Hang out with other writers: my first Crimebake conference and new mantra

I have been so isolated where I live, I keep in touch with friends via Facebook or email (mostly Facebook) and see other writers hardly ever. If you don't live in Maine or some other rural place, you might think it's me. I live in Waterville, Maine, home of my alma mater Colby College, a second college, two hospitals and 18,000 people. Doesn't seem like an isolated place.

But in the six years I've lived here, with my retired Colby prof husband, I have made exactly zero friends and met zero other writers. And I happen to know there are more than a few afoot.

So when I got my very first chance to sign up for Sisters in Crime New England Chapter annual conference, I pinched pennies and made arrangements. Tomorrow, after waiting for months, I go to Dedham, Massachusetts for a three day crime extravaganza. We'll even get to inspect a "crime scene," set up by forensics experts for our inexpert perusal.

Wheeeeee! Can't contain my glee. There is a feeling I get when I'm around other writers. Some could view the others in attendance as potential or actual competition. I am so excited and stimulated by the talk, how interested people are in meeting each other, and listening to the published mystery writers, I float for days after.

Sisters in Crime was founded to create awareness that women mystery writers weren't being paid as well as their male counterparts. And it's an amazingly organized group. And not only that, they are welcoming as hell.

I've  met several other writers via their website and Yahoo group and look forward to meeting them this weekend.

The special guest is Craig Robinson, creator of the Longmire books on which a TV series has been based. There will be a BBQ banquet and line dancing (okay I'm skipping the dancing), and lots of talk about mysteries and series and characters and technique and all the trappings of what makes the crime writing world go round.

Oh, and I'm getting 5 minutes to pitch my novel in progress to an agent. Hope I've got it right:

"When Griffin Kane finds a body in her new batch of beer, Portland, Maine police rule it an accident. Eamon Collins fell into the mash tun and drowned. The trouble is, it isn't Eamon. And the other trouble is Eamon is gone. Who is the body in the beer vat? And why did Eamon fake his death? Welcome to the Vatican Brewpub, the former St. Dominic's church, and the seamier side of the craft beer world."

Still working on it! If you have suggestions, let me know.