Tawna Fenske is posting a great series on how to blog. You should go read it.

I am trying to learn how to blog better. I am bad at such things. She says I should ask questions or prompt the users to comment and then respond in comments.

What are you wearing?

I have watched every episode of What Not To Wear. I am an expert and will give you wonderful advice on what you should be doing for your shape. You should link to pictures. One link per post please.

Hmm, I probably need a second question.

Hello single writer ladies. Would you like to date Dan Krokos?

So far, I have screened two potential candidates for Dan – Becca and Heather, though I think her name might be Karen. I believe I need more candidates interested in being Dan’s writer lady friend. I am a matchmaker. Sort of like Millionaire Matchmaker, except for Writers. I would like to match you with Dan. I don’t know that there is anything good about him, but he’s represented by Janet Reid. Are you good enough for him?

Please, answer as many questions as you can in as much detail as you can. It’s for posterity. I’ll be offline almost all day so it may take me until tomorrow to respond, but I am listening.

Howdy! Been meaning to do this for a while. I figured this is as good a time as any. This is a short story that I’ve had in inventory for almost two years. It came close to going into an anthology, but the anthology never happened.  

It’s really a test.  I wanted to see how a short story would look here on the website.  I plan on converting this for Kindle and Smashwords soon, too.  Just as an experiment.  All at no cost to you.  Ok, maybe it will cost you your eyes.  And your brain.  LOOK AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!!

Mo-Mallow Commands You

By Patrick Alan

At the far end of the hall of cages was the pig.  Dave Shoemaker liked his new job in the top secret underground Government facility, but the pig sort of unnerved him.

Well, all the caged animals, or whatever they were, unnerved him.  He worked the overnight shift on sub-level thirteen, where they kept the ‘modified’ military animals.

          Most of the animals were small, but not the pig.  The other security guards called it a pig, but Dave wasn’t sure. 

          But he couldn’t keep away, because the pig was watching the hockey game.

Click here to read more.

The lights are still off, but the show has ended. Feel free to leave the theater at anytime.

Thanks to everyone who mentioned, retweeted, and commented. I really couldn’t keep up with the conference and everything online. I saw most of it as it happened and have been wanting to get back to it. Hello Louisa’s mom! Tawna, I wouldn’t expect you to wear pants.

Kind of exhausted at home now.

A special thank you to everyone I named over the last few days. I had a great time! And sorry to those I didn’t get to by name. I can only have so many named characters.

The two questions that everyone asked me at RWA2010:(plus bonus questions)

1. What do you write?
I’m working on a YA contemporary. Has romantic elements in it. First draft is almost done. No, it’s not in second person. Yes, the character is, uh, offbeat.

2. Why did you join RWA?
There’s a long answer and a short answer and a really long answer.

Short answer:
Writing is writing, business is business, and all good stories have some sort of Romance in them.

Longer answer:
I forget which Golden Heart winner said it, but she said something to the effect of “You might wonder why someone with 50 novels is my critique partner.”

No. I don’t wonder at all. In fact, that type of support is quite common, from what I can see.

One person I talked to at the conference mentioned how she went to a signing and a favorite author of hers told her to send her manuscript so she could give feedback.

That’s the type of help that you really can’t ask for, but it seems to me, gets offered quite often.

I know what I see in my own chapter with Roxanne St. Claire and the others. I’m sure others see it in their chapters, too.

Really long answer:
This is getting long and boring and far too serious.

3. You’re odd. Were you ever dropped on your head as a child?
When I was fourteen, I made a four foot dive in a three foot pool. Hope that explains a little.

4. Are you going to RWA2011 in NYC?
Yes. And by that, I mean no. Unless I go, and then it’s maybe. Or maybe not. Can I present a Golden Heart? Call me.

DARKNESS! Now LIGHT! Lara Santiago! You now know the meaning of the word salacious. A cool breeze blows from the north. And by that, I mean air conditioning.

Flash forward. Now back. Now here. Jennifer Enderlin hands out book contracts. She reconsiders. Decides she should probably see the books first. She is smart and funny and smart-funny. Show her “really” books.

A Rose Hilliard by any other name would still be Louisa Edward’s awesome editor.

Lara Santiago, Lara Santiago, Lara Santiago!

She is being summoned. You are ripped through the portal to the Palace of the Goddesses with her. And by that, I mean you walk up the stairs to the suite, suite room. I said stairs and walk.

Kristen Painter lounges. Poof! Lara Santiago is gone, only to be replaced by Roxanne St. Claire.

Roxanne St. Claire is gorgeous. And by that, I don’t mean temperature.

Roxanne says “I will not speak to you wearing those shoes, Kristen Painter. Not. Talk.”

“Death,” says Kristen Painter. “These are comfy comfy comfy comfy comfy Palace shoes,” waving her fingers in circles. “Comfy!”

You quickly pour a circle of Grey Goose and set it on fire.

“Choose your spoon and enter the spoon battle flaming circle of hot hot flaming flame!”

Roxanne disappears to magic editor-meeting land.

Frostbite! Ice cream shake. You’re standing next to Nora Roberts in line for a $75 three ounce ice cream shake. You want to say thank you. You want to show her you can swim by jumping into the fountain like a golf champion or Rita winner.

You want to say anything, but you’ve only read two of her books and this makes you feel like an underachiever. Nora. Your hands touch as you both reach for napkins at the same time. Your eyes meet and you feel the love that can never be. The moment passes and you will both remember it until the end of time. This did not really happen.

Either way, your sister-in-law will be so jealous even without picture proof.

You’re looking at the girl that you can’t see that you’re looking at. For all that is David Bowie, you find Harley May.

