold a book," I told her. Okay, Forest, you're gonna run out of fishing line. 

"That's fantastic," she replied. "It's 100% more than what I've sold today."

Once again, grace from Gayle while under socially dysfunctional fire from moi.

"So, tell me about your book."

"My book?" I asked.  I felt another line snap. Nice going, Pascal!  Thank God you've got that great writer's name because your ThrillerFest social skills really suck.  "My book?" I began again. "Yeah, well my book is about a boy who is the sole witness to a crime in Chicago's Burnham Park in the late 1970s but the cops and the Cook County States Attorney's Office bungle the case and he's put into witness protection in Arizona.  The book starts thirty years in the future, the witness now a ruthless Maricopa County prosecutor and he crosses paths with the killers once again."

No reply form the Queen of Espionage. My story sucks. What was I thinking?

After her pregnant pause, Gayle speaks.  "Wow! That's a fantastic premise.  I really like that. What's the title?"

"Identity: Lost."

"Great title.  Are you writing a second?"

"Yes, I'm six chapters in."

"Well let me know when you're done with it. I'd like to read it. I'd love to give you a dust jacket blurb."

The "Queen of E" and "Forest"

Okay, this isn't really happening, is it?  Gayle Lynds offers to read my next manuscript, sight unseen?  Even though I'm now a published fiction writer, I can't make up stuff like this.  I've spoken again and again, here within this blog and at every book event I have had to date about the miraculous, serendipitous journey of "coincidences" I have experienced since the day I decided to write a novel.  (Hear that, Oprah?)  Her majesty, Lady O, is right--there is no such thing as coincidence.

Now if she can only figure out how to shorten the Arizona summers. Then she'll be a shoe in to become our first female president. 

Hmmm...maybe I've stumbled upon an idea here for another book. Coincidence?