Patrick Alan

Today is your day. You wake up late. Refreshed, with poached eggs. Yesterday, you saw everyone. Today they will see you! In your spectacular pants and fancy shoes.

You’re in your car listening to Led Zepplin utter words incoherently. Now you’re in the lobby and the lunch bell is ringing. You follow your meatloaf posse, because meatloaf loves you. Not the singer, Meatloaf, because that would be creepy.

Now you’re playing musical chairs and the music has stopped and your posse has all found chairs but you have not.

Pow! You’re in the back of the room, looking for a chair with some back of the room ladies. You spy a sparsely seated table and approach like the Woman-Whisperer you are. You sigh dejectedly after briefly walking past and apologetically ask if there’s a seat available.

Now you’ve saddled those women and ride off into the sunset. And by that, I mean you sit down and introduce yourself to Joan Swan of California and Elisabeth Naughton of Oregon.

Who is from Oregon that you haven’t met yet, you wonder.

They say the words “Romantic Suspense”. You tell them that you and Roxanne St. Claire hold hands and go shoe shopping together and you won the Dice Game at her house because you win everything. They like you even more. Then you trade children.

Now GIANT Nora Roberts is saying “Swim, my little bitches. Swim. Hug your friends now and together you can tell the little bitches to swim in thirty years.”

Next you’re in the hall and Toni Blake is calling your name. She says she recognized your voice, but you weren’t talking. Maybe she was walking behind you, admiring your . . . “pants”. You like this naughty Toni Blake.

You enter a room as “Exhibit A” in a workshop called Sex Appeal. A man at the front of the room speaks in a British accent and the entire room swoons. Women raise their hands and ask the question “I’m a Reacher Creature!” and Lee Child smiles and answers “yes.” Suzanne Brockmann speaks faster than her brain because she, too, is a Reacher Creature.

Shazzamm! You’re in the hall looking at a man. That man is Ethan Ellenberg and you want to say hello. You would say “Hello, Ethan Ellenberg. You are John Scalzi’s agent.” Because he might have forgot. Then you would tell him of the time Scalzi wrote a blog and you commented and Scalzi commented back. “Ha Ha Ha. Here is that two book contract you wanted with the editor that you love”, he would say. Then you would hold hands and skip down the Disney Boardwalk.

Suddenly, the moment has passed and he is talking with an actual client.

Now you’re in a room where Kristen Painter reads the EPIC ORAL HISTORY OF LOUISA EDWARDS and then the workshop runs out of time.

You’re in the lobby talking with friends in a room that is too loud. Over that loud you hear Cyndi D’Alba’s voice.

BOOM! Amazon Leopard Cat Princess Kristen Painter appears. Four men suffer vertigo from their heads spinning so fast and land on the floor repeating “hubba hubba” and drooling. You thank your lucky STARs you’re immune to her fantastic hotness. She and Rocki prowl off to abuse the un-immuned.

A friend of the friend you just made says “YARWA!” so you follow her.

You find yourself in a room full of women who think like teenage girls. They ask “Who can’t relate to the pain of debilitating cramps in math class?” so you raise your hand. They all point and laugh because teenage girls always point and laugh. You smear guacamole on your shirt to avoid embarrassment.

Bria Quinlan is shouting your name. A table full of horny teenage-thinking women is clamoring for you. Because teenager women like to steal men! You insist they share and return to your table.

The talking ends with a chant of “Yay for blowjobs in YA!” and they scatter to the wind. Bria Quinlan is nowhere to be found, but you know she will find you again because she’s under orders.

Now you’re in the bar and talking with two women. Those women became five, and now four. Your fantabulous pants are doing their job! You hear Cyndi D’Alba’s voice again and wonder if she’s close. Probably not.

Toni Blake is whispering “Sayx wee-ith wooves” in your ear over and over again with no rum runners in sight. Nikki Enlow is waving her arms like Mr. Roboto and saying “I’m not a HEEPER. I’m not your saviour. Forget what you know.”

Kristen and Rocki pass by on their way to their room to kick back, relax and have a glass of wine. And by that, I mean strip down to their undies and have a pillow fight. I really really mean that. Really! Louisa Edwards isn’t far behind. You hurry her along so she doesn’t miss the pillow fight. You hope someone posts pictures. I hope someone posts pictures!

Now back at the bar! Toni tells you how bad your foot tasted. But enough about your high school girlfriend. How many Captain and Coke’s have you had? I’m not your Heeper!

Allison Pang appears saying “Jeffe Jeffe Jeffe!” and takes your photo six hundred times.

Sometime after midnight you thank your pants for a wonderful day and head back to your hotel.

You wake up early and you’re tired. Now you are excited and can’t sleep. Your toothbrush has a new battery and you feel clever because you stayed at a hotel down the road on Reward Points where you will have free parking, free breakfast, and a shuttle to Disney World.