Sit here. Sit there. Sit everywhere. Sit in the PAN Lounge. Sit in a workshop by Lindsey Fabulouso-Faber.

Look down. Look up. Your picture is being taken as a man of RWA. Heather Hooper Hopper or as other people say, Karen Hooper takes your picture.

The world shifts. The world shifts back. Either you shrunk four inches or every woman became four inches taller.

You’re standing next to #TeamAndrew. The only difference between the two of you is that you would have won the RT contest and you’re not wearing a kilt. These things may not be true.

You look stunning. You look stunning. Stunning. Stunning. Gorgeous. Stunning. You say this to every woman! Except Kristen Painter, who looked stunning, but you just didn’t say it.

You take a picture of Roxanne St. Claire, Kristen Painter, Lara Santiago, Kresley Cole, Louisa Edwards, and an imaginary invisible woman. They all are beautiful. You take another without the imaginary invisible woman. They look even more beautiful even though Roxanne only has one arm. You take another and another and another each one more beautiful than before until your eyes break from the beauty-ous beauty.

You openly weep as each Golden Heart winner accepts her award. And by you, I mean Louisa Edwards.

Now you’re shaking the hand of Michelle Monkou, who has returned to her mortal size from her four shimmering images. You say the words awesome, supportive, professional, business, supportive, craft, professional, business, wow, awesome, supportive, wow. She wants her hand back. Awesome, wow, congrats, supportive, amazing, craft, business, good job, wow, thank you, wow.

You’re holding a Rita. You suddenly realize that there isn’t a Rita winner that hasn’t briefly considered using their Rita as a murder weapon. And by that, I mean Kresley Cole is awesome sauce with a smile of smiles that smiles like the smile that can’t not smile. Did I forget to mention her smile? And she smiles with her eyes of eyes of smiles.

You want to know if we could do this again next week. We could start on Wednesday, and by that I mean Tuesday, unless you arrive Monday.

You wake up early. Now, you’re late. You see Cyndi D’Alba and say, “I’m Late” and she punches you in the face for missing the first set of workshops. Then she hugs you because she is the loveliest loving person. She punches you again, because you’re an idiot.

Today you hide in plain site. You elude everyone by standing still.

You’re in a room and nobody knows you’re there. Deb Werksman speaks the name Kristine Grayson.

Flashbang! Kristine radiate-ifies into the room. By that, I mean into your mind. Into the room of your mind. Your hero. Your guide. Your mentor. Your planter of foot into your ass. She hovers above the room of your mind, glowing and singing like Elvis in Elvish. And by that, I mean your phone has no signal.

Angela James has pink hair and is talking to a man she thinks is a woman or a woman you think is a man. One of you is right. Or neither of you.

You high-five Keri Ford and she yells “Pro-Lunch!” and you think, No, I’m just a talented amateur eater. You eat for the love of eating, not for a paycheck.

Now it’s lunch and you have solved your lunch problem too well. You have one seat, two seat, red seat, blue seat. Hello Toni Blake!

Toni Blake loves you enough to save a seat. Ahem, Kristen Painter.

Your decisive nature leads you to not decide. Excellent choice! Do you sit with your NEW hot friends or your OLD hot friends? And by old, I mean previously acquired, because there isn’t a woman at the conference that is a day over twenty-six, except that one twenty seven year old.

So you make a decision. You run! Nikki Enlow yells. “Puppy! Stop! Puppy, NO!”

You run like the wind. And by wind, I mean giant rushing waterfall because you have to pee. And the bathroom is closed to men. And that one is closed. And that one’s closed. Closed. Closed. Closed.

Now you’re in the lobby and the fountain is peeing gracefully into the air. Whoosh. Splishy-splash. Closed. Closed. Closed. You’re now in the next hotel banging on hotel room doors.

Hello she says. I’m following you on twitter. Not twitter. Ok Twitter.
Am I crazy, you ask? She says yes.

Kristen Painter is in a room that is not a room that you can enter. And by that, I don’t mean the former men’s bathrooms. Secret PAN meetings with Louisa and Rocki and a Teresa that you haven’t met but you follow.

Diana Peterfreund stops you and says hello. You notice something different about her. Maybe she’s taller. Or maybe it’s the giant feather and horned headdress. Or maybe it’s the facial tattoos and piercings. Who can say for certain, but she looks lovely. Hello Bond, Gwenda Bond. Nice to meet you, Muha ha ha. Ahem. Congrats!

You’re in the hallway. You’ve met her. You met her. You know her. Her. Her. Her. Not her. Dude? Who wants to meet dudes? There’s no Pirate named Andrew anywhere. Her. Her. Not her. Who let that adorable teenager in? Oh, hello Lindsey Faber!

Now your brain is full. And by that, I mean you find the most comfortable hidden couch and sit down.

“Are you an editor?” says the man without a badge, clutching a bag remarkably similar in size to a printed manuscript.

“So you have their phone number?”

“I have a story for them. Take me to your editor.”

You close your eyes and wish this horrible experience on someone else. Later you will feel the need to apologize to the Nook salesperson.

Your friend Jane from Oregon joins you on the couch. And by Oregon, I mean Kentucky. And by friend, I mean someone you have never met but has experienced the same foot in the butt that no one understands unless they feel it themselves. And not everyone can.

Another friend of yours interrupts. Then hers interrupts. Then yours. Then hers. Then yours. Now Leigh Duncan is wagging a finger at you, you bad bad bad man. Why? Bad man. Yours. Hers.

Now it’s dinner time and you eat with the LEADERS OF THE STARs!

What’s the Vegas betting line on Kresley Cole beating Kresley Cole in Paranormal Romance Rita category? Put me down for $5.
Nighty-night, night. Long day tomorrow.

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.