Left Behind Ten

Ten Reasons to Be Happy You're Not at the RT Convention
(dedicated to Miss Kate, who requested it)

1. Do the math: thousands of con goers, nine hundred seventy-seven rooms, no vacancies, and exactly eight elevators.*

2. Free from being obligated to eat at McDonald's, Burger King or Checkers because you couldn't get a table and/or afford a meal at the Spindletop, the Whistler's Walk or Ducks & Company.

3. Missing all the fangirls who, no matter how many books you've published, have never heard of you or your novels, which don't really look all that interesting, btw, and shouldn't be published in their favorite genre, which is written SO much better by the author they're semi-stalking, and it's their God-given fangirl duty to loudly inform you of this, preferably when you're in the middle of giving a workshop or a signing.

4. Not having to acquire, lose, then look for the no-tickets-required badge they're giving at registration this year, which you MUST have as your PASSPORT into ALL events at the convention.

4a. Hey, Kate, we really doan need no stinkin' batches.

5. Not having to attend the Book Fair.

5a. Because if you do, you know you're going to end up standing behind the adorable, white-haired octogenarian, who simply must tell Jayne Ann Krentz her entire life story, by day, starting at the initiation of World War I.

5b. Or the garage bookseller who gushes over Jayne while having her sign all 350 copies of her used Amanda Quick stock, which she plans to take home in her mini-van and sell for triple price on eBay.

5c. Or you'll forget which radio stations you must mention in order to get in for free.

6. Not getting plastered on whiskey sours at the Park Bar, or yielding to the subsequent temptation to go up to Kathryn Falk, breathe whiskey sour fumes in her face, and tell her what you really think of her and her rag, or share with her that extremely funny wheelbarrow joke you heard in Suffolk last year.

7. Not having to witness 55-year-old Botoxed Babes trying to grope the Mr. Romance winner: usually a gorgeous, bored 24-year-old male god whose significant other is an interior decorator named Harold.

8. Refraining from being caught in line for coffee between an erotica author wearing a satin merry widow, a great leather skirt and fishnet stockings, and an inspirational chicklit author in Laura Ashley buttoned to her chin, because you know the latter is going to tell the former how long she's going to burn in hell for the books she writes, and the former is going to give the latter the finger, and then you'll have to duck as the Starbucks starts to fly.

9. Skipping Psychic Sunday, and not pretending to explore your spiritual pathways and psychic skills, which you know don't exist. Also, remaining ignorant of which authors actually believe that they are energy healers, channelers, and psychic mediums.

10. Vampires of the Wild, Wild West Dinner Theatre and Dance. A shame you'll miss that, too, because you know there were TONS of gunslinger vampires who acted and danced back in those days. And the Medieval Faery Ball . . . am I reading that right, is it the Medieval Faery Ball?

I need an aspirin.

*Two of which will be out of service for the duration of the convention.