RWA Awards Ceremony (Lynn Kerstan)

So there was our Krissie, Glorious Mistress of Ceremonies at the RWA Awards, all somber and solemn and meticulously well-behaved on stage. Her friends knew immediately that Something was Wrong. And because we do not abandon our own, Jennifer Crusie (aka Leader of the Pack) immediately launched herself onto the stage to console the distressed MC.

In a subdued voice, Krissie explained that she was trying to behave and be dignified. This may have something to do with The Episode of the Grass Skirt and Coconut-Shells Bra at a previous RWA Conference in Hawaii.

The Iron Boot clamped down after that, and the awards ceremony became rigidly scripted and organized. But a terrific writer-producer like Laura Hayden can put on wonderful shows even within strict guidelines, as she has proven many times. And as one of the FOKs (Friends of Krissie), she understands the cry in our hearts: Let Krissie Be Krissie!


So yes, even this spontaneous outpouring of affection was scripted, and I was sitting with the rest of the cast. Walk-on parts only, except for Jenny, but they’d come prepared. Here’s Mary Strand wearing an Egyptian Snake Headdress, which looked perfectly natural on her. The beautiful Beth Pattillo appeared to be using a mosaiced lap robe.

Jenny had arrived with a blue feather boa, which she handed over to Katy Cooper, I think, before rushing to Krissie’s rescue. Then, on cue, they all swept onto the stage, surrounded our gal, and transformed her into the Krissie we know and love—flamboyant, unabashed, and bizarrely classy.



Here she is as Cleopatra, Queen o‘ Denial. Although I had a front-row spot, I was unable to get good pictures with my modest little camera. In every case, she looked light-years clearer and more colorful than she does in these shots.


While awards were being presented and thank-you speeches given, Krissie would briefly vanish, only to return for her next gig in a new guise.

Inevitably, she swanned in as Queen Anne Stuart.





And here is Sister Krissie, the Nunsuch, a little fuzzy because the podium got in the way and I had to photograph her image on the big screen.


I couldn’t grab a shot of her other costume, either, drat that podium. But in a startling coincidence (or was it?), I chanced to encounter her in a hallway after the ceremony. Not every day nor in every hallway are you apt to run into the Statue of Liberty.
Krissie, as always, makes magic happen.

At the Big RWA Party (Lynn Kerstan)

Since joining Romance Writers of America in the early 90's, I’ve attended the annual Conference fifteen or so times. Early days, green behind the ears and notebook in hand, I went to workshop after workshop, learning about writing craft, the industry, and the Writer’s Life from some of the best minds and most talented authors in the business. Like Anne Stuart, seen here with me at the Literacy Booksigning this year. The Fancy Authors have set-apart tables of their own, which sometimes makes them hard to find but enables long lines of fans to get their books autographed. Hundreds of authors participate, publishers donate the books, and many tens of thousands of dollars are raised for reading programs throughout the country.
Here’s a closeup of Krissie and her fashionable headgear: Little Devil’s Horns. They suit her!


And here’s Pat, taking the business seriously. We’d driven up from the Piney Grove Plantation and arrived at the hotel fairly early, but had to wait a lonnnng time to get into our room. Pat quickly changed clothes and gussied-up (her necklace is gorgeous), while I relaxed with a glass of wine. There are some advantages to not having a book out this year. It left me free to wander down at will, touch base with friends, and take pictures.

Tara, looking beautiful and professional, was escorted by husband Tim. I left him out this time because I have truly wonderful pictures of them all dressed up for the Harlequin Party. Will post a couple next week, along with pictures of Krissie all dressed up, but in a quite different way.


Next I went in search of long-time buddies who don’t happen to be StoryBroads.
Jennifer Crusie was busy making a point (as usual!), although I arrived too late to know what it was. Maybe something to do with serial commas and semi-colons in fiction. One of these days, if she’s sufficiently brave—or bored!—the two of us will hash that out in a Battle of the Tigresses. We can both get pretty het-up about punctuation.


Whatever Jenny’s attacking or defending here, I’m not sure that Cathy Maxwell is duly impressed. What’s certain is this: they are two of the smartest, funniest, and best-hearted authors on the planet. I adore them both.

And here, radiant, is another long-time friend, Jo Beverley. A British expatriate who has lived in Canada ever since I’ve known her, Jo and her husband are in the process of moving back to England. With luck, they’ll be settled in their new digs on the Yorkshire seacoast by late September, when Alicia Rasley and I arrive there in search of Whitby’s best fish ’n‘ chips. We have our priorities!

TRIUMPH! (Anne Stuart)

I've been searching the web but I can't find pictures. I had a fabulous time at RWA, but I'm afraid my fabulous-ness was visual. When asked to host the awards ceremony I had to promise to behave. I have absolutely not idea why people think I'll be inappropriate but I promised I'd stick to the script.
But ... people expect better things from me. So I said to Laura Hayden, the magnificent director, that maybe I could just come out in different outfits like Whoopie Goldberg at the Oscars. And Laura, who also wrote the script, ran with the idea.
But truly, it was a lovely conference. I had a scooter because right now I can't walk long distances, and I drove way too fast, wearing devil horns and a white Isadora Duncan type scarf and pink tiger-striped sunglasses, and enjoyed myself tremendously. And things were so nice and warm and friendly and low key. I think I scooted too fast to pick up any stray bad vibes that might have been around.
RWA treated me to everything, God bless them. Kathy Seidel went above and beyond the call of duty and drove me all the way across town (which is more of a challenge than I would have thought) to the costume shop, where we came away with a royal cape, Henry the VIII (which I ended up not using) and the Statue of Liberty (magnificent!), and Barbara Keiler (Judith Arnold), Beth Patillo, Mary Strand and Katy Cooper served as handmaidens, with Jenny Crusie leading the charge.
There was so many wonderful people to see that I can't possibly list them all. A real treat was having dinner with my middle-aged editor, Adam, who's tall and cute and made me feel like the veriest cougar. I spent two minutes at the Harlequin party (I couldn't bring my scooter and by that time I was in a fair amount of pain) and then went back to room service and a movie with la Crusie.
I felt happy and loved the whole time, and though I wished I could have seen more people and spent more time with people, my mental health emerged intact so it was probably wise.

