EEK! Just a moment ago we had a wee earthquake. It began a little indecisively with a deep rumble, as if a giant truck was rolling by. But of course, here in San Francisco it doesn't take much to arouse s
uspicions and instincts—especially since 1989, the year of the big one—and I just knew what was happening. Sure enough, a moment later, that rumble picked up momentum and gave the house a good shake.
Ahem. Well, then. That little dose of adrenaline ought to get me through the night. It was only 4.4 on the Richter and centered in the North Bay, but boy, you really feel even the little ones in my neighborhood, which is built on what was once, a hundred years ago or so, beach. And now my cat is slinking from room to room with his belly low to the ground and peering under furniture as if in search of the culprit, and casting accusing looks at me over his (bald-ish) shoulders.
Ah, the conference. I swear, it's like summer camp, because it becomes t his little world where you see your friends all the time, which is kind of everyone's fantasy when you're in fifth grade, isn't it? It was in the elegant and wildly circular Marriott Marquis in Atlanta, which had those swift-moving see-through elevators (thank God the elevator floors weren't also glass, because I wore skirts a lot). Five days of talking and laughing myself hoarse and two to three hours of sleep per night in a hotel bed (because I can't bloody sleep in a hotel bed, and I was all keyed up, usually, like a three year old, half the time). Though, granted, it was better than the usual hotel bed and featured lots and lots of pillows of myriad sizes, all of which I used. I actually had two beds in my room, one for my suitcase and one for sleeping. When I got home on Sunday it was like I had
narcolepsy. I would sit down...and wake up a few minutes later with a start. I did that a couple of times, actually. And later that night I went to bed, apparently, because I woke up with my glasses on and the light on, but, I don't quite remember getting into bed. I think I've caught up on rest now.
Photos have begun showing up in my inbox from the conference, and I look at most of them, and I'm thinking... what is the matter with me? LOL. For instance, there's this photo of me, Toni Blake, Julianne Maclean, and Michelle Buonfiglio, and everyone looks all lovely and sweet and groomed—except for me, of course. I'm doing God knows what with my mouth, but it's shaped like a big rectangle, like I'm growling. Candice Hern took it. I'm always the one making a face, or closing my eyes, or scratching, or something, in photos. Up above is a halfway decent one of me and Toni, my date for the Ritas (I didn't win!! Not a damn thing!! But the ceremony was glorious, and everyone looked beautiful.) To the right is a photo reader Pamela Eva took when she stopped by to meet me at the Literacy Conference. Isn't she cute? Anyway, I'll share the good ones with you. :) Or at least the non-humiliating ones.
The Warner dinner was a blast and we were rather rambunctious and possibly, um, vulgar, but it's hard to be otherwise when you're sitting with Michelle Rowen, Megan Crane, and Liza Palmer. Once again, I had salmon. I think I'll make that my yearly conference tradition, if possible.
For now, kittens, nighty night, and don't forget to take a peek at the excerpt from WAYS TO BE WICKED I just put up on my website. :)