The other day, I was on Yahoo, checking my group mail, and they asked me to take a survey. They showed me several different Yahoo search results and asked me about my assumptions when I saw each one. But they never did ask me what I thought was the main question — namely, would I ever in a million years be using Yahoo search?
It’s been a good long time since I’ve participated in a decently designed survey. I did a write-in answer during the infamous poorly-written piece of crap survey about “romance being one man, one woman” (leaving aside the clearly political bent to the survey, it said nothing about love triangles, or about shutthehellup and give me a love story).
A few months ago, eHarlequin held a survey to ask what we thought about Blaze covers. Maybe you participated. They showed us two different Blaze covers. One had the standard splash of red silk, across which, the “Blaze” was scrawled in a quick, italic script. This is the cover you usually see. The other one was truly gorgeous, a much more subtle “category” look. I thought the design was fantastic. HOWEVER, the font they used in their subtle hint that it was a “Blaze” was some sort of digital computer font. It looked like the kind of font you see on scrolling highway signs or 80s computer screens. Not sexy at all. And then they asked us which one we liked better. I picked the current design, because digital computer font does not say “sexy, passionate read” to me. Had they showed me the screens without font, I would have definitely picked the more subtle design.
I heard that the results of said survey told the powers-that-be that people wanted category books to look more like category books. No, they said that people didn’t want their sexy reads to look like Toshiba instruction manuals!
You can’t go to eHarlequin without seeing a survey. Do you like SEALs or FBI agents? Buffy of Sidney Bristow? Category books or Single Title? Trade or Mass Market? I used to answer them without a thought, but now I wonder. Are they actually assuming this is market research? Are they going to the editors and saying “Buffy scored a hell of a lot higher than Alias, so stop buying spies and stock up on vampire slayers,” when what I was saying when I chose the survey was that I preferred Joss Whedon’s sense of humor and skill with creating multi-layered ensemble casts to the frenetic and single minded plot line of Alias? I’ll watch anything Aaron Sorkin writes. Doesn’t mean I particularly like sports shows, political shows, or shows about SNL. I like Aaron Sorkin’s characters. I never watched that Geena Davis-as-president show. I wasn’t watching The West Wing for the politics.
I think I need more surveys where they asked me why I picked what I picked.
When I worked as a waitress, I learned that those customer satisfaction surveys they give out at restaurants, hotels, and car dealerships are often scored on an all or nothing basis. They’ll give you a hseet at which you rate your service on a scale of one to five (5 is highest) but when they tally the scores, anything that’s not a five is given the same weight as a 1. This shocked me. I know a lot of people who don’t give out fives unless you’re serving your first born on the plate to the customer. Why “very satisfied” could possibly be equated with “very disappointed” because it was “superlatively satisfied” is beyond me. And let’s not even talk about people who give ones because they thought the food was too expensive. It reminds me of the Amazon reviews where they give the book one star because Amazon lost the shipment or sent the wrong book.
I don’t know if I trust market surveys. There are too many variables, design flaws, idiot respondants, and worst off all, it leads to mediocrity. It’s like talking about writing contests where an entrant with a strong voice scores at the top and bottom, but is beat out by someone who scores in the middle, and wins because the story offends no one.
Those of you who felt your souls tingle when reading the Nora Roberts interview in the latest RWR are not alone. She laughed in the face of every pansy-ass artiste who wants to suffer for their work. We write genre fiction (The Stuff People Like To Read), and if we’re really lucky, we do it in our pajamas. Cut out the bullshit.
I know that I, for one, will be reading it every time I feel a complaint or a bout of “writer’s block” coming on.
And I’m also considering adding this blog post by Golden Heart finalist, Bombshell author, and recent RITA award winner Stephanie Feagan. I find this letter to be all the more powerful considering that it comes in the midst of swirling rumors that Stef’s line is about to be canceled. Is she complaining? No, she’s out kicking ass. (Pink would no doubt be proud.)
The whole thing is worth reading, but an excerpt to whet your appetite:
This is hard – if it was easy, everyone would do it. Write not because you think it’s cool or because you can make a lot of money, or because of any reason except that you LOVE to write. If you don’t love it – give up now, because no one can make it in this business if they don’t love writing. It’s too hard, too brutal. Lines fold, editors leave – so what you make one sale? Then you want to make the second, and so on. Without the passion and the love for the craft, it’s a hopeless battle. Dumb luck can get someone published – but it’s passion that’ll get them published again – and again.
Amen, Ms. Feagan.
When I complain (because we all have those days — rotten rejections, bad reviews, etc.) Sailor Boy says to me: “You have to realize, Diana. The thing you want to do? No one gets to do that. No one gets to be a writer for a living. You want to be a rock star.”
I’d say more, but Stephanie already said all there was to say, and as brutally as it needed to be said. Go read what she wrote, and then read the Nora Roberts interview again, and then, if you’re involved in the TARA BookChallenge, read Erica’s post. They all boil down to the same thing: Just do it.
Toughen up, suck it up, stop complaining, stop talking about “good enough”, stop saying “but such-and-such managed to get published,” and just write.
The blogosphere isbuzzingwithnewsofthedemise oftheBombshell line. I’m waiting to see where all the pieces fall, but so far, everyone seems to agree on the problem. Bad placement, misdirected marketing, etc. It’s just not right for a non-romance line to be shelved as category romance. It pisses off the people who expect to find romance and never reaches the people who are looking for the type of book that it is.
You’ve probably heard the details — any book slated for publication past January of 2007 will not be published — at least, not as Bombshells. Time will tell if any of them find homes as special releases or within another publishing program. This is especially egregious news for those authors who are awaiting their first release from this line, or who have already turned in books that are part of the Harlequin-owned Athena Force series. They can’t get those rights reverted, as they were written as part of a house property. Here’s hoping they find those books a home.
This announcement makes me sad, though not in the same manner as the line’s writers and fans. I’m sad because I know that in the case of this line, I was part of the problem.
Now, regular blog readers know of my history with this line. When it was first announced, I was so excited. Words just poured out of me. I thought up an idea, and wrote the first twenty pages in a hot rush. The book flowed. It started finalling in contests, and one contest judge recommended me to her editor, then one of Bombshell’s two founders. By the time the final judge (also a Silhouette editor) requested it, I already had a revision request from the other.
