RT: Yet Another View

I’m getting ready to head off to the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention. I’ve got a bad case of the last minute crazies…running around trying to get everything done, make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, pack, try to remember what I’ve forgotten, remind myself that as long as I have a credit card it doesn’t matter what I’ve forgotten because I can replace pretty much anything else.

This will be my very first RT. I have some idea what to expect, due to the generosity of other ECPI authors who’ve share their experiences and advice.

I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it.

I’m looking forward to meeting many people I’ve known on the Internet for ages, putting faces to names and email addresses. I’m looking forward to sharing stories and jokes and business information over food and drinks. I’m looking forward to meeting readers I’ve corresponded with by email or sometimes snail mail.

I’m looking forward to the ECPI party on Wednesday night, where I’ll get to wear my long gown as I parade across the stage and try hard not to trip on the high heels I rarely wear.

On the other hand, I don’t know about the rest of the parties. Parties are just not my thing. And I know I’ll be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people and noise and…everything. I’m not especially shy, but I am an introvert, and anything that involves new situations and a lot of interaction with people other than close friends and family tends to leave me flattened. I’m already planning in retreat time in my hotel room or the gym. Even with that I know that I’ll be totally exhausted well before it’s over.

But I’m betting that once I recover from the shock and fatigue, I’ll totally vote it worthwhile.

-- Katherine Kingston

A confession

I admit it. I’m an overpacker. *sigh*.

I’m getting ready to go to RT. I leave tomorrow. I have packed everything but the kitchen sink. Hmmm maybe I should…

No, just kidding.

But I keep thinking, “I need to take this. What if I need this?”

I’ve looked at suggestions for packing lightly. It never works with me. I try and combine outfits. As I’m actually dressing up for a few balls, that didn’t work this time.

As I struggle to fit all this in my car tomorrow and into the hotel, I’m sure I’ll wish I’d have left some things at home.

Any other overpackers out there? Or am I a lonely breed?

Mechele Armstrong aka Lany of Melany Logen

Romantic Times Booklovers Convention & Other Ramblings...

Like many people, I’m spending today scrambling to get ready for the Romantic Times Booklover’s Convention in Pittsburgh. It’s one of my favorite conferences, and that’s saying a lot since I just returned from my other favorite conference—the local Desert Dreams conference in Chandler, Arizona, last weekend. Desert Dreams is a terrific conference with less than 300 attendees, great workshops, intimate access to editors, agents and other authors and the beautiful April weather of Arizona. :) The fact that I don’t have to buy a plane ticket to get there and that it’s held by one of my local chapters only improves its appeal.

But now that Desert Dreams is over for 2008, it’s on to RT, which also happens to contain my biggest author promotion push of the year.

Don’t get me wrong, I promote year round, but at RT, I’m speaking on one of the Paranormal panels called “Lighting the Sacred Files: Turning Up The Heat in Paranormal Romance,” I’m speaking with my critique group in a talk called, “Critique Groups: The Good, The Bad & The Butterscotch Martini Girls”, (which we did at Desert Dreams also) and I’m on the Faery Court, which hosts the Faery Ball on Thursday night—complete with dinner, a costume contest and our book covers flashing on the big screens all night :) I’ll also have plenty of my Cassie Ryan bookmarks (since I’m attending the convention as my alter ego, Cassie Ryan), as well as my hot pink “Got Seduction?” buttons, (which were a big hit at Desert Dreams along with the black and hot pink lanyards provided by the Butterscotch Martini Girls.) :)

My other favorite part about RT, besides getting to see all my friends who don’t live close, is that I get to meet so many readers, and sit and chat with them. A lot of writers are introverts and pretty shy—I don’t think I got either of those genes, so I absolutely love getting to meet new people and hearing from the readers what they love to read and what they don’t love to read. After all, I was a reader long before I was a published author, so either way we definitely share a love of books! So, if you’re at RT and you see a woman with a Cassie Ryan name tag walking around, come on over and say hi!

