Jeff Sherratt: A life well lived

I went to a memorial service today for an author friend of mine, Jeff Sherratt. I met Jeff a very few years ago at the Southern California Writer's Conference. He had just had his first Jimmy O'Brien mystery published by Echelon Press. Later that year, my first mystery, Freezer Burn, was picked up by Echelon.

So we had lots to talk about at book festivals and other author events. I used to tease Jeff that he could sell books to a corpse. I was almost not kidding - that man could talk. He was the kind of guy you could just hang with and not worry about running out of conversation. If you didn't have a tale to tell, he had plenty.

I have three stories to tell you about Jeff to show you what kind of man he was.

R to L: Pam Ripling, me, Jeff, Alyssa Montgomery

1. The Ray Bradbury Event. A couple of years ago, I got to not only meet Ray Bradbury, but I gave him an autographed copy of Freezer Burn. I blogged most of the story in this post - however, I left out one part. When Jeff heard that Mr. Bradbury's assistant was going to introduce me to Ray, he ran off and got one of his books to sign and give to Ray. At the time, I thought he was pretty cheeky to horn in on my action, and might have thought, briefly, about hitting him in the head with something to thwart his plan. I had to kind of fight him off just so I could get my picture taken and finish giving Ray my book.

Afterward, Jeff hugged me and apologized, and sounded as ecstatic as I felt. As I processed the scene later, I realized that my friend was having a Fan-Boy moment. He couldn't help himself from jumping in on the fun because, well, this was Ray Freakin' Bradbury. Giddiness overruled any sense of decorum.

How can you stay angry about that?

2. Newport Beach. I've been going to the Southern California Writer's Conference for years now, long enough to have made lots of friends. Still, every time I go, I feel a certain level of excited apprehension as I walk into whatever the venue. I have no explanation, but it's a weird, First Day of School feeling, like I'm not sure if the Cool Kids will laugh at my shoes or welcome me.

Yeah, I'm a nutcase sometimes.

The first year it was at the Hyatt in Newport Beach, I walked through the lobby on my way to check-in with Cricket at Registration. I was a little aflutter, trying to look calm but feeling nervous. There in the lobby, Jeff sat with his friend and editor, Mike Sirota. Jeff saw me, got up with a smile and announced, "There's my girl!" (Of course, a hug followed.)

All my apprehension melted away. Jeff's greeting was like coming home, comfort food, and warm fuzzies all in one. It was the one thing I needed and he was there to provide it.

Jeff doing what he loved best: signing books!

3. The Placentia Library. This past year, I asked Jeff and Michele Scott to be the guests at the Author's Luncheon that is hosted every year by the Placentia Library Friends Foundation. The theme was "Make Mine a Mystery" and I knew they'd both be dynamic speakers.

As the date approached, I was hearing from another author friend that Jeff was in ill health. Uh-oh. I called Jeff and asked how he was.

"Fine, fine, how are you?" he told me.

"I heard you weren't feeling well. Are you going to be okay to come to the luncheon?"

"Oh sure, I'm fine. I can't wait."

We had this conversation more than once. My other friend kept telling me Jeff wasn't well, I kept calling Jeff, and he kept reassuring me. When the date arrived, Jeff came with a portable oxygen kit by his side, along with his wife, Judy. That's when he told me he was on the list for a lung transplant.

What?????

Jeff and Michele, in deep discussion no doubt

That was Jeff. You didn't know he was in ill health. You didn't know he had a prosthetic leg. You didn't know he had any disabilities. (I'm typing this now with a headache so bad, I'd like to weep, and I feel bad admitting it. Jeff wouldn't.)

I've said this before, but the best thing I ever heard at a funeral service was a minister who said, "You write your own obituary by the way you live your life." Did I know Jeff well? I never met his daughters or grandkids, or knew where he went to school or everything about his life. But did I know the man? I think maybe I did. Exuberant, generous, curious, optimistic, driven, uncomplaining. He was a man who made me want to stop and ask if I really need to grouse about something, if I can't just write one more chapter, if I've told someone how glad I am to know them. He made me want to at least try to be a better person.

Good-bye, Jeff. I'm sure gonna miss you.

I had a moment and I liked it



I can take credit card payments!