Well, the editor didn’t agree with the readers, and I received a rejection. (To be fair, I also got a rejection from the woman who would eventually become my agent.) Well, actually, what the editor wanted was a rewrite. A rewrite that completely reimagined the hero, heroine, premise, setting, plotline, villain, and theme. I got the same treatment with every other proposal (three) I sent this editor. “I love it, but you know how it’s about a research scientist on a submarine in the South Pacific? Can you make it about an ex-Airforce firejumper in Kansas?” (I’m dead serious, by the way. This is not an exaggeration.)
Other writers told me that they were jumping through the same hoops with the editor in question, and soon after, she left the company. The requirements for the line changed several times, and by the time the line launched, I’d lost interest. I didn’t lose interst in writing about kick-ass heroines. I still write them. But I lost interst in writing for that line. I was also part of a group of other women all targetting that line. Now we’ve each been published, none of us with Bombshell. I’ve probably strayed the furthest from the Bombshell paradigm, but the rest of them are published with novels of vampire slayers, cops, and mystery-solving psychics.
I’d subscribed to the line early on, but only read three or four of the books before I realized that the result in the printed books was not at all what I’d been hoping for. There were a few I enjoyed, but too many books released in the first few months that I couldn’t get through at all. The plot lines were ridiculous, the editing was non-existent, and the writing was all over the place.
I stopped reading them. I regret that now, as many folks tell me they kept getting better and better. “Go read Evelyn Vaughn or Sandra K. Moore.” Stephanie Feagan’s Pink series came out, and it also looked good. But I’d been burned too many times, picking up Bombshells and then not being able to make it through. I’d hear about an awesome new one on the shelves and go into the bookstore, but for some reason I always hesitated. There was always something else on the shelves that looked just as interesting, yet was not colored by my own readerly and writerly disappointments. What did I want the Bombshells to be, aside from more like the book I’d written? Was my hesitation caused by simple sour grapes (i.e., “they aren’t publishing me, so I’m not reading them!”)? I doubt it, after all, I’d been rejected by Brava and Temptation, and was still buying those at every opportunity.
But I do think that my expectations were colored by what I’d wanted the line to be. I was hoping for gritty and I was getting James Bond. I was hoping for Buffy and I was getting Underworld. I was hoping for any number of things, but my expectation was not being fulfilled. Perhaps if I’d managed to get my hands on some of the RITA-award nominees, I would have changed my mind, but I apparently had bad luck. I should have read the Orchid Hunter or one of the Grailkeeper novels. Or maybe I would have read it and been disappointed anyway. (I recently read another novel that was described as Bombshell-esque and it left me feeling as cold. And yet, I devour “Bombshell” heroines in movies and on TV. Buffy, Veronica Mars, Aeon Flux, Sarah Connor, love love love.)
And yet, and yet, I don’t think I dislike that kind of book. Tally from Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies series is nothing if not a kickass heroine. Ditto the monster-slaying Jessica Day from Midnighters. Val in Holly Black’s Valiant. Marisela Morales in Julie Leto’s Dirty Little Secrets (and the upcoming Dirty Little Lies). Eden Black and Mia Snow in Gena Showalter’s Alien Huntress books, Maria V. Snyder’s Poison Study-er, and Julie Kenner’s demon-hunting soccer mom. Clearly, it’s not the format that was my problem. But I bought these books rather than buying Bombshells. Any of these books could have been Bombshells (some were even originally targetted at that line).
Some people are theorizing that placement was not this line’s only problem. That focus was also a big issue. hat with such a variety of DEA agents and vampires, they should have not made this line a “you know what you’re getting” category line. I know that I, having been disappointed by some of the earlier Bombshells, skipped out on the line in favor of single titles with the same idea. The branding in this case, hurt the chances of the new authors who may have been writing things I enjoyed a lot more. I was buying Downtown Press’s series of female-focused action adventure rather than Harlequin’s.
Maybe others had the same experience. I hope that the Bombshell authors find soft landings in other lines or at other houses, and that I’m given the chance to discover their books in a less constricted format. I missed them the first time. I hope I don’t do so again.
I’m in Florida, recovering from the last of the launch parties (I guess I can have a launch month) and working my tail off to meet my deadline for Secret Society Girl two. The party was amazing and I’ll be posting about it as soon as I have some pictures, but now I wanted to discuss a blog post that was a long time in coming.
There’s a very popular book out that I didn’t much care for. People keep recommending it to me, but it wasn’t really my thing. I’m not alone in this. For every person I’ve heard of who absolutely adores the book, I’ve met others who weren’t such big fans. This, of course, is pretty standard. Tastes vary. But in every conversation I’ve had where this book comes up, and I point out to the fan what I perceived to be its flaws, they don’t disagree with me. They just love it anyway. This has resulted in an intense analysis of what is really my problem with the book. In a case such as this, I wonder if it has something to do with the popularity? Is it sour grapes? No.
I think I’ve finally hit upon it. This book, like mine, has a core theme of “normal person caught up in an extraordinary situation.” I love these books. I love the superhero-type books too, but let’s leave that out of this for a moment. In these types of books, the normal person has two options: they can either let shit happen to them, or they can go out and do shit.
This book that I don’t care for is of the “let shit happen to them” variety. It’s a glorified tour through the extraordinary situation as seen through the eyes of the protagonist.
Once I started thinking of it in this manner I was able to understand what I didn’t like about a lot of classic stories. For instance, I was never all into Alice in Wonderland. Sure, I love all the crazy creatures, but I wasn’t a huge fan of Alice herself. Compare that to, say, Dorothy, who also found herself in a strange and wonderful world, but instead of being led about by the nose, actually went on a little quest.
My favorite Harry Potter book to date is the third one, Prisoner of Azkaban. In this book, Harry is very proactive. He makes all the choices that lead him to his climax, and when he messes up, he goes back in time and makes them again. In Chamber of Secrets, which was my least favorite until we hit number 5, at which point, all bets are off, you have a “hero” who basically stands in a room and waits for Faulkes (who might as well have been renamed Deus-ex-machina) to do everything for him.
I’ve been thinking a lot about point of view since I heard Emily Giffin speak at the RWA Conference. She is living proof about how important it is to pick the right character through which to tell your story. This is not a question of first person or third person. This is a question of what makes your protagonist someone interesting enough to put in this situation.
Agency is a very important concept in fiction. it comes from the Latin word “ago” which means “to do.” Story is what happens when your characters do things. Not when they watch things happen. When they do things. Plot happens because of a choice a character makes in a given situation.
When you have a very normal character in a very extraordinary situation, there is a strong temptation to just let things happen to her. Let her be swept along in the tide of all the extraordinary things. Let the extraordinary people around her start making her decisions for her. I guess it works, but for my money, the really unforgettable stories are when the ordinary person overcomes these forces and makes decisions for herself. Maybe they’re the wrong decision, but at least they’re decisions.
