Bill and Brenda Viner are the visionaries who came up with the idea for the Tucson Festival of Books which had its first outing eight years ago. After arranging for a venue on the University of Arizona campus during Spring Break, they armed themselves with their passion for literacy and set about assembling the army of volunteers it takes to run such a massive enterprise. Although Bill and Brenda are the people at the heart of the endeavor, when festival weekend rolls around, you’ll find them boots on the ground, wearing their regulation volunteer tee-shirt, and doing grunt labor along with all the other volunteers.
Together Bill and Brenda amount to a force of nature. When Bill Viner calls you up and asks you to do something for the TFOB, the only possible response is an immediate, “Yes, sir!” And since Bill just happens to have my phone number in his Contacts List, you now know how it is that I came to do a small on-stage speaking role that first year. I’ve been on-board ever since. It also explains how I ended up emceeing the author dinner program another year. When Bill Viner asks, believe me, people come to the water.
For authors, the three day Festival is like a mini-book tour—without having to use airplanes to get from signing to signing. You walk up and down the mall, going from venue to venue and bookseller tent to bookseller tent doing panel discussions and/or signings. The crowds are phenomenal. If you happen to be wearing a name badge someone recognizes, you are often pulled over for a chat with a fan. And why not? That’s the whole idea of the festival—to be there and be available and to mix and mingle with the people who both buy and read the books.
This year I never saw the inside of the author green room. I was out on the mall the whole time. As far as I’m concerned, sitting inside a private room chatting with your fellow authors isn’t exactly the point.
I’m sure some of the visiting authors don’t appreciate the constant references to me as the “queen of the book festival” or, as one moderator put it in her introduction, “Welcome to what we around here call the J.A. Jance private book fair.” But the truth is, I have a distinct home field advantage. There are fans at the festival that I recognize on sight—“Hello, Rosie.” or “How’s it going Marcia?” And some of the volunteers who are also neighbors have become friends. This would be a shout-out to Randy and Bonnie. I also know the booksellers involved in the festival, up close and personal. They’re the ones who, bless their hearts, always know to stock up on my book of poetry, After the Fire, which sells like crazy over those three days. (I spent ten years selling life insurance. Trust me, compared to that, selling poetry is easy-peasy!)
Earlier this year, Bill Viner called me and said. “We’d like to give you the Founder’s Award at this year’s author dinner.” And since I’ve been attending the festival from the start, I was honored to accept. I knew that the award would be given at the author dinner, and I went straight out and bought myself a gorgeous dress—a lovely lace-topped formal with a train, no less. But then, when I got down here to Tucson and remembered the bookstore cocktail hour BEFORE the dinner, I had visions of someone in the crowd stepping on my train and leaving me standing half-naked in the middle of University Bookstore. Not a pretty picture! So I left the formal in the closet. Thanks to eleven months of the “step game,” I wore a dress to the dinner that hadn’t fit me since 2003! (That’s one of the side benefits of having two homes and two closets. When you hide something in the back corner of one or the other of them, that “too small” dress or pair of pants can stay there for decades!)
One of the first stops on the tour, an event in the LA area last weekend, had been less than stellar. There were lots of readers at that conference—eight or nine hundred or so—but the problem is, they weren’t my kind of readers. They all read serious fiction. They read LITERARY FICTION! And my style of unSERIOUS fiction went over like … well … a pregnant pole vaulter. So I left California feeling a bit discouraged. Then I landed in Phoenix and Scottsdale and Sun City and Peoria and Mesa and Cottonwood and Prescott where I had an opportunity to speak to people who “get” me and who love my books. By the time last Friday rolled around and it was time to go to the pre-author dinner cocktail party for the festival, I was feeling better—tired but better.
Some of you who have seen me on the speaking/book signing trail may be surprised to learn that for me, speaking in front of a thousand or so people is no problem at all, but when it comes to cocktail parties? Those petrify me. Fortunately, I had several wingmen at the cocktail party—Bill, of course; a guy named Jim Hunt who was instrumental in Bill’s and my meeting over 30 years ago; and Jim’s dear pal, Denise Kelley. The three of them got me through the cocktail part of the evening in good order, and then we headed for the dinner.
The Student Union Ballroom at the University of Arizona is immense. I’m not sure of the exact number of people in attendance, but I believe the guests numbered somewhere close to 1500. And the food? Amazing! It was one of the best banquet dinners I have ever eaten, bar none!
When it came time for the program, Bill Viner stepped up on the podium to introduce me. The introduction started with a film montage that opened by saying I was raised in Bisbee, Arizona. What immediately appeared on the ballroom screens was a wonderful old photo of Bisbee’s “B” Hill. The clip went on to say that I wanted to become a writer when I encountered the Wizard of Oz in Second Grade—and sure enough, there on the screen were clips of Judy Garland and the wizard, hurriedly trying to close those green curtains. The clip included several more items, mostly bits of film taken from various interviews I’ve given over the years. One showed me typing on my computer. (Watching a writer type on a computer is a lot like watching grass grow!)
When the film montage ended, Bill Viner went back to the mic for the official intro. When he said I was born in South Dakota, there was a smattering of applause from a small group of people in a far corner of the room. When Bill said I was raised in Bisbee, another group in another part of the room broke into cheers. When he said I graduated from the University of Arizona? That brought a third loud burst of applause because, obviously, there were plenty of U of A Wildcats on hand. When he said I taught at Pueblo High School for two years, that announcement was greeted with clapping, hoots, and whistles, and yet another group applauded the news that I had once been a librarian on the Tohono O’odham reservation.
That was the point when I stood up to join Bill on stage. By the time I reached center stage, all the people in the entire room were on their feet, giving me a standing ovation. I have to say, the whole experience took my breath away. It was and is one of the best moments of my life. It took several moments for me to get my sea legs back under me so I could say a few words.
The TFOB supports literacy efforts in southern Arizona. One of the agencies that benefits from the festival is an outfit called Literacy Connects. A few years ago, through one of their literacy coaches, I met a woman named Marcia, who at age 58, was using my Joanna Brady books to learn to read. Her inability to read came from a combination of English as a Second Language and dyslexia. Now in her sixties and able to read, Marcia has advanced out of what was once a permanently a dead end job. She’s read all the Joanna books and has moved on to the Beaumonts, enjoying reading “every single word.” Oh, and she also volunteers and reads books aloud at her grandkids’ schools!!!
I told the “Marcia” story to let people in the ballroom know how the festival’s literacy efforts have changed one person’s life for the better and made a difference in the community at large in the process. When I finished my acceptance speech, Bill gave me my award—a Navajo storyteller statuette. I could not have been more pleased. Because that’s how I see myself—not so much as a novelist but as a storyteller. That’s what writing mysteries is all about, after all—telling stories.
Maybe the ladies from California last weekend missed that storytelling memo, but the people at the TFOB certainly did not, and I, for one, am incredibly honored and grateful!