A week from yesterday, Fiorella will be in Orlando at the national conference of the Romance Writers of America. She's not going there to visit DisneyWorld, but to network with other writers, interview with an agent, and attend various panel presentations by agents and editors.
There's a lot more to getting published than writing.
Showing posts with label RWA conference. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RWA conference. Show all posts
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Traveling Pantsuits
Did I ever tell you how nervous Fiorella was about what to wear to the RWA conference in San Francisco last summer?
"Dress professionally," her RWA guru had said, so Fio went shopping for neato pantsuits. But it was campaign season and Hillary had already bought up all the neato pantsuits.
Fio settled for a not-so-neato pantsuit, but when she packed her bags, ended up leaving it at home in favor of some old-favorite slacks and shirts.It was just as well. When she got to the conference, the only person she noticed in a neato pantsuit was Nora Roberts.
She probably borrowed it from Hillary.
"Dress professionally," her RWA guru had said, so Fio went shopping for neato pantsuits. But it was campaign season and Hillary had already bought up all the neato pantsuits.
Fio settled for a not-so-neato pantsuit, but when she packed her bags, ended up leaving it at home in favor of some old-favorite slacks and shirts.It was just as well. When she got to the conference, the only person she noticed in a neato pantsuit was Nora Roberts.
She probably borrowed it from Hillary.
Monday, August 11, 2008
What I Learned in San Francisco
1) Romance writers come in all sizes, shapes, ages and colors. I don't have to hire my beautiful daughter to pretend to be me after all.
2) Colleen Thompson and Terry McLaughlin are wonderful people--kind, helpful, and encouraging to newbies.
3) There is no one right way to pitch, but enthusiasm and charm help.
4) Jim McCarthy and Chris Keeslar, the two young, handsome men with whom I had ten-minute assignations, are very nice. In fact, from what I hear, all the agents and editors were nice--but I scored the two hotties.
5) The five elements are fire, earth, air, water, and Jade Lee.
2) Colleen Thompson and Terry McLaughlin are wonderful people--kind, helpful, and encouraging to newbies.
3) There is no one right way to pitch, but enthusiasm and charm help.
4) Jim McCarthy and Chris Keeslar, the two young, handsome men with whom I had ten-minute assignations, are very nice. In fact, from what I hear, all the agents and editors were nice--but I scored the two hotties.
5) The five elements are fire, earth, air, water, and Jade Lee.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The Ratty Gora Strikes Again
Several years ago, Husband and I loaded up the kids and took off for two weeks in Great Britain. Before we left, we dutifully perused travel lit and made reservations for a place called Rava Gora, a moderately-priced small hotel which was well-rated by a travel expert.
Alas, the Rava Gora, hereinafter referred to as the Ratty Gora, was not up to our American expectations. We had five single beds in one room, a bathroom down the hall, and no screens on our windows, through which flocks of flies circulated after sating themselves on the garbage cans directly below. The bedspreads were not just--well--ratty, but a couple had stains on them that looked suspiciously liked blood. The door lock was a hook and eye dealie, like on Grandma's screen door. I sat up all night as my family slept, alert to any intruders who might try to slit American throats in the dark.
The next morning we moved to the Kensington Hilton. So much for local color.
As you know, husband and I traveled to San Francisco at the end of July so I could attend the RWA conference. Back in May, we had prepared for the trip by making reservations at a small "boutique" hotel called The Cartwright, which, by July, had changed its name to The Larkspur. We received confirmation on May 17 and again just a few days before the date appointed for us to arrive in Frisco.
The flight had been long, and we were tired. The hour was late. But there was no room at the inn. The Larkspur had sold our room out from under us, apparently to the two men in line in front of us who announced they "weren't queers," but would take the deluxe room with the kingsize bed. Husband and I got shuttled off to what was supposedly the only room left in the hotel, a room someone had died in, if one judged by the smell. It was awful--small, crowded with rickety furniture painted mud brown. The two single beds had some sort of plastic lining in the sheets and pillow cases. The woodwork sported heavy layers of white paint over decades of grime. The recent renovations meant gaps between the mismatched bathroom tile filled by great gobs of unsmoothed spackling. The sink was propped up underneath by an unpainted board. The door didn't quite fit its jamb and light gapped on both sides and the bottom. Yes, it was the American Ratty Gora.