I’m currently rewriting a scene in SSG2 because the original formulation of the scene did not give Amy, my heroine, enough agency. She was mostly watching as others around her acted. My book is filled with strong, pro-active people. I don’t want them disenfranchised. But my heroine is my heroine for a reason. They can do things, but not to the extent that it will beggar my heroine of agency. If it does, she becomes a tourist in her own story.
Can you write the tourist stories? You bet, and some people will probably love them. But that’s not what I’m here to do.
I had a big blog post planned for today, but current events knocked the wind out of my sails. I’ve been flying a lot in the last few weeks, but it was a long time after my flight on September 11th that I could get on a plane without freaking out. It’s never over, and every so often, we’re reminded that crazy people can kill people in the U.S. just as easily as they can people in coffeeshops in Baghdad or Tel Aviv.
(And with the added security, I worry that Sailor Boy is going to miss his flight on Friday, since he’s leaving for the airport right after his exam and has a tight window.)
Moving on to the topic of today’s blog post, which is the GCC tour of Martha O’Connor’s paperback, The Bitch Posse. I know some of you skip the GCC posts. Don’t skip this one.
Wow, this book looks amazing! Sadly, I’ve been under serious deadline during both the paperback and hardcover release, but you can bet your ass I’m buying it right now, so it will be waiting for me as soon as I turn in SSG2. Reviews peg it as reminiscent of Joyce Carol Oates, Donna Tartt, and Alice Sebold. I’ve heard martha describe the story of writing it. It sounds similar to what Madeline Hunter calls “my f*** you book.” She was tired of not selling her novels, bored with what was on the shelves, and decided to write the equivalent of a big middle finger to the publishing world: a mean, uncomprimising, messy, harsh, bad-tempered novel about terrible heroines and what could possibly redeem them.
In high school, Cherry, Rennie, and Amy called themselves The Bitch Posse. Today, Amy is a wife and mother-to-be, trying to live a normal life. Rennie is a writer who engages in a number of self-destructive relationships. And Cherry is in a mental hospitaland has been ever since that one fateful night fifteen years ago, when a heart-wrenching betrayal and the unraveling of relationships led them to a point of no return, where their actions triggered unimaginable consequences. These secrets have torn them apart, while inextricably binding them to one another. What happened to them? And can they survive their shared history, even today? The Bitch Posse is an anthem for friendships that defy societys approval or disapproval. Its a novel of secrets, courage, sacrifice, and hope against the odds.
Here’s the first page. tell me this doesn’t grab you:
CONSUMER PRODUCT INFORMATION
The Beverage You Are About to Enjoy Is Extremely Hot. Sip Carefully.
You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
Professional Driver on Closed Course. Do Not Attempt.
Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics.
You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.
Warning: You Have Now Entered a Chick-Lit-Free Zone.
Pass Icy. Chains Required.
Small-Craft Advisory. Sustained Winds of 17-33 Knots.
Mind the Gap.
Want a beach book? Buy yourself some Bridget Jones.
Want to get off? Your local video store has a wide array of suitable titles. Or try the Internet.
If you want something simple, you’re in the wrong place. This is about revealing secrets, not tits and ass.
Well, not just tits and ass.
The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.
Danger: Riptides and Undertow. Swim at Your Own Risk.
HAUNTED FOREST, WITCHES CASTLE, 1 MILE. I’D TURN BACK IF I WERE YOU!
Do Not Leave Child Unattended.
Say it aloud: Screw fairy tales and chick lit and all forms of lying.
Gentles, do not reprehend.
If you pardon, we will mend.
Ah, just jump in. We dare ya.
People have asked me if I’m offended by some of the tag lines in this book. “This is a Chick Lit free zone.” “If you want a beach book, go buy Bridget Jones.” etc.
Nope. And let me tell you why. Because there ARE books out there that aren’t chick lit, aren’t beach books, shouldn’t be, weren’t meant to be, and that’s that. There was a time, a year or two ago, when all kinds of books were being shoved into the chick lit format and they didn’t belong there. (I remember buying a book with a pink cover and a sexy chick smiling thinking it was a story about a girl who had to come home and live with her parents. turns out it was a girl dealing with the suicidal tendencies of said parents and her own self-destructive nature after watching her sister commit suicide through anorexia. Not a beach read either, but why had they packaged it as such?)
The Bitch Posse is a book that isn’t chick lit, and doesn’t want to you to think that it is. So what if it’s about women. So what if it’s got pink on the cover? I think there is room for all kind of books, and Martha saying that her book isn’t chick lit isn’t denigrating the good books that are. I say my book’s not romance. Still love romance.
The fate of chick lit is big conversation in the writing world these days. I’m always seeing writers try to re-market their chick lits as “humorous women’s fiction” as if that will somehow bridge the gap. If it’s still the same old story about 20-something in the city working for Mr. Evil Publishing Boss and falling for Mr. Wrong until they realize that Mr. Right is right under their nose, plus racking up enormous debt in deisgner clothes… if it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck… not calling it “chick lit” is only going to help you if your book does transcend the genre. A few years ago, they were classifying Lisa Tucker’s Shout Down the Moon as chick lit because they were trying to shoehorn every story about a young, single woman into the Devil Wears Prada mold. Now, Shout Down the Moon would still sell, but they’d recognize it for the more literary women’s fiction it is. Would The Devil Wears Prada clones?
But what if you’re in between? Not the same old same old plot, but still funny, snarky novel about a young woman finding herself? There’s the rub. You would have easily fit into the chick lit genre a few years ago, so where do you fit during the chick lit backlash? You’re not writing a Bridget Jones clone, you swear! But I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t know. Wait and see?
What I do know from my recent bookstore visits and conversations with bookstore managers is that bookstores are selling as much or nearly as much “chick lit” as they ever did. The difference now is that they are selling 100 books by 100 authors, instead of 100 books by five or ten authors.
So the answer is, wait and see. And if you, like others, need a bit of a palate cleansing from the lighter side of the lit world, try The Bitch Posse. And if you need something light after that, my book’s out, too. I love a world where each can exist.
As I expressed yesterday, I arrived in New York City overheated to a dangerous degree. In fact, I didn’t realize how much I was suffering (because I kept drinking water) until I arrived at my hotel and saw my face. They’d turned off the air conditioning in the hotel in order to conserve energy. Fortunately, the fan was still on in my room and once I had the shades down I would put the temp at a very comfortable low eighties, which, though warm, was nothing compared to the 100 degree heat on the streets or the probably closer to 120 degree heat in the airless metal train car.