Now that shuttle is a $20 taxi and the parking and breakfast aren’t free. Next you’re driving to Disney where you park again for not free and your cleverosity is deteriorating.

Suddenly you’re at day one the second of Nationals and you’re signing in. The line is not long, because this is not the women’s bathroom.

You’re excited! You’re holding a book by Toni Blake titled “Sugar Creek” and you wonder if her next book will be called “Rum Runner River”.

Now you’re sitting alone, because day one the second is like the day before the conference and you are not a librarian or a leader and you have not made other plans.

You take out your fantastically blue Netbook, which was pink, but now blue and do what it is that writers do. Sing karaoke. And by that, I mean write.

Louisa Edwards walks by on her way to a spectacular lunch and you want to tell her you read her book, and you will later, but you don’t know that now so forget that I told you. You read it on a plane and it made you hungry and you still can’t cook perfectly poached eggs no matter how many times you re-read that scene and you think Frankie looks like Jeffrey Dean Morgan and you want to call everyone ‘bit’.

And you are hungry now. So you turn to what you know best. Pancakes. And by that I mean Twitter.

Suddenly, a woman walks by in a Meg Cabot costume. You think that could be Meg Cabot in the Meg Cabot-like dress and that Meg Cabot-ish hair, but it seems too soon because the conference that started yesterday starts tomorrow, or later that evening.

Now Louisa and Kristen Painter are tweeting about the fabulous lunch they planned and are eating while you realize that not planning lunch was not a good plan at all. So to Twitter, you find another hungry person named Becca, who also wants to tell Louisa she likes her book and is hungry, but then she stabs herself in the eye to not eat lunch with you and you are still hungry so you write some more.

Meg Cabot walks by again and you’re still unsure. In your mind you say “Meg!” because you’re a writer and she’s a writer and you’re at a writing conference and she turns and says “Yes?” and you say “Nope. I got nothing.” and she smiles. Then the Ninjas attack. No, they are Sith Lords and Meg Cabot has a double lightsabre and the chorus sings “Daaaaaahh, OOOOoooo, aaaaaaaahhh”

Now you’re hiding in a corner. Not hiding, reading “Sugar Creek”. Now writing. Now reading.

Suddenly you’re being called a loser for hiding by Nikki, who is a friend of Toni, that you met last night and is running for Region Three against JoMarie and now you have a dilemma.

Lucienne Diver glides by in a beautiful yellow dress.

There is a room full of 500 women with books and Nikki is dancing for a writer you don’t know in ways you find oddly appealing. Then she is telling more people you don’t know that you are a writer and you say you write YA and although not a Romance it has romantic elements because it’s about a boy who likes the wrong girl for the wrong reasons and people die. Now you feel smart.

Next you’re talking to Deidre Knight and thinking wow, my foot tastes fantastic so you put more of your foot in your mouth. The smart feeling has subsided.

And there’s Diana Peterfreund, but you don’t say Hi because the last time that happened, your foot didn’t taste very good.

Louisa Edwards is sitting across from Leigh Duncan and you say Hi, because even if you do taste your foot, it would be fantastically seasoned. But you don’t taste your foot and you succeed in your goal for the day of telling her you enjoyed her book.

Finally your posse arrives and takes you out for meatloaf and you call it a night after briefly considering karaoke, but you woke early and tomorrow the conference that started yesterday starts again. Sadly, no one will hear your rendition of Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful”.

And tomorrow will be better because you will be wearing real pants and fancy shoes and those can make all the difference in the world.

You walk by Erica Ridley and Diana Peterfreund on the way to your car and think, I will wait until I have better pants.

RWA Nationals begins on Wednesday. Look down. Look up. I mean Tuesday. Unless you arrive on Monday.

You’re standing in the lobby. A woman walks by. Then another. And another. Then a mob of women are jogging. And by jogging, I mean drinking heavily in the lobby bar.

A person resembling the picture of @JessicaScott09 circles the lobby with two children and a man. Yes. A man. At RWA. He probably doesn’t know.

Kristen Painter arrives and you’re walking. Walking ten feet until you are hugging Roxanne St. Claire.

Suddenly, you’re introduced to Sarah Wendell, and you’re told she’s a Smart Bitch, even though she seems very pleasant.

Deidre Knight yells “Dimples!” and then “Michelle Wolfson”. And you say “I know, right?” and then smile at Deidre’s fifteen foot tall tall daughter. And then you think tall one more time.

Next you’re at an outside bar. Now that bar is inside and Toni Blake is drinking a rum runner and talking about a stick horse. Then Johnny Depp. No, he was not there, but Toni was. Did you see the rum runner? But enough about Willy Wonka. Why are there no napkins?

Now you’re being carded because you are standing next to Lindsey Faber. She says “No tattoo. No tattoo.” But there is no plane, either. Then you see that thing that you never thought you would see, but you will see again and your camera does not work.

Finally, Toni Blake is taking your picture. You smile pretty as Kristen Painter looks on in disgust.