Favorite moments: Candy from Smart Bitches saying I introduced her to oral sex.

Zooming across the stage on my scooter wearing the nun's habit (for some reason most of the time I sang the Wicked Witch of the West travelling music as I motor-vated).

Hugging everybody. Sunshine. Writing new and fabulous stuff by hand on my Clairefontaine pad. Seeing the White House (even from a distance). Knowing someone Fabulous is in the White House (priceless).

I could mention the bummers, like not getting to hear any of the workshops, not getting to the PAN stuff, but I'm not going to think about bummers. I made the conscious decision to wear bright colors instead of black to the conference, and it was all about colors and friends and love and affection.

I had the most marvelous time!

Oh, and I did a workshop on writing dark romantic suspense. Next week I'll put up my outline (all the elements you need) and talk a bit about that for those of you who are interested.

A thousand smooches to all!!!

And if any of you went to this year's conference, or have been to one in the past, share some of your favorite memories.

The Throes (Lynn Kerstan)

The Fourth of July has washed over our small “island” town like a tsunami. If I dare to drive anywhere, on my return I’ll have to park in an adjacent county. Bunting and flags and red/white/blue spinwheels are everywhere. Coronado is a military town, with the Naval Air Station at one end and the Naval Amphibious Base (where the SEALs train) at the other. It’s also a casual, laid-back So-Cal beach community, so our celebrations feature local residents, the military, clowns, and (redundantly) the ubiquitous politicians. It’s a throwback to an earlier time, really, and rather a lot of fun.

I could be in the long, long parade. A club to which I belong is actually leading it (after the requisite honors guard and politicians) this year. A club barbeque will follow, and I’d dearly love to be there as well. But I cannot, because I am in The Throes.

After 16 months of Bad Illness (including a few months of slow recovery), I’m about to re-enter a world I’d thought I would not again experience and see friends I never again expected to see. So naturally, I became obsessed with clothes. In my defense, I’d lived eight months in oversized fleece. I’d given away most of my own clothes when my prognosis was: Death, Soon. And for the first time in my existence, the clothes I still had after recovery–from underwear to outerwear–were too large.

So I was pretty much starting from scratch, and between medical bills and my inability to work, bargains ruled. That meant long and frequent slogs through stores and much rummaging through sales racks, with less frequent bursts of pleasure when something I liked actually fit. After weeks of Shopping Throes, my wardrobe is now assembled (meaning hanging randomly in the closet), each piece bought for itself and not for how it relates to anything else in the closet. The only thing most of them have in common is this: they are blue. Nearly all the rest are black. Not sure how that happened.

Anyway, since I’ve no idea how to put them together in anything resembling an outfit, I shall be forced to bring them all with me. The Packing Throes. These are the suitcases I will be traveling with next Thursday. You’d think I was taking an around-the world tour, not a flight to Memphis, a six-day “tourist” drive to Washington DC, and four days there at the Romance Writers of America Conference. But I can’t leave anything behind. If I don’t bring it, I’ll wind up wanting it. The same way I finally get rid of something I haven’t used for years, only to desperately need it shortly after it’s gone.

Besides, I couldn’t get a coach-class Frequent Flyer ticket, flights out of DC on a summer Sunday being at a premium. So I had to expend nearly all my accumulated miles to fly in the front of the plane, and we “elite” flyers needn’t pay for extra suitcases. You can bet I’m taking advantage of that perk! Not sure how we’ll get all that stuff into Pat’s car, though. Not with all the wine. Oh, dear.

There are hair-Throes as well, as in, I have very little of it. About an inch, some of it wanting to stand straight up, other bits lying flat as paint. Not much to be done about any of that. But around my ears and at the back of my neck, I was getting fairly shaggy and unkempt. So this morning I went to Island Barbers, specializing in military buzz cuts and head shaving, for a trim around the edges. New experiences abound.

Next Thursday night, I’ll be at Pat’s Memphis home, hopefully enjoying a night swim in her pool after a long day of travel. My ride to the airport is collecting me at 4:15am! Friday morning we set out across Tennessee, heading for our hike along the Appalachian Trall.

Okay, we won’t be hiking, or on the Appalachian Trail, because we’d rather be in an air-conditioned car on the Blue Ridge Parkway. And anyway, so I am informed, no one can now speak of hiking on the Appalachian Trail without implying something quite different. And so are metaphors born.

I’ll take lots of pictures along the way and will post whenever I can. All of us, except for Suz (we’ll miss her!) will be at the Conference, so we StoryBroads may not be as organized as we usually are(n’t).

Meantime, back to The Throes. How many shoes should I take? How many will I actually wear? Good looks vs. comfort. Decisions! And honestly, no one really cares. They’re all in their own Throes...except the sane ones. I try to learn from them.
But I never do.

Another country heard from...
The Can-Opener is leaving me again. Does she think I don’t know luggage when I see it? I suppose Thea will come feed me and clean up after me. She’s good that way. But she doesn’t live here, so I’ll be alone most of the time. Of course, I sleep most of the time. And no one will turn on the vacuum cleaner or clean my ears or clip my claws. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Note to Self: Look pitiful when the C-O gets back. That usually leads to petting and cat treats.