I chose to publish this today because my EQMM buddy, Steve Steinbock, got his “What I’m Working on Now” column published at Sleuthsayers. Yay, Steve!

We’re heading into the August long weekend in Canada. Perfect camping time, should you choose to do that kind of thing. I don’t, but my friends do.

I’ve already waxed eloquent about Rob Brunet, the up-and-coming mystery writer whose first novel, Stinking Rich, will debut September 8th. His short stories will appear in Ellery Queen, as well as just about every other mystery magazine, and is just an all-around good guy. Bought a round of drinks at Bloody Words 2014, too (I don’t drink much, but I admired his generosity). Check him out:

The smell of a tent is distinct. The vinyl (?) bottoms of the new ones vs. the canvas of old. True dark when the fire burns low. Super bright stars. What’s on the ground? Bare rock, pine needles, well-worn hard-packed earth. Crickets or frogs at night. Birds in the morning. The smell of the fire. Coffee that you wouldn’t touch in the city but sooo good in the bush. God, I miss it.

Ryan Aldred is an interesting guy. I met him at Bloody Words as well, at our banquet table of young, hungry writers, and he was the first person to seriously suggest joining Reddit. He started the Bar on a Beach mystery series, with its inaugural novel, Rum Luck.

Cicadas in the treetops on a hot day. Clothes that smell like wood smoke for days afterward. Three feet of warmth at the top of a Canadian shield lake and the fifty feet of inky cold beneath. Looking up in the sky and seeing hundreds of thousands of stars. The whoosh and sizzle of a marshmallow catching fire. Moths the size of your palm bumping into the globe of a lantern. Haunting loon song as you fall asleep at night. Beads of moisture running down the outside of the tent after a morning dew.

Like what you read? Both Rob and Ryan will read at Noir at the Bar in Toronto on August 20th, along with the always-intriguing Tanis Mallow.

I’m working on today, but I would have liked to see the sold-out Majinx tribute to Houdini at l’Orignal Jail. I might still see if I can sneak by.

You see how I did that? Turning a holiday weekend into a hotbed of criminal writers and performers? You’re welcome.