I took a cold shower and after about 15 minutes, I finally felt a bit better. Now, I’ve been out in a lot of hot climates — I grew up in Florida, I’ve spent a summer in the jungles of Costa Rica, and I’ve lived in tropical outback Australia — so I’m pretty savvy when it comes to being aware of how my body is handling extreme temperatures. I think staying hydrated probably kept me from getting sick that afternoon. Note to all: DRINK WATER! And of course, like all people when the weather gets hot, I was in a rotten mood. I’d convinced myself that the TV interview had gone poorly and that all I wanted to do was go home and go to bed. Partying was the last thing on my mind.
But I was committed, so again, I hydrated up (I’ve never been so thankful for a cold shower in my life!) got dressed and went to meet my parents at their hotel a few blocks away. From there we went to midtown, where we’d planned to meet Little Brother #2 and his fiance for dinner. However, when we got to the street on which the restaurant was located, all we saw were manhole covers with fire shooting up. We wended our way around the flames (as if we needed more heat!) and headed into the restaurant, but, as expected, the joint was closed. By this point, I was in a REALLY bad mood. Bro and fiance showed up and we went to a Japanese place around the corner, where they were serving, and though we didn’t recognize anything on the menu, we ordered, and ended up liking our meals quite a bit.
I left my family at the restaurant and headed downtown to the club district in Chelsea. The man at the door of HOME was setting up a velvet rope when I asked him if I could go inside. “I’m Diana Peterfreund,” I said. “I was supposed to be here early and I think they’re waiting for me in there.” “That means nothing to me,” he replied. I tried again. “I’m the author of Secret Society Girl, and you guys are holding my book party tonight.” That one got me in.
But after the comedy of errors my day had been, I’m had no idea what to expect from the evening’s events!
HOME is gorgeous, all red walls and black leather cubes that serve as couches, mirrored tables and black accents. Best of all, it was positively frigid inside, and I felt better immediately. I knew then that everything was going to be okay.
I met Shawn and Kerri to sign my giveaway books, Brant from Random House, and Jesse, the L Magazine staffer who helped arrange the party. I met the Get Lit! girls, who are all so lovely and wonderful, and I just want to give a big shout out to the whole team. Thanks!
And then they opened the doors and people started pouring in. The party was a smash. My family was there, as mentioned, and Sailor Boy of course; so was my critique partner Marley, my web designer Mike, several New York writer friends (Hi, Kwana, Elizabeth, Yolanda, and Blossom and Michelle of “China Dolls” fame!), Margaret Crocker showed up, but I barely got a chance to say hi to her, a bunch of buddies from Florida (Megan, Liz and Lindsey, the Whitings), Annie from OC and her friend Nicole (who came all the way up from North Carolina), Scott Westerfeld and a few of his SF friends, a bunch of my friends from college (Lauren, Dan, Josh, Colin, Christina, Rachel, and Ted), friends from DC (Ken and Ava), everyone Kerri has ever met, Tracy Devine, and my agent, who surprised me by flying up from Georgia just for the party! Thanks, Deidre!
We stayed until well after the party was over and the place had turned into a real club, then Kerri and her boyfriend took us to one of their local joints for a little after party, which we also shut down (around three), then proceeded uptown. There, Sailor Boy and I took our leave and grabbed a bite to eat before walking home to our hotel, where we went to sleep around 4:30 a.m.
Yes, we got a late check-out. And by the next day, the heat had broken…
Here are some pictures from the event! Thank you so much to Random House, the L Magazine, HOME Club, and Dos Equis for making this such an incredible party!
By the way, are you getting as tired listening to stories of my travels as I am of constantly traveling? I’m exhausted and I have one more to go. And lets not mention my deadline! I feel like I haven’t had a good industry-focused blog since my book has come out. It’s all been party party party. Never fear. I’ll be back in September, like school, with my deadline met and all this summer spectacular behind me, ready to tackle serious, hard-hitting industry issues. I’m just… diverted right now.
Last week, I took the train up to New Haven in order to appear on WTNH News Channel 8 @ Noon. My first television appearance! We were in the midst of a blistering heat wave and I was pretty sure I’d melt before I had a chance to get to the studio. What a day. I called a cab company to drive me to the studio, and the guy did it — it was about a block and a half away. There’s six bucks I’m never going to see again.
The news office was all hustle and bustle so I quickly changed and got into makeup (which, as some of you know, I hardly ever wear, so that was an exciting time) and proceeded to the studio to await my cue. Everyone at the office was buzzing about brownouts in the area to save energy during the heat wave. Apparently, they’d closed the mall down in Stamford. But it was cool and dark in the studio.
The cameraman gave me a microphone to clip on, and directed me to a high barstool, and then the anchor, Sonia Baghdady, came over. The interview itself was a blur. I couldn’t believe how fast it went! What do you think?
After that, I did melt on my way over to the train station, but that was nothing compared to the trip I had in store for me on Metro North. Two hours to New York City in a metal box with no ventilation, and no air, with a heat index well over a hundred. And me in full makeup! Suffice it to say that by the time I arrived at my hotel in Manhattan, I looked like one of the characters at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Still, it was worth it. I was on television in New Haven! I’m so excited!
Tomorrow: The Party.
Amended to add: I would like to thank my brother, the brilliant, tireless, genius, phenomenal, extraordinary, wonderful, fun-loving, cat-friendly Luke for getting me this video. he worked long and hard to make it happen for me and I’m forever grateful. Thanks, Luke!!!!!!!!
So you remember the whole controversy about whether or not to pack an extra dress? Turns out I spilled coffee or something on the skirt I packed, and so I couldn’t wear it to the publisher party. So, once again, I broke out the celery dress (which is getting SO MUCH use. I’ll be wearing it at the Tampa launch next.), and headed off to the Bantam Dell/Ballantine party, which was four blocks away at the Ritz Carlton, and quite the scorching four blocks indeed. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing.
The Random House party was fabulous. Lovely little room, flowing wine, and delicious nibbles. I was pretty hungry and kept gnoshing on these terrific crab balls. A lot of crab in Atlanta, which is weird, because I hardly ever have it here on the Chesapeake. Anyhoo, I chatted with my publicist, Shawn, and also: Allison Brennan, Angela Knight, Eden Bradley, Kristin Nelson, Roberta Brown, the Sydney Crofts (i.e., Larissa Ione and Stephanie Tyler) , the author of the Hindi Bindi Girls and her editor, Micahlyn Whitt, and the deputy publisher of Random House, Nita Taublib. It was so wonderful to finally meet Nita in person at last, since I’d heard so much about her from my agent and editor. I’d meant to stay at the party for an hour and a half, but had to leave earlier because Cheryl was afraid of traffic.