If you’re heading to Pittsburgh, too, I’ll meet you in the “networking area”—aka the bar. :)

If you’re not, then I plan on taking plenty of pictures while I’m there! So watch for them when I get back.

By some ironic twist of fate, my plane leaves at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow morning and I have to be at the airport somewhere in the 3am range—EWWWWW!

Why, you may ask, am I whining about this when I obviously booked my own flight? Well, when I booked it using frequent flyer miles, it wasn’t quite that early, but it was still plenty early as the fine print for redemption indicated it needed to be unless I wanted to get in uber-late. Then about a month later, I got one of those “friendly” emails advising that my flight had been rescheduled. Not just me—the entire flight, but OMG!! I’m usually not even awake at that time, let alone coherent during any of that time frame, and they expect me to not only get dressed and make sure my underwear is under my clothes and not over, but also get my luggage together and find my way to the airport, then the correct terminal and onto the right plane?

ACK!

I’m just hoping I actually end up where I’m supposed to rather than stepping off the plane after a nap and realizing I’m on the opposite side of the planet. (Although I totally wouldn’t complain if it was somewhere like Ireland or Scotland!)

Anyway, I have to get back to packing. I hope everyone has a great week!

Cassie/Tina

PAN, SCHMAN

So, I finally got around to applying for RWA PAN (Published Authors Network) status last week and received the congratulatory email yesterday. And I felt completely blah about it. Champagne didn't fall from the heavens. Doors didn't open. Velvet ropes didn't part. (I'm a Nicolas Cage fan.) Why? I don't see the tangible benefits of PAN. Seriously, what does the following statement mean:

The purpose of PAN is to establish within the RWA framework a network of communication and support to effectively promote and protect the interests of published romance authors; to open channels of communication between those romance authors and other publishing industry professionals; and to encourage professionalism on all levels and in all relationships within the publishing industry.

Very vague, isn't it? And, um, shouldn't RWA being doing this for ALL members?

The only thing I've heard about PAN is you get first pick at editors and agents at conferences. Unfortunately, I don't attend conferences. My Clark Kent-job schedule is hectic and even though I have 4 weeks of vacation, I have to schedule them around monthly closes, quarterly closes, and plan time, which stretches from May to September. My local RWA chapter organizes a conference every two years, but I've been snubbed by these people. (I contacted them three times about joining and they never replied. Since their 6 published authors are NY-pubbed, they might not want an e-pubbed author in their midst.)

And...um...I think that's the only benefit.

Oh, wait! I now get a link on the RWA Authors page. Woopee. Somehow, I don't think that's going to bring me the same amount of traffic as an ad on the Smart Bitches site.

Anyone care to correct me?

EDITED TO ADD: Coincidentally, JA Konrath is discussing writing organizations and their relevance.

A little different promo

Nothing but Red isn't a romance.

Sometime in April of 2007 (some say the 7th), a mob pulled Du'a Khalil Aswad into their midst. Supposedly she had been fraternizing with a man not of her faith. They brutally stoned and beat her to death in an honor killing. She was 17 years old. Some recorded Aswad on their cell phones and the horrific images were later posted to the internet.

Joss Whedon of Buffy and Serenity fame penned a blog entry about the incident and about misogyny in all cultures. A few authors got together and decided to create an anthology to raise awareness about the issues Joss Whedon spoke of in his essay and also about Aswad's murder. The anthology contains artwork, essays, poetry, and stories by a multitude of authors.

Nothing but Red is now available. All profits will go to Equality Now. To read more about Nothing but Red, including a list of contributors, go here.

A quote from Whedon's essay: "Because it's no longer enough to be a decent person. It's no longer enough to shake our heads and make concerned grimaces at the news. True enlightened activism is the only thing that can save humanity from itself. I've always had a bent towards apocalyptic fiction, and I'm beginning to understand why. I look and I see the earth in flames. Her face was nothing but red."

