Ask me what day it is, and I think it's Monday. Ask me what time, and it's time for bed.

RWA Nationals was a mind-blowing, overwhelming, incredible and totally amazing experience. I'm so glad I bit the bullet and did it. To all the fabulous people I met, it was a definite pleasure. To all the people I didn't have a chance to properly meet, maybe we can next year or online or in a chat loop or something.

Man, there are a lot of crazy people out there. And I'm proud to be part of them. ;)

Rumor has it that the book signings were crazy and, thanks to a number of hangovers due to the Harlequin party, some workshops weren't attended as heavily as others so the opportunity to pick the brains of agents, editors and other awesome people was there. In spades.

I particularly enjoyed the "10 Things We Love About YA" workshop. It's given me an even stronger belief that I'm on the right track with my own efforts. And I was this close to doing a drive-by pitch to Jennifer Jackson at the end of the workshop when my self-confidence ran off to the Goody Room and left me stranded.

Sigh. Next time I'll do that whole "carpe diem" thing, I promise.

Dinner before the Golden Hearts and Ritas was a truly fabulous affair, as I shared an overcrowded table with authors Megan Crane, Liza Palmer, Kate Perry, Michelle Rowen, Samhain editor Laurie Rauch and, get this, agent Jim McCarthy of Dystel & Goderich Literary Management.

It was a total schmoozefest people. Okay, maybe not total since I'm friends with Michelle and Laurie, but did I mention the other gloriously cool people at the table whom I don't normally hang with? In a classy restaurant no less?

Did I mention that I was sitting on Jim's lap the whole time?

Well, it was a small table.

So there I was, living the RWA dream of chatting it up, making witty remarks, totally looking like a true media-whoring professional (some call it "networking")...

...when I realized that I left my wallet in the hotel room as the check arrived at the table.

:::add crickets chirping here:::

I know, I know. Not only do I wear my RWA name tag outside of the hotel so the homeless and Walgreens cashiers know my name, I also can't be relied upon to pay my own way in uber-classy establishments where items like "beef cheeks" are on the menu.

Yeah, I don't know what part of the cow they're referring to either.

While Jim mumbled something about unique architecture and turned away (very politely, I might add), Michelle took pity on the unagented, unpublished one and rescued me with her mighty Visa card. It's all you really need -- especially if someone else gets the bill in the mail. ;)

We then had to race back to the hotel and arrive late (gasp!) at the awards ceremony, which meant we had to stumble over well-dressed people in the dark. My apologies to anyone I stepped on, tripped over or grabbed -- I also hope it was as good for you as it was for me.

Again, I was the one with the name tag on.

There's much, much more to discuss, but I needs my sleeps...

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