This Crazy Writing Life Performs Killer Nashville Post Mortems

By Steven Womack

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As I write this, it’s been almost three weeks since the 2025 Killer Nashville conference concluded. I intended to sit down and very quickly dash out some thoughts on what has become over the last couple of decades a major international writing conference.

The only problem is I was so overwhelmed by it all that it took me a few days to recover, then another week or so to gather my thoughts and wrap my head around what it all meant. While I’ve been to Killer Nashville many times as a panelist or a guest speaker, this was the first time I’ve ever gone full tilt on the conference (I was supposed to go total immersion last year, but I got an unexpected visit from Mr. Covid).

So this was the year when I went all-in on KN. I was on three panels, plus the wonderful Jaden (Beth) Terrell and the equally wonderful Lisa Wysocky and I did a master class called “Setting, Sidekicks, and Secrets” that took all of Thursday afternoon. I also attended a half-dozen or so panels. It was both intense and simultaneously exhilarating and exhausting.

After all this, what’s the takeaway?

First—and this is not a particularly brilliant observation—Killer Nashville has evolved from a small regional conference first conceived by its founder, Clay Stafford, twenty years ago to a major national mystery conference. I’d go so far as to say its eclipsed just about every other conference of its type. The program booklet alone is 100 pages long. The number of sponsors grows every year, and its two awards—the Silver Falchion and the Claymore Awards—have become major mystery awards, as evidenced by how many winners are now including the award on their websites, social media, and C.V.s. Major figures in the mystery and crime arena—like this year’s Guest of Honor appearance by Sara Paretsky—now show up at KN.

Second observation: Killer Nashville celebrates mystery and crime fiction, but its over-riding focus is on writing crime fiction. Aspiring writers come to Killer Nashville to learn about the craft and business of writing crime fiction. A great deal of the conference concentrates on putting writers together with agents and editors. Panels covered topics like “Steal Like an Artist: Learning from Other Author’s Novels,” “Writers and Taxes,” and “Writing Intimacy: From Fade to Black to Open Door.” These are all craft components and business components of the writing life.

While there’s plenty of stuff at Killer Nashville to interest readers, and readers certainly seem to be welcome, writers and aspiring writers are going to get the most out of the weekend.

This separates it from other conferences like Bouchercon, which remains the largest mystery convention in the world. Bouchercon brings together fans and creators of crime fiction on an equal basis to celebrate the genre. Fans go there to meet their favorite authors, and authors go there to be seen and to maintain a presence in the mystery community. While there are panels on craft (although after attending a number of Bouchercons, I can’t remember any), people mostly go to Bouchercon to either meet their heroes or to network and do business. I was introduced to my longest running literary agent at the Toronto Bouchercon in 1992.

At the 1995 Bouchercon in Nottingham, England, I met Anne Perry, which was a great thrill. We had the same editor at Ballantine Books, and he introduced us. For writers, that’s the great benefit of attending conventions and conferences. Once you’ve been multiply published, you probably don’t need a panel on writing compelling dialogue. But to meet your own literary heroes or make friends with a fellow writer who will introduce you to their editor or agent is a real plus (and obviously, you can do the same thing for other writers as well). I’ve met people at Bouchercon and other conferences who’ve remained lifelong friends.

Third observation: Killer Nashville has grown to the extent that it is, in some ways, busting at the seams. The conference sold out, and it can’t grow any bigger without relocating to a larger venue (you know how those pesky fire marshals are). More importantly, the schedule is jammed from morning ‘til night. I realize that the event schedulers have to try to accommodate every author who wants to be on a panel, and that’s a truly noble objective. But when you’ve got a moderator and five panelists speaking on a panel that only lasts 45 minutes, then by the time everyone’s introduced and you leave ten minutes at the end for Q&A, each person has maybe five-to-seven minutes speaking time. This precludes any kind of really deep dive on any subject.

Final observation: Despite its growth and evolution from a minor regional conference that nobody’s ever heard of to one of the 800-pound gorillas in the mystery world, Killer Nashville remains one of the most cordial, relaxed, friendly conferences out there. There’s very little competition among authors for attention (in fact, I saw none), and the people who run the conference, all the way up to founder Clay Stafford, remain approachable, helpful, and easy to work with.

So what’s the final takeaway?

Writers tend to be introverts. Given our druthers, most of us would probably stay home in our jammies and pound away on a keyboard while our coffee sits there getting cold. Unfortunately, that’s not the way This Crazy Writing Life works. Writers, publishers, editors, proofreaders, everyone who occupies a place on this long journey is a human being and humans need connection. Publishing is an industry built on connections. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to break out of our shells and comfort zones and get out there in the world, get our work out there into the world. I hate the term networking; it seems so mercenary. I’d prefer to think of it as building relationships based on mutual affection, goals, and aspirations.