April 30th - May 1st: Where were you on the weekend in question?

I was at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, held on the USC campus for the first time ever. The bad news is, I didn't see any of the festival. The good news is, it's because I was in a booth, selling my books.

I've been to the festival once, two years ago, when Karen Syed of Echelon Press called and said, "I've got 20 copies of your book handy. Want to come and sell them?" (See that post here.)


Last year's festival came and went without much fanfare in my household, mostly because I didn't have a new book out yet, and partly because I was buried in obligations to two booster clubs at my son's school, plus that whole, pesky, He's Graduating business.

Imagine this with one more author!

When Pam Ripling emailed me this year and asked, "How about a bunch of us renting a booth at the festival," I answered in a heartbeat: "I'm in."


There were supposed to be six of us: Pam (aka Anne Carter), Jen Hilborne, Tee Burrell, Joel Fox, Jeff Sherratt, and me. At the very last minute, Jeff had to cancel due to illness (we all hope you're on the mend, Jeff), which left five. This was probably a good thing, although I love Jeff's company and of course don't want him to be sick, but five authors in a booth is a little tight. Jeff's got a lot of books out there, and a big presence.


We might have had to put an author in the tree next to the booth.




L-R: Alyssa Montgomery, Sydney Fox, Pam Ripling

 When you're selling your books, you are constantly talking to everyone who comes by the booth. "Hi, how are you today? Do you like mysteries? What kind of books do you read? Weather's a little warm isn't it? Let me tell you about my books…"


Yadda yadda yadda blah blah.


You also learn to profile people. You somehow instantly recognize That Person Who Likes Mysteries, as well as That Person Who Wants You to Shut Up. And, sooner or later, you learn to recognize people who are just "different."


In my youth I thought of these people as "crazy", "clueless", "avoid-at-all-costs" folks. Now that I've been around the block a few times (mostly because I can't follow directions), and thanks to the world of behavioral analysis, I see these people as just being different than me, in terms of how they process and respond to the world around them.


A man wandered toward our booth. I hadn't paid much attention to his stops along the way, but he was coming toward me, so I greeted him. He was a pudgy man, dressed too warmly for the day, and although he was not odiferous, he had that look about him that said his hygiene was casual, at best. He wore thick glasses over slightly-crossed eyes, and had bad teeth. And when I say "bad teeth", I'm talking spectacularly, intriguingly, bad. Not only were they brown, every other tooth appeared to be missing (at least in the front), and they were skewed in his mouth, as if they were half-a-tooth off from where they should be located.


He spoke quickly, in a kind of thick-tongued way, all about his obsession with movies of the 30's in general and Republic Pictures in particular. He attended their 75th anniversary celebration and got to meet some of their stars, including Peggy Stewart. Within the space of ten minutes, he told me all this and more, about the movies he liked and the stars he recognized in other movies that are now doing bit parts in TV shows. I also learned he has a girlfriend who he likes to talk to using Red Ryder quotes and when she "gets out of line" he threatens to marry her.


Yeah, I'd straighten up and fly right, too.


His eyes had a way of focusing upward as he spoke, so that he never made eye contact for more than a wisp of a second. After about ten minutes, he kind of ran out of steam and moved down the booth to the next person, until he'd exhausted himself and all of us, before moving on.


In the old days, I would have labeled him "odd", or possibly even "crazy." Now I saw a man within the autism spectrum, and understood. No, I didn't want to stand for ten minutes and listen to his turbo-talk, especially when there were people coming up to the booth wanting to know about my books. But he's a human being, and he's socializing the only way he knows how, and I'm a Christian who believes in karma. Either that, or I'm a doormat.


Karma blessed me the very next day. I was driving to Palapas in Fullerton to have a drink with my hubby, thinking about my experiences at the festival, and all of a sudden, it dawned on me:


This weekend, I met Benny Needles.


No, I don't picture him physically like this man, but this is the awkwardly social man who is obsessed with something. Benny has actually been able to rein in his desire to tell everyone everything about Dean Martin. Unless something happened to him, something that caused him to retreat into the only thing that matters: Dino-world.


And in my third Peri Minneopa mystery, that's just what's gonna happen.


Life is good. As Will Varner said, "I feel so good, I might just live fo-EVAH."