Left Coast Crime
I was in Denver for a convention last week. Not just any convention but Left Coast Crime, a crime fiction convention. In 2002 I had flown into Denver on my way to Fort Carson Colorado. I was on my way there not as a soldier but as a technical writer. I spent a few months before being deployed to Iraq (first time) as technical writer working on Army Training Manuals. It was a job and I learned more about the Army’s new field sanitization rig than I had ever hoped to.
Last Wednesday I touched down in Denver. I was tired and frankly not looking forward to the prospect of having to meet new people. The 0400 wake up call and long layover at O’Hare made me a little cranky. The taxi ride, from the airport, with no working seatbelt didn’t help. That and the cabby dropping me off on the opposite of the hotel from the entrance really didn’t help.
Once I got myself sorted I linked up with friend and fellow author Joe Reid AKA Parker Adams. A drink at the bark in the late afternoon helped adjust my attitude, the good company and sage advice also did wonders. I met a lot of people at the convention, writers, readers, fans, and hopefully future fans. It was good to hang out with other writers, it’s a weird business and was nice to be able to talk to people about it. It was nice to meet readers, none of them had read any of my books but that’s comes with being a little known author of detective fiction.
I turned 52 while in Denver. Life, deployments, working midnights, had taught me that my birthday is not a big deal. Friends and family tend to disagree. I find the attention makes me uncomfortable. A few years ago, I convinced my Long Suffering Wife that I didn’t need cake. My youngest son, Captain Chaos, chastised her sternly in his very sweet way and cake has been back on the menu ever since. This year, instead of cake on my birthday, I was a panelist on a panel of P.I. (as in Magnum) writers. It was a cool experience.
Captain Chaos, plotting and scheming.
The moderator Nichelle did an excellent job. Fellow panelists John Shepphird, Dana King and Tom Andes were fascinating. I won’t lie, it was pretty cool when Tom sat down next to me and said; “Hey man, I’m reading your book. You’re a good writer.” It’s always nice to get compliments but nicer still from a fellow writer. It was a pretty good addition to the birthday.
There was one other really cool thing that happened on my birthday. For lunch, Joe and I went to Illegal Burger, near the appropriately named Writer’s Square. The first night a bunch of us had dinner there and somehow ended up there for lunch on my birthday. Having already had one of their excellent burgers, I tried one of their chicken sandwiches. I wish I could remember the name but it doesn’t matter. I ordered it and when it arrived I was greeted with a flattened, breaded chicken breast, perfectly deep fried, bacon on top, avocado wedges and what I think was chipotle mayo. The chicken stuck out from the bun and when I bit into it, I was blown away. The texture, the flavors all worked perfectly. I am sure in Japanese or French cuisine they have a word to describe it. Some weird, semi-religious, experience born of crisp but not dried out chick, salty, smoky bacon, the rich creaminess of avocado, the spicy tang of the chipotle may on a sesame seed bun that had been perfectly toasted. There had to be mystical, exotic term to describe that sort of perfection. It was, in no uncertain terms, the best chicken sandwich I’ve ever had.
If you find yourself in Denver and are near writers Square or 17th Street or Larimer Ave. I suggest you get yourself over to illegal burger. I know that I will the next time I am in Denver.
Also in case you were worried. We had birthday cake when I got home on Sunday. Nobody defies Captain Chaos. Nobody.