I awoke on Day Two with the taste of plasterboard in my mouth. It's something I'm familiar with AT A JOBSITE, not in a hotel, gah. I listened to my roomies move around the room before forcing myself to get up. I don't do mornings well.
Gargling helped get rid of that awful taste. Then I looked at the program to see what's happening downstairs.
That chart in the middle of the program? The. Most. Awful. Mess. Evah.
For one thing, the days didn't go consecutively! I had a tough time figuring what went where during which hour, and the schedule for Saturday was sort of merged with Friday's, so I was quite confused, and it wasn't even 10am yet. So I did what an author would do.
I went down to the bar.
Ah. Nothing like an early morning pick-me-up to figure out where to go next. I went to Club RT and hung out there a bit to meet with friends and fans. It was a fun thing for me because I registered late and many people didn't know that I was coming, so I was like a surprise to those milling around.
"But you're not in the program!"
"I didn't know you were here!"
"No, you aren't Gennita Low!"
Heehee. I love making surprise entrances.
If you read my earlier posts, lunch featured a staged hanging. It was actually part of a reading and skit of the first chapter of Helen Rosburg's book, Blaze of Lightning, Roar of Thunder. It was like dinner theatre, only that it was lunch. And it was also the beginning of experiencing the PA system of Death.
I had to leave early because of an appointment, mainly with a group of fantastic authors that included Anya Bast (and her husband, James, and beautiful baby), Lauren Dane, Megan Hart, and Jeri Smith-Ready. Yes, I ate another meal ;-), at Palamino's, which was just across the street from the Hilton Ghetto. Lots of mirth and happy clanking of glasses. Lots of talk about books and favorite themes. Lots of interesting gossip about the bithnez. And I'm so going to one day imitate Lauren's very funny act. It's a mix of Dr. Seuss and 1950s movies upper-class drawl (just imagine Eva Gardner holding a glass of champagne and looking down her nose and going "dah-link") and a mezzo-soprano singsong:
"I will NOT write brothers in bed TOgethah. No, no, NOooo. I will NOT have InCESt. I will NOT have that Mess. I will NOt, no...never, ever, not for meee, it's not SExee, not at all, no, no, nononononoNO! Now BRING me my HOOKah!"
Heehee. You just have to see it to enjoy the act. Lauren is so going to kick my ass when she reads this.
Later that day, I went to a panel with three very different and prolific authors, Barry Eisler, Heather Graham and Alexandra Sokoloff called Die For Me. These authors showed us all the different ways to write about killers and killing. It was quite a fun session, especially when Barry, a martial arts expert, stood up and demonstrated how to kick a door down. Wooh baby. That was hot. I assure you all the attending ladies approved of the technique.
He then sat down, a bit embarrassed, and added, "of course, writing about killing is like writing about brain surgery--one isn't really a killer or a brain surgeon." To which, some smartass chica named Gennita chimed in, "Unless, of course, you're staying at the Holiday Inn." I don't know why I did that. It just came out....
Later that evening was the Underwater Faerie Ball. I wore a gown the color of the ocean, and brought along a cape in case the waters got cold.
Who did I spy first?
It was the tall nymph, Marjorie Liu. She just arrived earlier that day, so her human glamor still clung to her.
The ballroom decor was absolutely beautiful, with appropriate lighting. It felt like we were all moving in an underwater realm. Especially when all around, we saw:
mischievous sprites,
fairy queens and love slave (heh, that's just Sly, a good friend)
and here's Queen Christine Feehan herself, holding court. She hosted a speakeasy after the Ball. Many Australian friends didn't understand what a speakeasy was and I had to explain about illegal gambling and drinking during the 20s. She didn't get the connection with the fairy ball, so I told her magical beings love to gamble and carouse, LOL.
Here's me with one of the magical beings. Damn, on second look at the pic, I'm going to have to contact Marianne Mancusi and Liz Maverick to check this out. MY BOOBAH HAS ALSO BEEN GRAZED! Is this a male thang? See Liz's similar experience at http://www.rebelsofromance.com/.
Here's another one of my favorite magical beings, the immortal John de Salvo. He came over while the other guys were gambling and charmed my cape off.
Maybe it was the magic potion, courtesy of Queen Feehan:
CF H2O brew, the stuff that makes a night powerfully magical.
The night ended with a lovely chat with Hank, his companion, and Kayla Perrin, who tried to spoil it by telling everyone I was an evil shapeshifter. She chased away Barry Eisler (check out his live blogging on the RT forum) by boa-ing him to death. Wait till I get her to send me the pic. Barry will never live this down. I'll have to demonstrate this boa-ing technique the next time he's in a "murder" panel.
Bedtime before 3am....(I'll update this post as soon as I get more photos from friends)
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