Bad blogger

Okay, so I’ve been absolutely awful about keeping up in here. Same old excuses: work, school, the boy.

Last week I had another excuse: AWP, otherwise known as the biggest frigging writers’ conference ever. It was good though a little overwhelming. Usually I go to the one the Small Press Center throws every April – this was about 10 times bigger.

All in all the panels were inspiring, and there seemed to be less tolerance of dumbass questions from the audience. Usually I’m the only one leaving when Q&A starts, but people left in droves.

One of the dumbest question? To an author of a historical novel: “How did you find the old letters and diaries you used?”

The author: “Um, I looked for them.”

Dumbass: “Yes, but how did you get started?”

Audience member: “Ask your librarian!”

Word. Don’t waste our or the author’s time.

I went to several sessions on Thursday, just a few on Friday since I had to annoyingly go back to the office, and just three on Saturday but they were very good: the Art of Writing Craft and a couple on memoir. By then PL and I met up, and we ended up wandering around the very very crowded book fair before finally heading out to do what we do best: eat and chat.

This Sunday of course was the Superbowl. PL had a party for her hubby, which she had described in the invitation as a Superbowl party, but for some reason I thought she was being ironic.

Neither MB nor I are football fans, but it was still fun, especially watching everyone get so riled up. I swear I thought someone was going to have a heart attack.

Apparently yesterday there was a parade. I had no idea. Plus it was Mardi Gras, plus it was Super Tuesday. Craziness. And tonight is Chinese New Year’s Eve. It’s the year of the rat, which means one thing to me: I’ll be turning 36.


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