Everytime I write about this anthology, I start crying. For Aswad. For countless other women who we don't even know their stories.

Mechele Armstrong aka Lany of Melany Logen

Are you ready for RT?

I've been writing the dates for the Romantic Times convention in various places for nearly a year now, and it's only this past week that I've realized the timing conflicts with the final mad dash to complete my taxes. Whoops.

So, in the next week, I not only need to complete my taxes, I need to:
-- do massive amounts of laundry
-- decide what I'm wearing to things OTHER than parties
-- pack shoes, clothes, toiletries, etc.
-- find the emails containing the panel descriptions / panel feedback forms
-- find the email containing my roommate's legal name
-- create handouts for the two panels I'm on
-- pack handouts
-- print out driving directions
-- buy food (the last thing I need is a food allergy reaction!)
-- pack food
-- pack all the various boxes/bags/suitcases in the car
-- gas up and go!

How many days do I have to do this, again? I'm sure the IRS will understand that getting ready for RT is more important than completing my taxes. Won't they? :-)

BEFORE DAWN by Ann Bruce

Before Dawn is out today. Woohoo! Check it out and help me hire a pool boy...even though I don't have a pool

A darkly beautiful, seductive vampire who is literally the man of Mercy's dreams and an ill-mannered, bad-tempered vampire hunter. The choice is rather obvious.

Be warned that this one contains scenes of a violent nature and which can a little gruesome. (Figured I put that in there to avoid this and this.)

The Blurb

"I'm sorry, but guests are not allowed in this area."

He moved deeper into the office. "You sound a little hoarse," he said, ignoring her statement, and held out a flute filled halfway with champagne. "Take this."

Mercy automatically accepted the offering. "Thank you, Mr.--?"

"Edmond," he said, a hint of an accent flavoring the name. It sounded French, which suited the name and his Gallic coloring.

"Thank you, Mr. Edmond."

He shook his head but his hair barely moved. "Just Edmond."

"Uh, okay."

He lifted his own flute, tipping it toward her. Feeling a little awkward, she touched her flute to his, very aware of his eyes following her every movement. Not wanting to insult a man who'd forked over two hundred and fifty dollars for a ticket to the fundraiser and a potential donor, Mercy took a sip, just enough to coat her mouth and her esophagus.

And squeezed her eyes shut as her head swam and her hand faltered, tilting the flute dangerously. She really should've eaten something beyond the banana and carton of cherry yogurt at lunch.

A hand caught hers. She had the impression of icy coldness a heartbeat before warmth washed over her like rain. The champagne flute was rescued from her unsteady fingers. Despite the voluntary darkness, her head continued to bob like a bottle tossed in the sea. Her hand reached back and found the solid surface of her desk.

"Mercy?"

That compelling voice filled her head, dampening the waves. She exhaled, unaware she'd been holding her breath 'til that moment. A heavy, artificial scent filled her nostrils and she instinctively turned her head away. Satin brushed the naked skin of her legs, cool and slick. His cape. Fingertips skimmed the curve of her cheek, the line of her throat, the slope of her exposed shoulder. And she couldn't protest, couldn't stir herself from the lassitude that trapped her in its silken grip. Not even long enough to lift her lashes, let alone break away.

The exploration continued, soft and gentle and warm…and somehow familiar.

There was nothing to fear from him. That thought whispered through her mind like a tendril of smoke.

Mercy let herself drift, let the sensual pleasure of his touch lull her.

The hand holding hers drew it upward until her palm met a chest that felt like marble under the layer of cloth. Soft lips grazed her jawline. He whispered her name again. From the jumbled, hazy mess of her thoughts, one question emerged.

"What are you?" she breathed.

Lips brushed her earlobe. "The man of your dreams."

Copyright © 2008 by Ann Bruce. All rights reserved.