“Traffic?” you ask. “I thought you were only four blocks away.” Oh, yes, but Cheryl, Kelly and I were driving out of Atlanta to a Friday night performance of Oklahoma! starring Cheryl’s brother-in-law. So we joined half of Cheryl’s extended family and a whole bunch of friends and jogged out to the Big Top Theatre (not in a Surrey, fringed or otherwise). David was playing Judd Fry, and he was phenomenal! I’d never met him before, but I was a little worried what kind of person he was, since David’s portrayal of his character was so evil and thorough. In real life, of course, he’s lovely. Most of the other main characters were played by college students and everyone did a wonderful job.
Oklahoma! has never been one of my favorite musicals (note to readers, I’m a big musical theater dork) and I’ve never been able to articulate why. The songs are wonderful. Extremely catchy, as evinced by the fact that I’ve been surrey with a fringe on topping, I’m just a girl who can’t say noing, Many a new day will dawning, and Poor Judd is deading for a week now. I think it’s the characterization. I could never quite figure out what Laurey saw in Curly. He’s pretty much a smug bastard. Really, what kind of jerk goes into a man’s home and suggests he kill himself? I always feel sorry for Judd (not just when he’s played by a cutie like David) because he seems like a hard working man who has never been treated right. Who knows, maybe if Laurey had given him the time of day he wouldn’t have gone all rotten inside.
After the show we all went out to eat (again!) and I was starving (again!) so I ordered a big steak and a bigger drink. The night ended with five of us laughing our heads off in the parking lot of TGIFridays.
SATURDAY:
In the morning I went to a PAN workshop about numbers: laydown, sell-through and what they mean. I’d been to this workshop before, so there wasn’t a lot of new info for me, but if you don’t know that stuff, it’s a great workshop and I definitely recommend it. I was glad I went because it’s a refresher course. It’s good to know the business of my business. The speaker talked about how the various bestseller lists are formulated and tracked a variety of books to see how differently they work on bestseller lists. For instance, did you know that the NYT list is formulated to start based on certain titles that the newspaper CHOOSES to track? A bookseller, if they are noting titles selling that are not on the list, is asked to write them in. But then the onus is on the harried bookseller to start writing in titles that aren’t on the list. It was also interesting because without a certain minimum print run (different for hardcover and paperback), there’s no way that a given title has a prayer of hitting the list.
From there, the Bantam Dell Booksigning, where, I’m happy to report, they did have my books! A hundred copies, as a matter of fact, which I dispatched with great rapidity. So much fun! I hope everyone enjoys it… and then tells their friends!
After that, Simone Elkeles and I went to lunch. Simone’s debut, HOW TO RUIN A SUMMER VACATION, is due out in a few months, and she’s got several more in the pipeline. Simone has been a CLW bud for some time and we hung out a lot at BEA, so it was nice to see her again and catch up. I’m so excited about her debut (her heroine is also named Amy.)
After lunch, I went to a two hour workshop with Michael Hauge, who is a screenwriting teacher. It was in one of the big “double” conference rooms, but the place was only half-filled. Why? Why? People, this man is a genius! He’d apparently been trying to get a workshop at the RWA Conference for years, but this is the first time he’s come. Was the expense involved too much? Were the workshop chair biddies being silly again? (I feel your pain, Michael.) So he’s not talking about novels specifically, but rather screenplays. So what? Story is story, and one thing this man believes in is STORY. And more than that, in love stories. The lecture was all about love stories and how they are at their heart stories of transformation (ding ding ding, internal conflict people). Hauge has this fascinating concept about identity and essence, and how those concepts are expressed not only by the main character arc, but also by the personalities of the main character’s love interest or interests. It was pretty interesting to me as I am working on the character arcs for the proposed continuation of the series. The upshot is that it’s an incredible workshop and you need to listen to the tapes right away, and possibly attend one of his seminars. I hope he comes back to the conference. I hope he comes to my local chapters to give a workshop.
After that, I had a lovely dinner with a bunch of TARA people and Maureen: Cheryl, Amanda, Kelly, Erica, Carrie (our newest distance TARA member)… where we ate a lot of sushi (man, most expensive meal I’ve had in ages!) and drank many many berry mojitos. So many in fact, that when we all stood up at the end of the meal, they hit us at once. And then, back to the rooms to hurriedly dress for the RITA awards, which were about ten times shorter and fifteen times more bearable than in past years. My friend Heather Davis Koenig finally won her Golden Heart! Whoopee! It’s your year, Heather! Here’s a picture of me as close as I’m ever going to come to a RITA award (Ssecrets Vol. 15, Jane Thompson’s nominee):
After that, I had some drinks at the bar with Cheryl, her brother, a bunch of his friends and family, and a whole bunch of friends from the conference. We shut down the bar (which isn’t difficult to do, considering how late it was already and how early they close the bars in the hotel) and tried to protect our table’s chairs from Jessica Faust, who kept trying to collect them.
The next day I went to my brother’s, where I was so exhausted I spent the whole afternoon napping and watching the DVD of Rome. Cool show. Is that Colonel Wentworth playing Caesar?
On Monday, I flew home. And that was my adventure for last week. Next week, I’ll discuss this week’s adventure, which was quite the incredible one. And after that, I’ll go on blog vacation, because I’m on SERIOUS deadline.
I woke up early, all excited to start attending workshops, I had promised myself that this year I’d go to a lot of workshops and learn a ton of stuff, because last year I hardly went to any. But the Marriot Marquis thwarted me, for no sooner did I get myself settled in a given workshop than my eyes started burning, my head started pounding, and I began to feel like I was coming down with some sort of dreadful cold. The workshop level killed me. I felt so sick down there. Despite that, I managed to make it to a pretty cool workshop on media training (stuff I need to use later this week, as I’ll be appearing on television) and an excellent one with Jo Beverly on the importance of names. Jo Beverly is a truly marvelous speaker. Those of you who have read my website know that I think names are the most important choice you can make for a character, but her workshop taught me even more than I already believed on the subject. Fascinating. If you get a chance to hear the tape, take it!
