In Conversation with James Patterson by Annette Dashofy

A few months back, I received an email from a library where I’d done a talk last fall. They had received a grant and were using it to bring James Patterson (THE James Patterson) to the area. He had requested a local moderator to join him on stage to discuss his memoir. The librarian asked if I’d be interested. 

I replied yes (HELL YES) without a second thought. 

It was far from a done deal. I had to submit a letter telling about myself and why I wanted to do this and why I thought I was the right person for the job. They also wanted a list of ten sample questions. I have no idea how many others were applying for the moderator role, but apparently I was not alone.

 To be honest, it had been a long time since I’d read a James Patterson novel. So many books, so little time. And the man puts out a LOT of novels each year. I knew I had to do my homework. The librarian stressed this conversation would be about his autobiography. His life. Yes, I downloaded and read/listened to as many of his novels as I could before the event, but my homework and the source of my sample questions was his MasterClass. 

I compiled all the requested material and sent it off. And waited. After a few weeks, I got the word—I had been selected! 

His speaker’s bureau sent me an early copy of the book and requested another list of questions—the real ones this time—to be approved. 

(They were.) 

Leading up to the event, there wasn’t much for me to do. I didn’t have to promote because tickets sold out almost immediately. Five hundred seats, all filled. 

Nothing to be nervous about. Ha! 

In the final weeks leading up to June 16, I changed my mind about my wardrobe five or six times. I settled on my comfy flat shoes over heels, figuring I’d be nervous enough without worrying about falling on my face. Since it was 90 degrees and sauna-level humidity that day, I opted for a flowy blouse and lightweight cardigan rather than my lined, heavyweight suit jacket. 

The evening of the event, the weather forecasters called for heavy storms, winds, hail, possible tornados, all striking during the time I’d be making the hour or so trip to Harmony PA and the Steamfitters Event Center. The good news was the storms missed us. The bad news was rush hour traffic was even worse than usual. I hate arriving late, and it looked like I would be cutting it close. 

Then Google Maps deposited me in the middle of a farmer’s field. 

I strongly considered resting my head on my steering wheel and crying. 

But after a long discussion with Google, she redirected me back the way I’d just come and took me right to the front door of the event center. Now seriously, Google, why couldn’t you have done that the first time? 

At least I wasn’t late. Punctual, but not late. 

Everyone from the library was wonderful and grateful to have me there. James arrived a few minutes after I did, along with his entourage. 

I don’t have an entourage. 

We were all directed into the green room to get mic’d. James and I had a lovely chat about what he expected. He assured me we’d have fun.

In the "green room" prior to the event

Someone caught an image of us
 on the BIG screen

A few minutes before seven, event center staff bustled us through the backstage area where we waited behind a closed door while one of the librarians introduced us. “Go,” someone ordered and nudged me through that door and onto the stage to the applause of 500 smiling fans. 

James Patterson’s fans. I knew that was the case going in and was fine with it. Besides, where else can you get that kind of exposure to mystery/suspense readers? 

I had forty-five minutes to ask my questions, which consisted of me lobbing the opening of one of his many personal stories at him and then sitting back and letting him do his thing. I had to pay close attention though. He frequently answered questions I hadn’t asked yet while shifting from one story of his life to another. But it was great. I finished my list exactly on time. Then the audience had fifteen minutes to ask their questions. At 8:01, I spotted James’s assistant signaling from the sidelines. Wrap it up. Which I did. 

His signing table was already set up and “his people” had the signing process down to a science. One took the book from the adoring fan, opened it to the right page, and set it before James. Another accepted phones and snapped photos of the fans and James. I heard someone say he signed 300 books in an hour. 

James's assistant taking photos

The signing line wrapped around the room

It was amazing.

 But that didn’t leave a lot of time for him to chat with those fans. I stood nearby and took care of that part. Several came over to me and asked if they could ask me questions. I said yes (HELL, YES) and had lovely exchanges with some avid readers. 

Oh, and his assistant made sure to sneak my copy in for James to sign. 

"Annette--you were (are) great!" 
I'll take it!

It was a fast-paced, very structured, whirlwind of an evening. I was relieved when it was over. 

After the event, a group shot with
the librarians who worked so hard to put this on 

And I’m beyond grateful to have been part of it. 

Fellow authors, have you ever been part of an event with a “megastar?” Fellow readers, who’s the biggest-name author you’ve ever met or want to meet?

 

  

Secrets Revealed by Annette Dashofy

Last month I blogged about waiting. And waiting. And waiting. This month, I’m happy to be able to reveal some of what I was waiting for. 

First is my new cover for the eleventh Zoe Chambers Mystery. 

Fatal Reunion comes out May 10. I have a new publisher for this one, so the look is a little darker, a little grittier. So is the story. But it’s still Zoe, Pete, Wayne, Sylvia, and the gang, so the snarky humor is still firmly in place. Here’s a tease of the opening:

Ten years with the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police hadn’t prepared Pete Adams for this. Even the additional ten years as police chief in rural Vance Township hadn’t done the trick. He’d certainly participated in a number of vehicle pursuits in his career.

But a high-speed tractor chase?

If thirty miles an hour could be considered “high speed.”

