The Aloha Spirit ... Left Coast Crime

So it's my first time in Hawaii, the conference is fabulous, and now that my cognitive abilities are reasonably restored (though never reasonable), some of my impressions ...

I arrived Sunday morning, amazed to land on the tarmac (yay for tarmacs!) rather than one of those long airport tubes. It was raining, a mystical, tropical warmth of big drops falling with a gentle touch on the black, rugged land all around the tiny airport.

The airport itself consists of small brown wooden buildings with open air exposure, dark brown, more like what I'd imagine as tasteful amusement park architecture, if that's not an oxymoron.

I bought a lei of plumeria and orchids (amazing fragrance) at the airport ... and yeah, I've heard the joke about sixteen times now, so quit sniggering.

Volcanic mountains rise up in the distance ... to the south, the island is green and lush. To the north, black sharp rocks--a more than century-old lava flow--drape the land, creating a disconcerting contrast to the pre-formed ideas of paradise. But then -- the aloha spirit. On the way to the Waikoloa Marriott -- a mostly new complex of hotel, garden, pool, beach, palm trees and shopping malls called the King Shops and the Queen's Marketplace--you see words spelled out in white shell against the sombre lava-black. Words that pay tribute, words that honor and remember, words that testify to love, whether it's Angie plus Daniel or in memory of someone lost.

No "graffitti". That wouldn't honor the land. That wouldn't honor the people. And that wouldn't, from my limited experience, seem to be Hawaiian.

People are friendly here, aloha and mahalo not just words in a tourist booklet or left on a recording when you're on phone hold. I've learned that Hawaii is a beautiful place with an ugly epidemic: crystal meth, called ice on the island. There's also an older crisis, the disparity of wealth between the land-owners and the poor, a demarkation of inequity that stretches back to the plantation era.

Hawaii is a land of contrast. Like aloha written in shells on the black, sharp rock.

I want to learn more about it ... and will.

And in the meantime, the conference is amazing. Louise Ure and Gillian Roberts and Bill and Toby Gottfried and Janet Rudolph, and all the dedicated volunteers have done an incredible job ... fascinating panels, exploratory side trips, movies, even a Sunday night luau.

Yesterday morning we enjoyed a spectacular debut author's breakfast sponsored by Mystery Scene ... followed by two debut panels. People are talking, sharing, drinking mai tais, admiring the flora and fauna (I saw a mongoose!) ... and relaxing. The rain has stopped.

And underneath it all, the aloha spirit ... a specific and special evocation of the generosity and humanity that always defines the mystery writing community. Hawaii and Left Coast Crime belong together. I'm so glad I'm here.

Aloha!

Aloha!

Before Noir City starts tomorrow and I immerse myself in amour fou, sweaty obsession and rain-darkened streets, I have to indulge in something on the opposite end of the spectrum ... purely joyful and purely heart-warming.

So what am I talking about ... a Capra movie? The end of The Christmas Carol? An episode of The Waltons?

Thankfully--at least regarding The Waltons--no. I'm talking about the amazing generosity and support that exists in the crime writing community. It's not the first time I've encountered it, but for the last two days I've been privileged to be dramatically reminded of it.

Here's the story: my first book--NOX DORMIENDA--was nominated for the Bruce Alexander Memorial Mystery Award. And it's in the company of writers I deeply admire and friends I deeply care about--Rhys Bowen, Tasha Alexander, Laurie King. I am stunned, honored and humbled.

Since the announcement yesterday, I've spent a lot of time responding with thanks to the well-wishes and voices of encouragement and support that have poured in ... and again, I shake my head in wonder at the sheer niceness of this industry. At talks, the audience always laughs whenever I mention that crime writers are the most wonderful--and just plain nicest-- people in the world. But it's true. Criminal minds, warm hearts. :)

To top off all this, the generosity of friends and family is what is allowing me to say "aloha" to Hawaii ... to actually go to Left Coast Crime, which just two weeks ago was beyond my reach.

I've started to do my research, and just discovered "aloha" also means love.

Somehow, that's fitting.