The other highlight of the morning was the Emily Giffin workshop. It was ostensibly on character but mostly it was about Emily Giffin, which was fine for me because I blame her for taking me out of writing for several days while I devoured her Something Borrowed and Something Blue. Fabulous books. Run, don’t walk to the bookstore and pick them up! (and no, I haven’t read Baby Proof yet because I’m on deadline, dammit!) Anyway, I sat between Marley and Maureen and we giggled like schoolgirls at a rock concert. Ms. Giffin (don’t call her Griffin) talked about how she made her books work, which was insightful and illuminating.
Seems that in both Something Borrowed AND Baby Proof she realized very early on that to make her books stand out from the pack she had to bite the bullet and change the concept completely. Originally, it was Darcy who steals Rachel’s fiancé! (By the way, I’m not spoiling anything, since this is the premise of the book.) So that was interesting. At once point, she asked us if we’d read any books recently that really gave us that ‘wow’ factor and stuck with us long after we closed the book and Marley and I said, in unison, like big dorks: “Something Borrowed.” Oops.
Anyway, after the chat, Nadine Dajani and I stood in line to chat with Emily, and Nadine actually gave her a copy of the ARC to her debut book, which is coming out from TOR in 2007. (Nadine, hon, when are you going to get your website up so I can link?) I gave Emily a bookmark and she said she’d seen my book in stores and I think I made some dumb comment about how in some stores our books were right next to one another. That’s me. Open-Mouth-Insert-Foot Peterfreund. But she was great. Go read her books now.
I skipped the Meg Cabot lunch in order to have a tete-a-tete with my agent and her assistant, Elaine Spencer, whom I love and adore. I’m sorry to have missed the lunch, because Meg is adorable and hilarious, but I was glad for the opportunity to pow wow. We talked about my series and brainstormed possible titles for SSG2, which is still sans title, as I’ve gotten the big fat NO on the first title I sent. You know, I used to think I was really good at titles, but it appears that my ability has atrophied.
That afternoon, I promised I’d go up to my room and write, but instead I went up to my room and talked with my brilliant and talented critique partner Cheryl, whom I used to live with and whom I haven’t seen in months and months and months. Later, I spent a lovely half an hour with (Golden Heart winner!) Heather Davis Koenig and Dona Sarkar, who are both CLW buddies. Then, I went to Aunt Pitty Pat’s porch for dinner, in keeping with my conference M.O. of “eat, drink, and be merry.” It was a whole drama because Cheryl and I thought we were making plans with Betina Krahn (whose recent RWR article blew my socks off and if you get the RWR, run run run, read it, learn it, and love it, because it’s positively brilliant!) and some other Florida friends, but somehow go them all mixed up with the plan being made by a bunch of NEC folks which resulted in massive miscommunications and several voicemails… but it all worked out and big party of us went to dinner. There, we had the best waiter ever, who served us the most phenomenal drinks. I had some sort of orange mango concoction (The Melanie Mash? The Ashley Ale? The Pitty-Pat Punch? Something like that), and Betina had a mint julep I said tasted like the dentist office, while Marley had some sort of moonshine cocktail that I said “tasted like college.” She agreed it was just like something she used to have at U. Alabama called “hunch punch” so I guess I was right. Anyway, we ate and ate and ate and ate and ate, including phenomenal fried chicken, crab cakes, amazing ribs (Marley has this picture of me licking my fingers and looking very satisfied, but I’m not putting it up because, well, internet and photoshop and that’s all I’m going to say) and these wonderful black eyed pea cakes that half the people at the table were dead set against ordering (not me) and it turned out to be one of the best things on the menu. Our long suffering waiter (here he is printing out twenty separate checks) even arranged for us all to get peach cobblers at the end of the meal. WE LOVE HIM!
After Aunt Pitty Pat’s I was pretty tired, so I did a quick spin through the Moonlight Madness Bazaar (which was almost closed down when we arrived) and picked up a cookbook care of the New Orleans chapter. Can’t wait to try their recipes. Proceeds go to Katrina funds, too.
FRIDAY:
Woke up pretty late the next morning, having slept very poorly (curse of the hotel again) and then, off to workshops. I went to one about writing action scenes with Gail Dayton, who is a master of her craft, but started feeling sick immediately. So I left early and went upstairs. The next block, I tried again at the Pacing workshop given by brilliant writers Roxanne St. Claire and (RWA prez) Gayle Wilson, but again, I felt too sick to stay. On my way out, I ran into Jana De Leon and her roommate Cindy, and went with them and a whole bunch of my TARA friends to lunch at the Hard Rock, where I learned:
1. It’s still the 80s at the Hard Rock Café. 2. It’s very loud, but still didn’t give me the headaches that the conference room did. 3. They have great salads at the Hard Rock. 4. When they play “YMCA,” all the waiters stop serving, climb up on chairs, and insist everyone dance with them, inserting lines like “Hard Rock Café” every time the Village People sing “YMCA.” 5. For the 90s-era Three Musketeers movie starring Chris O’Donnell, Sting performed a song with Bryan Adams and Rod Stewart, the video for which features a very uncomfortable Sting playing guitar and trying to put as much distance between him and the other two, who are sans instruments and spend the whole time doing those “I’m singing a long note so I must do backbends to show how tough it is” backbends on a black studio floor.
So that was that. After lunch, I went to a workshop with Susan Squires. Man, do I love Susan Squires. Her book, The Companion, is one of my top three favorite books of 2005. However, I have apparently not been entirely discreet in some of the comments I’ve made about the book (mostly because I made them on my blog, which is the opposite of discreet). So when I went up and introduced myself to her after the workshop, in the hallway, she goes, “Oh, you’re the 20 pages girl.” Ahem. I think it was Gina Black that told her. She said she was going to comment on my blog when she read it, but she didn’t, and honestly, so relieved, because I loved her book and would not have wanted her to think otherwise despite my complaint about the 20 pages. (Really, that bile was all about some other book and I was using The Companion as an example of a book that had a similar flaw but that I loved despite the tiny little flaw because of all the other wonderfulness. And really, aren’t the stars in star sapphires or rubies caused by miniscule flaws as well? I certainly will never forget that novel!
