Romantic Times Convention–Who Needs It?

I’m really not upset about RT this year. Honestly. Not. Upset. Pretty soon the photos will start pouring in through cybermethods. Why would I want to go? New Jersey has everything I need–I hear Texas is tiny and there’s nothing to see there. I don’t want to meet my fellow authors (and the one or two other folks who might have read something of mine)–it would just bum me out to find out how normal looking they are. Right? And agent and editor appointments, who needs those?

Then those parties–ick. People laughing and celebrating, rubbing shoulders with their heroes, networking. I don’t sew, so I’m not about to put together some fruity medieval or fairy costume or whatever. And I feel no need to get away, do something completely different, assert my identity as a romance writer…

What a bore. Nope, I’m simply going to go to the New Jersey beach this weekend and tiptoe around the syringes, buy a day-old hot dog, and curl up with a good magazine. Can’t beat that. It should be about 55 degrees.


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