Critical Death Theory, first draft: 43,100 words.
So. The Bloody Scotland Crime Festival. Bloody brilliant. As I always seem to do at book festivals, I had an absolute blast. Stirling, Scotland, where the festival was held, is only 30 or so miles up the road from Edinburgh, so it was a much less epic journey than Shetland Noir. I hopped on the train and, a few minutes later it felt like, there I was.
The good citizens of Stirling will probably not thank me for this but their downtown comes across as a mini-Edinburgh: all medieval stone and steep hills. It is exceedingly picturesque. The city makes a real effort around the event: there were posters everywhere, and the first thing the wait staff at Rishi’s Indian Restaurant asked when I dropped in to be fed was, “Are you here for the festival?”
This is Scotland, so there was an alcohol-fueled reception under the 15th century arches of the Church of the Holy Rude. King James VI of Scotland (later First of England), the son of Mary Queen of Scots, was crowned there in 1567. I half-expected a party in a church to feel faintly blasphemous but it felt like nothing of the sort. The ancient nave was filled with crime fiction buffs determined to meet each other and have a good time, together with a large number of volunteers ensuring that a good time was actually had. The fact that it was absolutely chucking it down with rain did nothing to stop the attendees from marching (or weaving) up to Stirling Castle for a flaming torchlight procession to the city’s Albert Halls for a prize-giving ceremony. For obvious reasons, no umbrellas were allowed!
Unfortunately for yours truly, I had to skip the ceremony in order to prepare for my spotlight presentation the following morning. It is a paradox of public speaking that the shorter the talk the longer the preparation. Aimless rambling takes no preparation at all. I, on the other hand, had three minutes to introduce myself, my book, and do a reading. I was up half the night.
Fortunately, the final product was well received. A Quiet Teacher sold out at the bookshop, I got to spend time with the great James Naughtie and Charles Cunningham, and people came up to me all the rest of the day to tell me how much they’d enjoyed the presentation. It’s a somewhat surreal sensation to hear someone you’ve only just met quote your own words back to you. Forget about walls, it’s the people who have ears.