So there was my public smackdown with a NYT bestselling author. Actually, it was really nice, and we had a lovely chat. She clarified that was all her, not her editor, as previously surmised, and we even hammered out some damn good post-production motivation for those twenty pages, which I will cling to so that I can love the whole darn book. And that she’s glad I love her book anyway, and I said that I would make sure to remind all my blog readers to run run run out and READ The Companion right away, because it’s the most gorgeous and incredible love story. It’s about a young practical Englishwoman from the Regency period who is the daughter of an archaeologist and an Egyptian. She’s spent her entire life in Egypt and is forced to return to England (which is not her home) when her father passes away. On the boat back, she meets a mysterious man who is going through an even more mysterious change – the kind that makes him allergic to sunlight and lust for blood. This man has recently escaped a terrible ordeal in which he was enslaved and tortured. Squires does not skimp on the torture, but this book is for anyone who loves love stories, anyone who loves vampire stories, anyone who loves Egypt stories, and anyone who loves just really well written page turning heart-string pulling stories. Go go go and read read read (and then let me know if you agree with me about those 20 pages). She’s also got some more in the series out: The Hungerand The Burning. These are not easy-way-out romances. They are tough, they are hard, they are graphic, they are strong… and they’ll stay with you long after you’ve closed the book.
After that, I stuck my head into the Bantam Dell spotlight, but I didn’t stay because last year they didn’t mention my book so I didn’t expect them to this year – but oops, they did! Yay! Other workshops where they mentioned me was PC Cast’s on writing believable teen characters, and someone asked how old was too old for YA. My book was brought up as an example of one that went adult instead of YA. My heroine, by the way, is 21 and a junior in college.
From there I wandered over to the Blaze Fifth Anniversary Party, where I saw a whole bunch of Blaze writers, who are, pound for pound, my favorite group of romance writers. Naturally, I fangirled around for a little while, hanging with Julie Kenner, Julie Leto, Crystal Green, Janelle Denison, Leslie Kelly, Isabel Sharpe, Alison Kent, Jamie Sobrato, Thea Devine (!!!!!), the Tori Carringtons , Jaquelin D’Alessandro, Kathy Garbera, Jennifer LaBreque, Jill Monroe, Rhonda Nelson, Joanne Rock, Kimberly Raye, Brenda Chin, etc., and then, because I clearly hadn’t embarrassed myself enough, I thought it would be funny to perpetuate a little fraud. You see, all the Blaze authors were given little Blaze nametags to wear at the party, and there was a tray near the door covered with nametags for authors who hadn’t made it to the conference. I thought it would be funny to take a picture of myself wearing Jo Leigh’s nametag and then send it to her. So I pin it on and let my friend Kelly take a picture. As soon as she does, this poor woman comes up to me, CLOSER in hand and says, “Jo Leigh?” Oops oops and double oops. So now I’m impersonating authors! Let me say it once and for all: I am not Jo Leigh.
Exhausted from all the humiliation, I go upstairs to change for the evening. And that’s the end of today’s post. Stay tuned tomorrow for more exciting adventures, including: Diana goes to Oklahoma, Diana meets the Queen of the Universe, and The Thing Diana Learned that Changed Not Only her Life, but the Whole Secret Society Girl Series, in the Best Workshop of the Conference.
Once upon a time there was a debut author who liked going to writing conferences. She went to several per year, and always made time in her schedule for the National RWA Conference. She even did so this year, despite the fact that the conference was the week after her book came out, and she was also on a really tight deadline. Here’s what happened, in her own words:
A week ago today, I arrived in Atlanta. I spent the trip down reading the beginning of my critique partner’s latest book (which is fabulous, by the way, and nyah-nyah, y’all* have to wait until 2008 to get your hands on it!) I ran into romance author Leslie Kelly** in the terminal, but as she was riding business class and Cheapskate Peterfreund was in coach, we didn’t get to talk until after the flight. In Atlanta, I saw Maureen McGowan in the taxi line and the three of us taxi’d to the hotel. It would be my most successful taxi ride of the trip.
At the hotel, I checked in then went out to lunch with two of my best writing friends, Colleen Gleason and Jana De Leon. Colleen and Jana both sold their books in the past year, and so, according to the rules of our secret society, they had to buy me lunch. (It’s okay, as we bought them a pen.) Of course, we had champagne. Come on! I have a book just out, Collen has sold three, Jana got FOIL on her debut and has all other manner of exciting news she’ll no doubt be sharing soon… it was a champagne day if ever I heard of one. Here we are, gossiping and eating.
After lunch, I met up with Marley and got a Sorority series t-shirt. Here we are, wearing them:
And then, the Knight Agency Party. Unfortunately, I didn’t take a lot of pictures. I did, however, have great conversations with Susan Grant, Karmela Johnson, Jennifer Echols (whose amazing book, MAJOR CRUSH, is out this week!), and Kristin Nelson, who has fabulous fashion sense, and is quite tall. In fact, here’s a picture of Kristin and I showing off in front of the more vertically challenged Karmela.
I brought my brother Luke to the party, and we had a great time. TKA has the most beautiful office – gorgeous old house, antiques, manicured lawns – and they definitely knew how to throw a party. They served delicious white sangria and a variety of southern food, including homemade pralines that Tracy Farrell and I dared each other to try, and then realized that we didn’t really need a reason, because they were little bits of praline heaven. And I don’t even like sweets! Of course, you know me, I spend so much time talking that I hardly got a chance to eat. I finally met Jud and Elaine and Julie and Samantha, as well as getting the opportunity to hang out with all my TKA friends: Gena and Lauraine and Crystal and Kristen and I just know I’m going to start forgetting people, so I’ll stop now.
I got home and was starving, but the stupid hotel stopped serving at midnight, so instead of chilling at the bar with Marley and her NEC friends or Sasha, Sylvia, Renee and the rest of the Passionate Ink chapter, I went upstairs to my room (my roommate had arrived, but was fast asleep) ordered room service, wolfed down my burger in record time, and went to bed.
* By the way, I’ve decided to incorporate y’all into my writing as it has long been incorporated into my speech. It’s a crime that it is not already included in standard English usage, as most other languages have an assigned, proper term to indicate “you plural.”
** Leslie’s new book, HERE COMES TROUBLE, is out this week. And yes, this whole entry is going to be a mess of name-dropping.
_______
WEDNESDAY:
Woke up early, then Cheryl and I met up with Kelly and Marley and went out to Chamblee for a lovely morning at the Faded Rose Tea Garden. Kelly is quite the connoisseur of afternoon teas, and she chose well. The food was delicious. I highly recommend a trip out there if you’re ever in the Atlanta area. We had peach tea, jasmine tea, wild cherry tea, apricot tea, and French vanilla tea. The best by far was the peach tea, though others at the table thought French vanilla was a close second, I far preferred the wild cherry or apricot to the vanilla. I have completely lost my taste for sweets of late.
