Deryn Collier's blog

Last night I attended my first intimate evening – there is one each night of the festival. If you have a chance, do go. In fact, if you see this on Saturday, stop reading and get in the car. You can still get to Granville Island in time for An Intimate Evening with Aminatta Forna. The audience will be full of other authors, because the buzz amongst writers at the festival this week is that Aminatta is a writer to watch. 

In any case, last night I attended An Intimate Evening with David Adams Richards. I have long admired Richards' work. I have to say I read very little literary fiction – you may have noticed from my posts this week that crime fiction is more my thing. But I have read most of Richards’ books. He is a master at writing about the motivation behind people’s actions, and that is something every crime fiction writer needs to understand. His stories of everyday people and the choices they make, or are forced to make because of the circumstances in their lives, are utterly compelling, and completely heart-wrenching.

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I spent yesterday afternoon and evening mulling the best way to share yesterday’s Crime Time event with you. (Well, between visits with friends over coffee and lunch and finding out that French fries, when cooked in duck fat, are truly outstanding.)

As an author standing on the threshold of becoming published, it is difficult to express just how much I learned by hearing crime fiction luminaries Peter Robinson, Ian Rankin, Stuart McBride, Denise Mina and Canadian newcomer Wayne Arthurson in conversation for a few hours. It was an incredible experience, one that, like those duck fries, will take a while to digest. But blogging is a more immediate medium. I don’t have the luxury to think this over for a week and write the perfect blog post. I will focus on those moments that really stuck with me, and invite you to do the same by leaving your comments below.

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In order to graduate from High School in Quebec, every single student needs to sit through a Quebec history class, and then regurgitate enough correct information to pass a tough provincial exam on the subject. I was one of the lucky ones. My five foot nothing in heels history teacher was passionate about the subject. Chalk flying, she’d clip and clop back and forth crying out dates that are forever etched in my mind: 1534, 1685, 1971. Each number a gateway into a story filled with conflict, betrayal and dramatic tension.

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I arrived in Vancouver this afternoon one hour before the rain. Walking over the Granville Street Bridge I could see the VIWF venues nestled amongst the markets and art galleries and the nautical supply stores, ready to welcome readers and book lovers and some of today’s finest writers from around the globe.

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