Estrogen, Unleashed

I leave tomorrow for D.C. and RWA's National Conference. Imagine almost two thousand romance writers, the industry's top editors and agents, one hotel, three bars, one hundred workshops, a 300-author book signing event that benefits literacy charities and one spectacular formal awards event very much like the Oscars. Except there's no Hugh Jackman. Or red carpet. And the paparazzi is your critique partner from twelve states away who just borrowed your clear nailpolish to avert a nylon disaster.

This year is my second time with a princess pink Golden Heart finalist ribbon. The first time around, so many strangers asked me about my book, I pitched more than Roger Clemens before his mid-career slump. The opportunities were amazing, the days inspiring (and exhausting). How many other times in a writer's career is it so decidedly optimistic? For all the rejection and years and isolated determination, that pink ribbon of possibility fuels me for whatever pothole-ridden road awaits. And it will await. It always does.

Be good to yourself and others this week. Wednesday and Friday, you'll revisit some older posts, a spectacular display of time travel, don't you think? Okay, maybe not spectacular, but a cool perk of technology, nevertheless. If you're so inclined, RWA will be updating their site as Golden Heart and Rita winners are announced or you can follow the ceremony Saturday night (8-10pm EST) via Twitter. I'll be back next week with tons of photos, including a visit to the International Spy Museum. I'm channeling my inner Bond girl, you know.

Bye for now,

InkyLuv