Welcome to day one of RWA Nationals. Unless this is day two. Remember to wear at least 3 different pairs of shoes.

Now I am officially on vacation instead of working. I mean, the weekend was the weekend, so not officially vacation.

The more I look at RWA Nationals, the less prepared I am for it. At some level, I suspect I will be the odd man out - or at least, just the odd man.

Before the conference, or now looking at the schedule, maybe even at the conference, I need to finish the first draft of my novel. We’re only talking about 5k-10k max. Right now I am procrastinating. I am good at that. It’s not that I don’t want to finish, because I really do, but I just haven’t switched into vacation mode, or as I prefer to think of it, full-time writer mode.

I’m not really sure what to expect from this conference. I don’t really have any specific plans other than going and hoping my chapter mates let me tag along when something fun is going down. I mean, I don’t have any official editor/agent appointments. I have previously seen most, if not all, of the workshops that I am truly interested in. I’m not going for the pool. I have a very nice pool. If you figure out why I am there, let me know.

I would feel much better if I had finished my draft last week. I think I am going to go start a load of laundry and write for an hour or two. Maybe that will take my mind off the conference for a bit.

Yes, I am technically on vacation. Unfortunately, this is one of those vacations that doesn’t quite feel like a vacation. It will on Wednesday, but right now, not at all. There was so much going on at work leading up to this, I almost feel bad about being on vacation.

On top of the craziness at work, I also had Martinigate which was a direct result of Laptop Powercord Fail. On Wednesday, I got back to my hotel around 5:00 having already eaten dinner. I sometimes eat really fancy on the road - KFC chicken strips and green beans. Back in the hotel room I planned on doing some reading and writing on the laptop. The writing was probably going to be work related, not fiction, because I had two documents due on Friday.

That’s about the time I noticed that my battery on my laptop was almost dead and the powercord even though was plugged in, wasn’t doing anything. And then I saw sparks. The powercord had melted its cable. Sadly, this is a boring story. I didn’t burn down the hotel, thwarting an international assassination attempt, and fall madly in love with a busty red-headed firewoman.

Nope. I just turned on the TV and discovered there was nothing on. I looked at the free drink card they give me at Marriotts because I am Platinum. What the heck. A drink would help me sleep.

Now, I don’t drink. Not that I am morally opposed to it, I just mostly don’t drink. I mean, I’ve tried to become someone who drinks, but it just doesn’t work. I tried to become a sophisticated wine connoisseur, but I never found a box of wine that I really liked.

Down in the bar, I was caught in a dilemma. I’ve been cutting back on carbs. It’s been pretty effective. The only drink I really know is Captain and Coke. I didn’t want Coke. Or Diet Coke. I remembered martinis. I have a friend who loves martinis. He took me to a martini bar one time, so I have had a martini. I like olives. Heck, I named my kid Oliver. I love olives.

I ordered a martini. “I’ll have a martini.”

Blank stare from the bartender. “What.”

“Um, martini?”

Bartender stares at the idiot. “Yeah?”

I consider changing my order to Captain and Coke…

“Gin? Vodka?”

“Oh. I don’t care. Which ever. No. umm. vodka.”

And then I took out my phone and started tweeting. Apparently, there’s a historical records of my tweets - such as “Help. My pants”

Needless to say, I slept well. Waking up was a different matter. This is where my wife and I differ in opinions. She doesn’t drink much either. I am opposed to vomitting no matter how much it will make me feel better. I have a liver. Its job it to process the alcohol. I expect it to do its job. I also had two conference calls and an 11:00am flight to attend to, but my phone was dangerously low on batteries and my only means of charging it was the USB cable connected to my dead laptop.

At the airport, I bought a new powercable, while listening in on one of my conference calls. The kid at the register tried hitting me up for a job. After getting through security, I opened the powercable, threw away the packaging and plugged in my laptop and phone. Still no power. Maybe the outlet was disabled.

I went to a charging station where three people had already taken up residence. I plugged in my new cord. No power on the laptop. The new cord has a USB port for plugging in phones. Tried that. No power for my phone either. I bought a defective power cord and already through away the packaging and the booth was on the other side of security.

This is where you realize how smart I am. When I got home, I did figure out that the power cord has a power button. It’s one of those touch buttons that sort of looks like a fancy pattern more than a button. My laptop was saved.

Now I am on vacation. Time to relax, write the words “The End” on my first rough draft and go party with 2000 women and no martinis. I’m starting to feel better now.

Thirteen years ago, I was doing this. I would gladly do it all over again - Darth Vader’s theme as the Wedding March and everything.

Love you!

This is how my weekend was spent. In the pool. The magic pool of water. Fortunately a little recent rain cooled the pool off some so it was indeed very refreshing.

That and playing Hearts. Can I just say, there are some things in Hearts that I believed to be illegal, such as my sister-in-law winning. Twice.