A few years ago, I got a call from International Thriller Writers about a panel of writers they were assembling for an event down Palm Beach way. ITW needed a talented writer to participate and fill out the bill alongside internationally renowned bestseller Karin Slaughter, author of the popular Will Trent series.
I expected the next thing to be, did I know anyone available?
But no, she asked if I could join them. So on the appointed day, I headed south to a shiny public library in West Palm Beach and joined Karin and novelists Michael Sears (Black Fridays), Jenny Milchman (Cover of Snow), and William Burton McCormick (Lenin’s Harem). A veritable gaggle of skilled and award-winning writers of suspense.
A large crowd gathered and buzzed. Our moderator shushed them, directed them to their seats, introduced us and our recent novels, and tossed us softballs and pithy questions alike, giving each of us a chance to pontificate on character, settings, plot developments, and the clockwork mechanisms that make the thriller genre thrilling. The audience nodded, attentive and appreciative. But we didn’t kid ourselves. They were, by and large, fans of Karin and that’s why they were there. When the moderator opened the floor to questions, nearly all were directed to Karin.
And none of us on the panel minded at all. Ms. Slaughter rendered insights into her characters’ psyches, spun funny asides, illuminated story arcs, and always entertained and enlightened. She was a pro at this. Playing the part of the seasoned veteran, I resisted the urge to seize pencil and scribble copious notes on her particular approach to the art and craft of fiction.
A particularly funny bit Karin shared concerned the nuances of foreign translations, an area she has no small experience in, her novels having been published in thirty-six languages. Karin is from north Georgia and peoples her stories with the region’s characters. In one novel she has a character say, “That dog won’t hunt.” I’m from the South as well, and I get it. However, this perplexed her editor in one Scandinavian country. “What dog? There is no dog. And why does this imaginary dog refuse to hunt?”
One fangirl asked Karin why she killed off a beloved protagonist in a recent novel. Half the audience turned and stared at the woman, daggers and laser beams shooting from their eyes. I was seated next to Karin. She groaned audibly, so low I think I alone heard it, but leaned into her mic and responded with grace, deftly deflecting the ruinous spoiler this fan had just broadcast to the world. There’s a definite downside to having a room full of dedicated followers of your work.
Events like these pay off in many ways. I learned individual takes on process and craft from my fellow panelists, as every writer on the planet brings unique experiences, lessons, and attitudes to the table. But getting out there and meeting them and talking up writing, it’s hard to quantify. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’ve stayed in touch with Jenny, Michael, and Bill and followed their burgeoning careers, even coercing Michael and Bill into contributing short stories to an anthology. Point is, grab hold of an opportunity when it arises. As Emily Dickinson put it, “Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.”
Speaking of literary discussions, enjoy some Python:
