Here are a nice pic of a MarjorieWich from Day Two. Us Asian chicas rook arike.
Okay, where were we? Day Three.
I woke up with the strange sensation of having breathed in a pound of sawdust and plasterdust. When I coughed, this strange mist puffed out of my lungs. I figured it was just leftover fairydust from last night. I turned over, ignoring my roomies', Ann Aguirre's and Jeri Smith-Ready's, early morning antics (they had something important to do; I didn't, ha).
When I finally sat up, I went to gargle and brushed the sawdust off my teeth. Hmm. I notice this little red welt on the left side of my face...but by now, I was in a hurry, so I just applied heavier makeup.
My feet hurt. My eye twitched. I coughed some more. So I did what a sensible author would do.
I went downstairs to the bar.
Day Three was the Pahty Day. There was a party somewhere; you couldn't escape it. Morning spritzer. Mid-morning Book Wakeup Calls. Mid-mid-morning Happy Hour. Afternoon Snack and Margaritas. You get the picture. You could just wander around, dragging a shopping cart, sipping interesting brews, and happily talk to authors who were just willing to keep you in this drunken state all day. I was perfectly happy playing reader and getting free books and drinks. I scored many books to give away for contests ;-).
Lunch was wonderful, but the PA System of Death seemed to have gotten louder. I stayed as long as I could because I wanted to see the Pioneers of Romance on stage, which included Roberta Gellis and Bertrice Small. But my ears were ringing from all the feedback bouncing off the back wall and it caused enough of a migraine that I had to leave.
So my girlfriend and I decided to take a break and went off to the Andy Warhol Museum about fifteen minutes away. If you scroll down to the actual day, you'll read me posting about that trip and a bit about the vampire ball.
I mean, what can be a deeper subject matter than watching footage of Andy Warhol filming his artist-friend painting with a brush sticking out his arse? There were other great pop art that he did that we appreciated more, of course, but that little show was unforgetable after lunch. Especially, when we were milling with a group of 20 older visitors. They stared stonily at the television, not finding the same humor we did. Then it occurred to me...were't they, like, that hip age when this little film was made? Come on....loosen up, that was you, gramps and grammies! Heh.
The walk back was lovely. The weather was cooperating--80 degrees and no humidity! I felt like putting on a toolbelt and climbing on the roof...never waste good weather like this, I say.
Ah well. The urge to hammer must have come from eating sawdust at night.
Anyway, back at the hotel, I lined up for more margaritas and free books. I met the lovely Sylvia Day who graciously signed her book for me. I did the networking thing, at which I'm incredibly bad, because I never have any cards or bookmarks on me, and also because when someone asked me whether I was Marjorie Liu, I always said yes. Or if they exclaimed that they thought Marjorie Liu was such a young thing, I corrected them by telling them that she was actually 40. We Asians just age very nicely. Yes, this was really bad of me, especially when I was networking, but Jill Smith by my side wasn't helping. Heh.
By the time I went back to the room, I had to get ready for the Vampire Ball. Ann Aguirre was already dancing, looking fabulous. I decided that I needed wavy hair to look wicked because I was so innocent-looking all the time. Voila!
My gown had this mesh of spiderwebs clinging on the outside. That was my "scary" contribution for the Vampire theme. Don't I look wicked?
Heather Graham and gang did a mystery theatre during dinner called Little Red Riding Ho. She's always fun to watch, but this year, that PA SYSTEM OF DEATH chased me away. People must have been complaining about problems hearing because someone TURNED IT UP even MORE, thinking that would make things BETTER. Not.
Okay...here is the part that I'm cutting and pasting from an earlier post:
The PA system was so loud, I think my eardrums burst in the middle of trying to eat dessert. When I looked up at the screen and saw a transvestite on stage humping the Frankenstein, I picked up a huge raw spear of broccoli and tried to commit suicide by stabbing my forehead with a sexy vegetable. Sitting not too far from me, a male writer was sawing his wrist with a butter knife.I was then carried out of there by my table (yes, my table was running away) into the foyer where half the crowd had already escaped, nursing their eardrums with alcohol. I joined in.
I've been getting email asking me how exactly did one try to kill oneself with a spear of brocoli. Look, I took Barry Eisler's talk about killing at heart, okay? He told us we could kill with just about ANYTHING, so, with the right angle, and the right force, a giant spear of brocoli at a vampire ball could be a deadly weapon. Just ask Barry.
Once outside, many of the undead welcomed me.
That's Stacey, the most wonderful bookseller from NYC (check out the store at Grand Central!). I dabbed her bleeding ears and she dabbed mine.
Author Stephanie Burke in one of elaborate costumes. Yes, that was a real whip.
I wasn't scared of this particular monster at all ;-P.
I told this zombie I didn't have any brains left for him. If you look on the wall behind him, you'll notice a poster with different photos. There were posters similar to it all outside the ballroom, from different RT conventions. It was fun looking at them, checking out the era of the Big Hair during the 80s, the authors that I grew up reading having the same fun I was now, the young Fabio and long-haired John de Salvo (whom I still affectionately call John de Salivate), the flippy hairdos of the 90s, etc.
Those posters represented the 25 years of Romantic Times, celebrating romance and all it entailed. How it had grown as a genre. I wish I could take some of those posters home. They were fabulous reminders of how far we had come and what those pioneers of romance had passed on to us. Today, our genre is the hottest selling of all the genres and other writers are coming to our convention, not to make fun, but to join in the merrymaking and to learn from our writers. Why? Because romance readers are the most prolific readers, that's why, and they're finally getting it ;-).
The night's Tail ended here.
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