And speaking of which, I’m off next week to St. Petersburg Beach to attend the annual Novelists, Inc. conference. I’ve mentioned Novelists, Inc. in previous columns. This is a different kind of conference. It’s all business and lots of hard work, but it also takes place on a gorgeous beachside resort, and the sponsors compete to throw the best dinners, parties, cocktail hours, and other goodies.

I know, I get it. It’s a dirty job but somebody’s gotta do it.

Thanks for playing along. See you next time.

Between Pen and Paper: Flaneuring Through a Writer’s Mind – The Quiet Power of a Daffodil

By Andi Kopek

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This month, spring is in full bloom in Nashville. With weekly downpours woven between stretches of cloudless skies, the city becomes a lush green canvas—Eastern Redbuds paint the landscape with magnificent, three-dimensional splashes of purple, while daffodils jewel the lawns like yellow sapphires.

Which reminds me—April is National Poetry Month. All across town, and hopefully around the world, we celebrate both rhymed and free verse in readings, festivals, quiet moments, and spontaneous snippets of overheard beauty. I’m always in awe of how many people, from all walks of life, carry a love for poetry with them—whether at events, lectures, bookstores, or even in casual conversation. During a recent talk at a local college, I encouraged students to become poets even if they never write a single line. To me, being a poet begins with paying attention— with contemplating the world around you and within you. The poem, I told them, always starts with a reflection— seeing something with a fresh eye.

Why do so many people love poetry? Perhaps because in a world that prizes brutal efficiency and unwavering certainty, poetry offers a rare permission to wonder and to feel deeply. It provides a harbor on an island of peace when raging storms roil the seas of reality. People love poetry because it gives shape to what so often feels unshapable—a fleeting feeling, a moment too delicate to explain. Poetry holds these things gently, without needing to pin them down. It invites us to slow down, to discover meaning not just in what is said, but in what is left unsaid. It offers the joy of speaking in metaphor when plain language falls short.

Most people have nothing against poets—well, maybe with the exception of authoritarian governments, which tend to see poets as a threat. I wonder why?

I remember being told by my parents that in 1968, on the stage of Warsaw’s National Theatre, actor Gustaw Holoubek delivered a performance that would echo far beyond the velvet curtains. He was playing the lead in Dziady (Forefathers’ Eve), a poetic drama by Adam Mickiewicz, long cherished as a symbol of Poland’s soul and suffering. Mickiewicz had written it under Russian occupation in the 19th century, but Holoubek’s electrifying performance gave voice to national frustration and hope under post-World War II Soviet rule. It was more than just theater—it was a symbolic act of resistance. During one particular scene, Holoubek’s character said:

“(…) You know,

Our nation’s like a living volcano: the top is hard and cold,

worthless and dried,

but boiling, fiery lava seethes inside.”

He then rattled his chains and directed his gaze toward Soviet Ambassador Averky Aristov, who was in attendance. The ambassador, red-faced, left the theater immediately. The Soviet- controlled government swiftly banned the production and fired Holoubek—actions that ignited student protests and became the catalyst for the famous political unrest of March 1968 in Poland. The demonstrations were violently suppressed, but they marked the beginning of a new wave of resistance that would eventually lead to the rise of Solidarity (Solidarność) in the 1980s and, ultimately, to freeing Poland from the communist regime oppression.

Poetry has sparked fires elsewhere, too. On March 15, 1848, Hungarian poet Sándor Petőfi stood on the steps of the National Museum in Budapest and read his poem titled Nemzeti Dal (National Song) aloud. By the end of that very day, a revolution had begun. In India, the Urdu poem Sarfaroshi Ki Tamanna (The Desire for Sacrifice), written in 1921 by Bismil Azimabadi, became the anthem of anti-colonial resistance—recited by young revolutionaries with death sentences on their breath. Even in the digital age, poetry played its part: during the Arab Spring of 2010–11, verses by Egyptian poet Abdel Rahman al-Abnoudi flew faster than bullets, smuggled in tweets and scrawled on walls, igniting courage where fear once lived. In the United States, Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise became a rallying force that gave voice to the oppressed:

“You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.”

I like to reflect on the raging social fires a poem can spark when I look at a single daffodil in my lawn, newly born from the old soil.

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Andi Kopek is a multidisciplinary artist based in Nashville, TN. With a background in medicine, molecular neuroscience, and behavioral change, he has recently devoted himself entirely to the creative arts. His debut poetry collection, Shmehara, has garnered accolades in both literary and independent film circles for its innovative storytelling.

When you’re in Nashville, you can join Andi at his monthly poetry workshop, participate in the Libri Prohibiti book club (both held monthly at the Spine bookstore, Smyrna, TN), or catch one of his live performances. When not engaging with the community, he's hard at work on his next creative project or preparing for his upcoming art-focused podcast, The Samovar(t) Lounge: Steeping Conversations with Creative Minds, where in a relaxed space, invited artists share tea and the never-told intricacies of their creative journeys.

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