My best laid plans continue to go awry. Blame it on the alcohol, indeed. But I'm having a glorious time at the conference; this year I'm feeling no pressure at all, since I'm not up for anything, wasn't responsible for anything, and had to give one workshop that was done by noon on the first day (that would be today). So the rest of the conference is pure working and fun. Actually, I suppose I should be thinking about the editor meetings I have tomorrow (both my freelance editor and the editor I'm pitching), but I prefer to ignore all of this.
Today was utterly lovely - I woke up too early, since I thought my workshop was at ten, but that meant that I was able to meet up with my friend Sarah in the lobby and write over coffee for an hour or so. I didn't get much done, since I discovered a massive fucking problem right in the middle of my manuscript, which I now think I know how to fix but wasn't making me happy this morning. Then I gave the workshop, skipped out of the hotel (not fast enough, since I kept running into people, which meant I had to take a taxi), and went to the office, where I did one meeting while eating a whole plate of steak. Then, I left the office, got to the subway, realized I'd left my phone in the office, went back to the office, and then had to call an Uber to take me to the Ritz-Carlton, which was an expensive but luxurious way to roll up to the fanciness in style.
At the Ritz, I had high tea (and a bellini) with some historical writer friends and the readers who won having tea with us as part of a charity auction we participated in in May. And I utterly gorged myself on gluten, but for once I don't regret a single bite, because it was all totally amazing. They had this grand marnier infused cream puff that was the best thing I've ever eaten, and there were all these great tea sandwiches, and they had scones, and I wanted to die from happiness. Then I almost really did die when the taxi on the way to the hotel had no air conditioning and took forty-five minutes, which meant I sweated ('glowed') all the way through my dress and missed my meeting with my freelance editor (who was luckily in communication via text, so we're meeting tomorrow).
So after all that, I was going to take it totally low-key - but instead, I took a cold shower, went downstairs, and had a v. lovely dinner with my San Francisco writing chapter (a dinner I was way too stuffed to eat, so I just had alcohol and a potato, which is like my perfect meal). Then I was going to go to my room and write, but I walked out of the restaurant with Rachael, so I ended up in her room talking selfpub over a glass of scotch. Then I actually made it to my room...but Kristin texted me, so I met her in the bar, where I had two drinks and networked with a million awesome people, and also told two Microsoft guys my father's distinction between romance novels and porn, which is too dirty to repeat here. The Microsoft guys were perhaps initially uncomfortable, since I overheard one of them whispering to the other that 'all the women here write *smut*), and I v. uncharacteristically interrupted and called them out on it. But then we had a rambling half-hour conversation about romance, which was made particularly shocking to them when they learned that I work at [tech company] and one of my fellow writers is an Episcopal priest. Heh.
sssanyway, after having a v. fruity drink with Tessa Dare (namedropping) and her v. high-powered literary agent (who lives in the same town as my former agent, may her name live forever in my heart), I have finally returned to my room, and I shall stay here for eight blessed hours. And then the fun will commence again, hopefully without me developing cirrhosis overnight. Goodnight!
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