We moved into the JW Marriott the next day.
Alas, the Rava Gora, hereinafter referred to as the Ratty Gora, was not up to our American expectations. We had five single beds in one room, a bathroom down the hall, and no screens on our windows, through which flocks of flies circulated after sating themselves on the garbage cans directly below. The bedspreads were not just--well--ratty, but a couple had stains on them that looked suspiciously liked blood. The door lock was a hook and eye dealie, like on Grandma's screen door. I sat up all night as my family slept, alert to any intruders who might try to slit American throats in the dark.
The next morning we moved to the Kensington Hilton. So much for local color.
As you know, husband and I traveled to San Francisco at the end of July so I could attend the RWA conference. Back in May, we had prepared for the trip by making reservations at a small "boutique" hotel called The Cartwright, which, by July, had changed its name to The Larkspur. We received confirmation on May 17 and again just a few days before the date appointed for us to arrive in Frisco.
The flight had been long, and we were tired. The hour was late. But there was no room at the inn. The Larkspur had sold our room out from under us, apparently to the two men in line in front of us who announced they "weren't queers," but would take the deluxe room with the kingsize bed. Husband and I got shuttled off to what was supposedly the only room left in the hotel, a room someone had died in, if one judged by the smell. It was awful--small, crowded with rickety furniture painted mud brown. The two single beds had some sort of plastic lining in the sheets and pillow cases. The woodwork sported heavy layers of white paint over decades of grime. The recent renovations meant gaps between the mismatched bathroom tile filled by great gobs of unsmoothed spackling. The sink was propped up underneath by an unpainted board. The door didn't quite fit its jamb and light gapped on both sides and the bottom. Yes, it was the American Ratty Gora.
We moved into the JW Marriott the next day.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Bon Voyage to Us!
Wish me luck! Husband and I are heading off to San Francisco today. Here are the current states of my three pitches:
PLEASURE: Ann McCoy knows everything about sex and nothing about pleasure. Neil Graham knows everything about pleasure and nothing about love. Ann and Neil are set on a collision course by Neil’s eight-year-old son, Aidan, who needs them both. Meanwhile their relationship must overcome Neil’s vengeful ex-wife and Ann’s guilt about having been raped years before.
JUST FOR THE NIGHT: Years ago, preacher's daughter Lauren Harlow turned down bad boy Jase Redlander, but now she wants to turn him on, if only for one night. Jase, who has come up in the world, has always loved Lauren, the princess of Bosque Bend, and wants to make their relationship more permanent. But will he still want her when he learns she is is no longer the town princess--and why? And can Lauren make her own peace with the town that rejected her?
PLEASURE: Ann McCoy knows everything about sex and nothing about pleasure. Neil Graham knows everything about pleasure and nothing about love. Ann and Neil are set on a collision course by Neil’s eight-year-old son, Aidan, who needs them both. Meanwhile their relationship must overcome Neil’s vengeful ex-wife and Ann’s guilt about having been raped years before.
TRAIL OF BLOOD: Tally Skiba wants to bring her friend’s murderer to justice so she hires sexy ex-cop Stephen O’Malley to help her. They are attracted to each other, but their relationship runs into problems because he suspects Tally is the murderer, while she insists the culprit is a local serial killer. Besides, Stephen is HIV-positive while Tally is a vampire—and so was her friend.
JUST FOR THE NIGHT: Years ago, preacher's daughter Lauren Harlow turned down bad boy Jase Redlander, but now she wants to turn him on, if only for one night. Jase, who has come up in the world, has always loved Lauren, the princess of Bosque Bend, and wants to make their relationship more permanent. But will he still want her when he learns she is is no longer the town princess--and why? And can Lauren make her own peace with the town that rejected her?
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