The food there was marvelous: three different types of scones with black currant jam, apple butter, and clotted cream; followed by a cup of delicious potato-rosemary soup with carrot and leek (Kelly says onions, but I could have sworn…); then a dish of savories, including cheese puffs, sausage rolls, and mini quiches; a tray of tuna salad pastries with tiny cherry tomatoes on top and chicken salad with grapes, celery and nuts croissants that Marley traded with me for my tuna since she couldn’t eat the nuts; and a whole tray of desserts like petit fours, mini éclairs (looked like cream puffs to me), Napoleons and chocolate covered strawberries. I had the strawberries because of the aforementioned lack of interest in sweets.
And of course it was all very high class. The china was gorgeous and antique, all the teapots came in cozies, the stacked tea trays were adorable (see photo) and the sugar was served in the form of amber crystals in a little silver sugar scuttle complete with little mini silver sugar scuttle with which to scoop. (Say that five times fast.) And, I would like to report it here first: Kelly puts so many amber crystals in her tea that when she stirs, it sounds like marbles.
The place is about a block away from the MARTA station. On the way over, the taxi driver had no idea how to find the place. On the way home, the idiot didn’t turn on the meter and then tried to charge us 9 dollars. 9 dollars! Here’s what I’ve learned from my New York buddies: if the cabbie is trying to take advantage of you, pay what you think is fair and leave it at that.
On the way home (via MARTA) we met a nicely-dressed young man who followed us from train car to train car and asked a variety of rapid-fire questions, including, but not limited to: 1. Are you here for a conference? (I’d neglected to remove my badge. Answered with, “the Romance Writers of America conference.”) 2. What kind of conference? (Answered with “it’s a conference for romance writers.”) 3. Do you know anyone that’s gotten the flu? 4. Do you know anyone with Krohn’s disease? 5. Have you ever been out of the country?
At that point, we thought it expedient to move along. Quoth Kelly, “Who is this guy, Homeland Security?” There was more, too but we’re going to leave the topic.
Cheryl and I made our way into the goody room, where we picked up some goodies and had the good fortune to run smack dab into Maria V. Snyder, whose debut book, Poison Study, we’d both read and loved last year. Then I went off with my friend Kathy Carmichael to the bookseller’s lunch, at which I saw only one bookseller. Escaping with some Passionate Ink chicas to the bar, I abandoned my promotional pursuits in favor of a margarita and chilling with folks like Sylvia Day and Sasha White. (Love Sasha White. I want to move to Canada and marry her. Actually, I think we can get married in Canada. Yay, Canada! Except she probably wouldn’t have me, confirmed bachelorette that she is.) I told the “romance romance romance!” story (totally margarita-induced) and Sylvia is now using it for blackmail.
By this point, you may have noticed a pattern to my actions at this conference. It involves a lot of eating, drinking, and gabbing with friends, and very few conference related activities. Part of the reason for that is that, well, the conference hasn’t officially started yet. But it doesn’t change once the conference does get started.
Next up was the literacy signing. As this was my first literacy signing, I was understandably excited. (For those non-RWA folks reading the blog, the literacy signing is this humongous event wherein publishers donate books and all the RWA authors sign in this huge ballroom – hundreds and hundreds of us in rows) and the proceeds are donated to a literacy program. I think this year we raised $60,000.) I had a whole vase of rose lollipops and a huge stack of bookmarks and my pen and I get there and…
There’s a little card at my place setting that reads, “Dear Author…”
Wow. That’s almost as bad as the old “Dear Writer…” rejection letters. Upshot is, they couldn’t seem to get their hands on my books. (Now we know why of course: the darn things had to be reprinted!) So I had no books. I was very depressed at first – almost cried – but Roxanne St. Claire slapped that crap right out of me (metaphorically of course) and I concentrated on meeting people, giving them lollipops, and signing bookmarks. And I finally met Alison Kent and her husband, who I kept calling “Mr. Kent.” And I kept calling her Alison. Because honestly, pen names trip me up every time. I will now be calling both Larissa Ione and Stephanie Tyler “Sydney.” See if I don’t.
I was amazed at how many people stopped by! I hope a lot of them got a chance to pick up a book at a later time. Here’s me looking dejected:
I also got a chance to hang with Mary-Theresa Hussey of Harlequin, which was great, because my main goal for the conference was to make Rachel Vincent jealous, and Mary-Theresa is her editor. Matrice and I had a nice long chat. Nyah, nyah, Rachel!
On the way out, I ran into Gena Showalter and PC Cast, who was with her publicist Sherry. We all went back to the bar to have dinner and PC and I got to chat about how fun it is to have opinions and how we don’t plan on stopping having opinions any time soon. I love PC. She’s larger than life, like one of the goddesses or warriors she talks about. Gena once again proved her superhuman qualities by eating this whole tray of nachos and then, while waiting for the check, writing a novella.
After that, I changed, got roundly joshed by Kristin Nelson for wearing the same dress as I did to the TKA party (lubs ya, KN!), and headed over to the Chick Lit Writers of the World party. This year, the planners had arranged for us to have these amazing martinis. There were two kinds, red and blue. In honor of Secret Society Girl, I stuck to red. I also gave away a basket of goodies in the raffle. Randy Bruskard won and I’ll be sending it out to her forthwith. Here’s a picture of me with Kimberley Llewellyn, a friend from Tampa whose newest book, Tulle Little Tulle Late, is an August Booksense Notable Pick.
And, as if that’s not enough, I got to spend a while at the party talking to Rachel Vincent’s agent, Miriam Kriss. Nyah, nyah, Rachel.
I ended the night with a trip up to the Knight Agency suite, where we all sat around and talked about our days. I want to work there. It seems like the most extraordinary office environment. Those girls are a hoot.
Stay tuned tomorrow for more adventures, including: Diana commits fraud, Diana stalks a NYT besteselling writer, Diana has a public smackdown with one of her favorite authors, and “Surrey with a Fringe on Top.”
, Jaquelin D’Alessandro, Kathy Garbera, Jennifer LaBreque, Jill Monroe, Rhonda Nelson, Joanne Rock, Kimberly Raye, Brenda Chin, etc., and then, because I clearly hadn’t embarrassed myself enough, I thought it would be funny to perpetuate a little fraud. You see, all the Blaze authors were given little Blaze nametags to wear at the party, and there was a tray near the door covered with nametags for authors who hadn’t made it to the conference. I thought it would be funny to take a picture of myself wearing Jo Leigh’s nametag and then send it to her. So I pin it on and let my friend Kelly take a picture. As soon as she does, this poor woman comes up to me, CLOSER in hand and says, “Jo Leigh?” Oops oops and double oops. So now I’m 
