The Mystery Writers of America have uploaded the video from the Edgar Awards ceremony in New York last month. Here is the clip from the presentation of the "Best First Novel Award." I didn't win, but I did get the loudest applause!
I had a really enjoyable conversation with John Holyoke of the Bangor Daily News this morning for a piece he was writing for the weekend paper. In the interview we talked about The Poacher's Son, the Edgars, and a sartorial conundrum I am pondering:
The last time Paul Doiron had to worry about dressing up in a tuxedo, he was getting married.
In April, Doiron will again don a penguin suit at a black-tie gala that will be held in New York City.
The occasion: the Edgar Awards, which are handed out each spring by the Mystery Writers of America. Doiron, who lives in midcoast Maine and is the editor-in-chief of Down East magazine, is among five nominees in the “Best First Novel” category for The Poacher’s Son.
One nagging question that Doiron is facing: Rent … or buy?
“I wish they would tell me what my future would hold,” Doiron said with a chuckle during a Friday interview. He said he would buy a tuxedo if he knew this current string of successes was going to continue.
Doiron has been on a whirlwind ride over the last seven months, since The Poacher’s Son was published by Minotaur Books.
That's an understatement if ever there was one.
On the 202nd anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe's birthday, I was the one who received a present. The Mystery Writers of America announced that The Poacher's Son had been shortlisted for the Edgar Award for Best First Novel. The other nominees are Bruce DeSilva for Rogue Island, David Gordon for The Serialist, Nic Pizzolatto for Galveston, and James Thompson for Snow Angels. Every year, when I watch the Oscars, I hear an actor say how it's an honor just be nominated for an award, and I always chuckle. But the truth is: Being chosen as a finalist for something like this really is cool in and of itself—especially since I never dreamed it was possible. And now I get to attend a black-tie banquet in Manhattan this spring. There's only the small matter of renting a tux.