Swanning through the RWA Conference (LynnK)

I was inhabiting a parallel universe. While the Official events were going on—luncheons and signings and workshops—the Underground Conference thrived. OK, I did present two workshops. And truly, I wanted to attend several dozen others. But I never made it to a one of them.

In the suite inhabited by me, Anne Stuart (Krissie), Brenda Barber, Barbara Keiler, and Jo Beverley, conversation ruled. We hosted two parties, but friends were welcome to drop by at will. And they did! Even the wickedly wise Daisy Maryles of Publishers Weekly and the splendid Bette-Lee Fox of Library Journal made time to enter our den.



Sometimes we wandered afield. Although Krissie was otherwise engaged Friday night, the rest of us descended on the Fairmont Hotel for the lavish Harlequin party. Barbara was wearing a chic little black dress (size 6, curse her!), and Jo looked fabulous in her high-class-Victorian-madam-with-a-touch-of-Goth outfit.



Brenda, who arrived in Dallas with a teeny carry-on, could have been mistaken for one of her beautiful college-age daughters. Me, I seized a glass of Merlot, took off my shoes to boogie, and never looked back.

With one exception. Like everyone else in the ballroom, I had a good gander at Barbara Samuel’s fella, Neil, who always comes to our parties and is one delicious, sweet-natured, lovely guy. Especially when wearing, with the panache of a true Scotsman, a kilt.



Photos courtesy of party-girl Melissa McClone, who has many other Conference pictures to show at the Diary on her website:
http://www.melissamcclone.com/

Meantime, over at the parallel Conference, some interesting things were occurring at the Literacy Autographing. For perspective, let me add that 450 authors assembled to sign their books (donated by the publishers), with all proceeds going to Literacy. The event is open to the public, the media descends, and a whole lot of money is raised.

On this occasion, a successful author chose to wear a headpiece that is, let us admit it, impossible to ignore. Have a look.



Here’s another view.

The photos were posted at All About Romance. Check there for more commentary:
http://aarboards.com/viewtopic.php?t=1070&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=30

I’ve sometimes signed next to Sherrilyn Kenyon at these events. She’s a successful author who writes vampire books, draws a horde of devoted fans, and is unfailingly delightful. Mind you, the line of Kenyon fans obliterates those of us sitting nearby, but them’s the breaks. The fans are fun to watch, and I’m used to gnawing envy.

I’m also used to costumes—well, I have a degree in theater arts—and from time to time, historical authors have showed up in elegant gowns. Fantasy and Science Fiction conferences (mostly for fans) run rife with Klingons, dragons, and Darth Vaders. Even so, I have to blink more than twice at Sherrilyn’s chapeau. I keep thinking that somewhere in Iceland, Bjork’s infamous swan dress is taking flight toward wherever Sherrilyn lives, hoping to mate with her hat.

And now, the blogosphere is debating the issue, if it is one. Especially at
http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com/
where the likes of Nora Roberts, Deborah Smith, and Jennifer Crusie have had their say. I meant to skim a few of the Comments and wound up reading all 400+ of them.

But I could say nothing. For one thing, I came late for that party. The conversation had run its course. And for another, about a dozen years ago, I signed at several events and bookstores with a stuffed raven on my shoulder.

Yup. And Yikes! Sad to say, the landscape of my life is littered with equally dumb-assed behavior.

This wasn’t an actual bird, let me assure you, although it looked pretty realistic. See, here’s the thing. My publisher-at-the-time (HarperCollins) was closing the "line" in which Raven’s Bride, my second historical romance, was to appear. The tiny print run (8000 books) was just enough to satisfy the contract, and I doubt they distributed even half of them.

So . . . I saw the faux raven at an after-Halloween sale, bought it for $10, and tried to make the best of things. Hey. I was a desperate and unhappy writer! It perched on my shoulder for any number of appearances. I wished I could teach it to caw "Nevermore!"

You can seen, then, why I am in no position to critique another author’s costume choices. As for my own sad fate, well, I have way too many copies of the remaindered Raven’s Bride lying around. Haunting me. If you want one, just provide a prepaid mailing envelope (email lynn@lynnkerstan.com for the address) and I’ll send you a free autographed copy.

If you promise never to mention the raven incident.