Love in the Library

On Saturday, the local library hosted a romance author fair. I, along with several of my writing friends, hosted tables where we talked to readers and shared our books. It turns out that Mr. Harris is a budding photographer, so now I have my very own paparazzi at every event. Here are a few of the photos he took.

Lynn Raye Harris at HSV Library

At my table.

Talking to a reader

Talking to a friend who is also the mother of one of the other authors. ๐Ÿ™‚

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Photo op with readers!

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Love those readers!

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I have no idea what I was on about here. But this is the closest Mr. Harris came to getting a picture of my shoes. He seriously fell down on the job at that part. They were gorgeous! And very, very high. A double hidden platform with about six inch heels. I teetered around quite well though. ๐Ÿ˜‰

What I did this weekend

It was a long weekend in many respects. This is what I did:

I made crawfish dip for a party on Saturday.

I had my eyebrows ripped out with hot wax.

I went to dinner with friends and drank Pomegranate Margaritas.

I wore these shoes to dinner:

After dinner, I lurched around the mall with a group of women, squealing over clothes and shoes and generally having a good time.

Saturday, I attended a workshop given by Morgan Doremus and Stephanie Klose from RT magazine.

Saturday evening, I attended a party with homemade BBQ, the aforementioned crawfish dip, and lots of yummy Southern cooking.

I laughed my butt off. (I wish it were that easy to shed fat.)

I got home late and the cats were pissed. Fed them and dealt with the fall out.

Got to bed late.

Slept late. (Embarassingly late.)

Talked to a friend for 2.5 hours Sunday morning.

Watched football with Hubby.

Talked to another friend for an hour.

Wrote a blog post while football was on.

Thought of significance of 9/11, cried a bit with all the tributes and that Budweiser commercial, but decided not to write about my 9/11 memories. Many people have done so more eloquently than I.

And that’s the weekend. Notice there was no writing in there. Today, back to work. Oh, and the New Voices competition begins tomorrow. I’m a mentor, and looking forward to it!

And so it begins


We’re at T minus 15 for my conference departure, so the shopping/packing/planning begins in earnest starting NOW. In good news, I realized yesterday that my original GH/RITA dress does indeed FIT! Woo hoo! See, I’d thought that even though I lost the pounds necessary, there was a cup issue in the bust. Noooo, there was a correct brassiere issue. Got the right one, all is good, I shall be wafting around in a teal dress with, I hope, silver sparkly shoes (they are on order, see pic — if they don’t work, I’ll be shopping for something different).

Though it will no doubt horrify some people I know (PC), I’ve just today printed out all the confirmations of events I’m supposed to be at so I can put them in my planner. (Other people did this at least two months ago. Alas, that’s not me.)

I also need to confirm my luggage restrictions. I’m on American, the cheap b*stards, but I bought my ticket before they starting charging for the first bag. Somehow, I have to get at least 6 pairs of shoes, plus a week’s worth of clothes, into one suitcase. Really, romance writers heading to a conference should be given special baggage considerations. ๐Ÿ™‚

If you’re going to conference, have you planned every minute out yet? Or do you intend to wing it? Are you finished shopping? Have all your outfits planned? (Not me, but close.) If you aren’t going to San Francisco this year, what sort of non-conference plans do you have? Will you be following the conference blogs, or doing one of the online mini-conferences?

Shoes, shoes, shoes!

I went shoe shopping the other day. I brought home two pairs of high heels. Hubby says, “You didn’t used to like shoes so much. What happened?”

I know I tilted my head like a puppy hearing a funny noise. And then I reminded him about my close first-name relationship with the Italian shoe guy in Germany — the man would set shoes aside in my size, and then whisk them out for me whenever I came in. I bought several nice pairs of Italian leather shoes. *sigh*

But when we moved to Hawaii, I gave up shoes. I wore flip-flops, or slippahs as they’re called there, for three years. I am now back to living where I need shoes. Hence my shoe-shopping the other day. And RWA National is coming up; definitely need shoes.

Seems as if I’ve landed in the right local chapter too. There is a cult of the shoe in Heart of Dixie. I love it. ๐Ÿ™‚

The shoe I want is here. I believe it’s safe to say I won’t be owning this shoe anytime soon. In fact, when I told hubby about it, he gave me the puppy head tilt. And then he said I was crazy, off my rocker, nutso.

Yes, I crave a pair of Christian Louboutins that cost $900. Hubby doesn’t think I need them. The good news (I hope they fit right…) is that I’ve scoured the web and found a pair that look just like that — for under $60. They aren’t Louboutins. But if you see me wearing them in San Francisco, let’s just pretend like they are. ๐Ÿ™‚

Any shoe fetishes to report? Designer clothing? Other expensive things that seem a bit frivolous? (Yes, I can’t imagine WHY that shoe costs 900 bucks, but it’s a lovely thing. Nude heels are all the rage, you know.)