Back from the writers conference. The editor/agent appointment process flowed reasonably well, on the logistical side, though I've got lots of ideas for how to make it better next year if I take on the same job again.

From a personal perspective, it could've hardly gone better based on who was there. The agent I was interested in, Pam Hopkins, requested a partial and sounded enthusiastic about my story and writing interests.

On the editor side, rather than use my planning committee mojo to get a private meeting, I decided to sit in on one of the group meetings with Hilary Sares from Kensington, because her schedule was so packed I didn't want to make it worse. (The other editor in attendance, Anna Genoese from Tor, doesn't buy what I write.) Hilary had so many people in the group appointment she had everyone do index cards with some basic facts about their stories and turn them in beforehand, and instead of asking us to pitch, asked us questions based on the cards. She invited everyone to submit, but it was fairly easy to tell which projects she was most enthusiastic about.

I totally did not expect to be among them. In the Q&A session that morning, she'd really talked up Kensington's new erotica line and how much she likes (or maybe how marketable she finds) dark, brooding, alpha heroes. And she made a point that with historicals, it's not the history that sells, but the hero--the dark, brooding, alpha guy who maybe can get by with some things a modern man can't. My work is nowhere close to erotica, my men don't brood, and while I resist the urge to info-dump, I'm clearly toward the history geek end of historical romance writers.

When she got to me in the pitch session, she looked at my one-line summary about star-crossed love on the battlefields of 1811 Spain, and said, "Oh, Peninsular War. This looks interesting. Have you read anything by that guy--oh, what's his name?" "Bernard Cornwell?" I replied. "Yeah, him--I've just been reading some of the Sharpe books." I grinned and said, "Well, this is sort of Jane Austen meets Sharpe's Rifles." She said, "I think that could work really well--something with a little less violence and military detail, and stronger romance and female interest. Definitely send it to me."

I told her I was in the midst of an editing pass, but I'd have it in the mail by the middle of November. I'm still kind of flabbergasted that she was interested, because my story doesn't meet any of the criteria she talked about at the Q&A. But that's not going to stop me from submitting. I happened to run into her at the check-out desk this morning, and without me even bringing it up she reminded me that I should send it in and that she's looking forward to it.

And to top it all off, I won a door prize on Friday for a mixer game, but there was someone else, not on the committee, a few seconds behind me, and the conference chair asked if I'd yield up the prize, and promised to make it up to me. I agreed--it was just your basic gift basket. Saturday she gave me a book she'd seen me admire at the bookfair, and I thought that would be that, but this morning she told me she'd talked to Mary Balogh, and that Mary would be giving me a critique.

Granted, it's entirely possible nothing will come of any of this, but it still feels good to have it all out there.

Susan, that sounds like an awesome conference for you! Let's hope some of these contacts bear fruit.

Susan, those moments of synchronicity are things of beauty, aren't they?

Susan, those moments of synchronicity are things of beauty, aren't they?

Indeed. All the more given that I really had no personal expectations from this conference. I just wanted the editor/agent Q&A and appointments to run as smoothly as possible. I knew I'd be meeting Mary Balogh, but I never would've dreamed of asking her for a critique unless she volunteered.

I also had some really good conversations with other writers, some published, some not. For some reason networking comes easily to me in a room full of writers.

Susan! That is just so excellent.

Sounds fantastic, Susan. I'm really glad.

drabble

"You're not leaving this table until you eat that."

I stare at the congealing creamed corn on my dinner plate. Mother stomps out of the dining room, then comes back in and sits down.

"Why won't you eat it?"

The TV's on in the living room. The creamed corn is a color never seen in nature.

Mother leaves again. I drift away on daydreams. Two hours later it's bed time, and the creamed corn has not been touched.

"Go to bed," Mother snaps. "I should make you eat that tomorrow night."

I meet her eyes. She walks away.

connie, my mother gave up trying to make me eat her cookery early on, after I said her cooking smelled like poo.

Superb drabble.

I was always more the passive resistance type. I was the youngest child and Mother was too tired for another round of the wars. I quietly got away with murder.

So was I the youngest, by rather a lot; nearest sibling is 8.5 years my senior. But I was always completely aggressive, unlike my sisters, so my mother and I were in a state of vicious - and occasionally violent - warfare from the day I went to live with them.

Nothing would have induced me to eat her food, except her pastry. She was a dreadful cook. I wouldn't have fed that stuff to a horde of warthogs.