Trailing dust, the behemoth John Deere swerved to the left, and Pete feared the teenage driver might careen into the wall of summer-green trees lining the rutted back road. Tall, lanky, red-haired tractor thief Gabriel Zediker probably felt invincible atop the huge piece of farm equipment. But even the Deere was no match for the oaks and walnuts.

Beside Pete, Officer Abby Baronick exhaled an audible sigh of relief when the tractor righted its path and continued to roar down Miller Road. Pete shot a glance at his young daylight-shift officer, who braced one hand on the Explorer’s center console, the other on the dash.

“We’re not going that fast,” he said. The Deere might have been top of the line, but it wasn’t designed for road races. Still, on the pothole-riddled road, thirty felt like seventy-five.

        Abby made a point of bringing her hands back to her lap. “Fast enough.”

The other big secret I was keeping involves none other than James Patterson. No, I’m not co-writing a book with him. But I have been selected to join him onstage in June when he comes to southwestern Pennsylvania on tour for his new memoir, The Stories of My Life: James Patterson. I’ll be the event’s moderator as he and I discuss the book. As a reader, I’m a huge fan. As a writer, I deeply admire how giving and supportive he is toward other authors, especially those just getting their start. 

And let’s face it, sharing a stage with THE James Patterson is about the best exposure to new readers I can ever hope to get! 

One of the fun parts is getting to read an ARC of the memoir. His speaker’s bureau is sending me a copy. In return, I’m to come up with a list of questions, which I’m to submit for approval. I’m not worried about the approval part since I already sent them several “sample” questions during the initial moderator application. I’ll try to keep the fangirl quotient under control. But really. I want to know how much fun it was to co-write a book with DOLLY PARTON! 

I am, however, open to suggestions. What questions would you ask James Patterson if given the chance? 

A Cake to Die For: The Mystery Writers of America Cookbook

If you are looking for a killer chocolate cake recipe, look no further.

Donna Andrews told me about the new cookbook from the Mystery Writers of America and I finally got my hands on a copy. “Wickedly Good Recipes” the cover promises – and delivers.

Literary luminaries like Harlan Coben, Diane Mott Davidson, Lisa Scottoline, and Nelson DeMille have contributed recipes for everything from Fa-La-La Fruitcake Cookies to Male Chauvinist Pigs in the Blanket. Being a mystery writers’ cookbook, it’s no surprise that the book includes a Drinks section with The Switchblade Cocktail (Gary Phillips), The “Smoking Gun” Margarita (Alison Gaylin), and Lee Child’s Coffee, Pot of One.

Last week, friends Martha, Paul, and Ally invited us to dinner and I offered to bring dessert. This was a perfect time to give the cookbook a spin. After scanning the Desserts section, two contenders stood out: Laurie R. King’s Mrs. Hudson’s Coffee Sheet Cookies and James Patterson’s Grandma’s Killer Chocolate Cake. A tough decision, but as usual, chocolate won.

Possessing zero cooking skills and wanting to give the recipe the best possible chance for success, I called in my Stunt Baker ™, my daughter, Charlotte, and let her work her culinary magic while I went to work. I know, I’m awful.

Two-fifths?

Lots of butter and chocolate.

Ready for frosting.

When I returned, the siren scent of chocolate, vanilla, and almond called me to the kitchen. The cake’s dark, ganache-like glaze glistened as Charlotte mixed it. A tiny taste of the unfrosted cake confirmed my hope. The flavor was divine. It was as if we’d had a visitation from St. Julia of the Never Empty Wine Glass. The flavor was so intoxicating that I forgot to get a picture of the finished and frosted cake.

I asked Charlotte for a report. Any lumps in this delectable dessert’s recipe?

Just one thing, she said. No surprise in a mystery writer’s cookbook that there was something a bit mysterious about the directions. The recipe calls for “1 and a half teaspoons of baking soda dissolved in two fifths of a cup hot water.” Now I am no baker (see: Stunt Baker) but I don’t recall seeing many 2/5’s in a recipe. No worries with Charlotte in the kitchen, however. The cake was sensational.

Now, we know a lot of things about James Patterson: his 300 million books sold, his generous support of literacy, his advocacy for bookstores. Who knew his grandmother had such a fantastic chocolate cake recipe? No wonder the man looks happy in all his publicity photos.

 At the dinner party, that contented silence that settles on a table that has been feasting and laughing signaled a dessert that surpasses expectations. We agreed that the touch of vanilla and almond extracts in the frosting was perfect. We also wondered about the name of the dessert. Grandma’s Killer Chocolate Cake? Or was it Grandma’s Killer’s Chocolate Cake? Maybe it was just the wine talking, but we all agreed that correct punctuation is important and that this is a cake to die for.

If you like chocolate, make this cake. Or get a Stunt Baker™ to do it for you.

The next recipe from MWA’s cookbook to try? Mary Ann Corrigan’s Take Your Pick Vegetable Salad? Alan Orloff’s Killer Tofu? Barbara Ross’ Lobster Pesto Risotto?

Gillian Flynn’s recipe for Beef Skillet Fiesta looks fantastic, but after reading Gone Girl, I am not sure I trust her.

Do you have a dessert recipe to die for?