Goddess Karen Hawkins and I have been roommates at the Romance Writers of America’s annual conference for the last ten years. Last year, we began the week in good graces . . . but something happened along the way and mayhem ensued.

As the year progressed, we mended our fences and were once again the best of friends. And now, once again, we’ve come together to share a room. We thought we’d do a ‘daily diary entry’ to journal our experiences as the best of friends and roommates.

DAY ONE:
Karen H: It was delightful to see Suzanne after an ENTIRE YEAR! I squealed when I saw her in the airport and gave her a hug even though she admitted she was a bit under the weather and had a cold. I assured her that didn’t matter a bit. We’re going to have so much fun!

Suzanne E: Karen very generously offered to pick me up the Orlando airport! She was waiting at the curb when I left the building, and we hurried off to the hotel. I can’t wait to catch up with her!

DAY TWO:
Karen H: Poor Suzanne coughed and wheezed all night. I fixed her a glass of water and brought her favorite poptarts so she could eat breakfast in bed. We went to two workshops, and had lunch with the goddesses, which was a blast. The only mar on a perfect day was when, while brushing my teeth, I noticed that Suzanne had squeezed the toothpaste from the middle. She denied it, of course. But then I know she’s not feeling well. Poor thing!

Suzanne E: Poor Karen still has her snoring problem, but heck, since I’ve been sniffling on and off, we’re probably pretty even. I do wish she’d asked before she opened my bag of Oreo cookies, but I didn’t actually say they were all supposed to be for me.

DAY THREE:
Karen H: Suzanne’s cold seems to have turned into pneumonia of some sort. Though she swears she slept well, I didn’t sleep a wink between all of the hacking and coughing … but I’m sure she didn’t mean to keep me up! Because of this lack of sleep, I arose late and didn’t fix her breakfast, as usual, because Suzanne was already gone to an early booksigning. After I staggered to the shower, I had to rush like mad to make the pre-luncheon workshop. I couldn’t find my shoes, so I just borrowed a pair of Suzanne’s old, ratty flip flops. Good thing our feet are the same size!

Suzanne E: Karen was snoring like a buzz saw when I left for my booksigning (I seriously think she needs to see a doctor), but we met up for lunch. I started to comment on her cute flip flops — and then I realized they were MINE.

DAY FOUR:
Karen H: ANOTHER night of no sleep. Hasn’t this woman ever heard of frickin’ cough syrup? I may sneak to a pharmacy and lace her Diet Coke with it. She asked if her coughing at night had bothered me. I started to say yes, but then she turned on the t.v. in the middle of my answer and the conversation was over. She has been acting weird all day today. I caught her staring at my dessert at lunch. I think she would have taken it if I hadn’t been right there. I know you’re suppose to feed a cold, but REALLY.

Suzanne E: I am not getting ANY sleep. And Karen ate all my Oreos. And she wore my shoes AGAIN. I didn’t say anything, but sheesh. She seemed anxious to show me Orlando (which means what, oranges and alligators?), so I suggested we go look for a cute little gift for my nephew. What I’d really like is a clothes pin to keep her from SNORING! Tonight, just as a small revenge, I coughed on her toothbrush. Take THAT, Hawkins!

DAY FIVE:
Karen H: I have a blister on my left toe. Suzanne has the worst taste in shoes and even her flip flops are uncomfortable! Then, yesterday, she made me drive her all over town looking for a gift for her nephew. She has this queer alligator fixation. Would you buy an alligator head for YOUR eight year old nephew? Should I call Child Services? Is there counseling for this sort of thing? Every time I drove to yet another store, hoping she’d select a more appropriate gift, she glared at me. Even worse, this morning I noticed that she’d completely emptied the MIDDLE of the toothpaste tube. Oh, and now I think I have the sniffles. Thanks, Enoch.

Was this woman raised in a barn? I’m through being Misses Nice Gal. I’ve put up with enough coughing, ratty shoes, dessert envy, and gator-fixation. Tonight, when she’s asleep, I’m going to stuff the mangled toothpaste tube into her coughing maw.

Suzanne E: She’s dead. That’s all I’m saying. First the Oreos, then the shoes, and then she dragged me all over town because she wanted me to see the “real” Florida. Ha. I bought an alligator head. She thinks it’s for my nephew, but in the morning, who will look twice that she’s floating in the lobby fountain with alligator tooth marks on her feet? Not me!

Guess I’ll have to take a taxi to the airport in the morning.

So . . . how was your week?

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What a great week of blogging!  Our guest bloggers have been so thoughtful and interesting and I am having follow-up anxiety.  It’s like American Idol–I feel like my name is Pat Lester and I am following Adam Lambert.  Great job all the way around!

This has been an odd week for me.  Jack London is really, honestly, leaving to go to law school, realizing a dream he’s had for twenty five years, and it’s just now starting to hit me.  Many of my friends are in Orlando, and so is my publisher.  It’s been really, really quiet around here and I have discovered how much time I actually have to work when I am not distracted with men or emails.  It’s amazing!

Nevertheless, I have been missing the conference.  Here is something I don’t get:  Not one of my fellow goddesses has emailed me with gossip.  Not. One.  You’d think they might have heard something worth dropping a line, but nooooo.  All I get is silence.   I’ll remember this, my pretties!

My list of things I don’t get is growing.  Maybe I notice more, maybe I’m just getting crotchety, but I’m starting to wonder about a whole host of things.  For example, I don’t get why Whoopi Goldberg wears clothes that look like big potato sacks or serapes on The View.  I don’t actually watch The View, because I am writing (really!), but I have watched it twice this week.  Yesterday, they had the President of the United States on the show–I know!–and she wore this big black sheet looking thing.  What is that all about?

I don’t get this older guy in my hood who wear short shorts.  Shorter than the shorts here.  He has gray hair, a long thick pony tail, and a never-ending supply of Tshirts with logos, and those shorty-shorts.  They are always denim, and they end about where his leg meets his torso.  Why?  He walks every evening when I am walking Moose, and I giggle every time.

I don’t get people who text and drive.  I know there are probably some on this very blog who do it, but if you do, I’d bet you know you are playing with fire.   And people who text and drive are endangering me, too.  I don’t get it.

I don’t get my brother-in-law.  When we have a family dinner, he will come late, head right for the food without saying much to anyone, and dig in.  He was raised in the same family with people who have very fine manners, so I don’t get how he missed the wait-until-you-are-invited-to-dine rule.

I don’t get people who don’t pick up after their dogs!  Every day I am dodging some other dog’s leavings.  Hey, I don’t like it either, but I do it so you don’t have to dodge my dog’s mess.

I don’t get people who run at 5 in the afternoon, at the hottest time of day.  What is the attraction?  Heat stroke, that’s what!

What things do you not get?  And did you get a copy of ONE SEASON OF SUNSHINE?  Because I am giving away one copy today to a commenter drawn at random!

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Welcome to DAY THREE of our guest goddess extravaganza! Today’s blogger is our very own goddess Louisa Cornell, who asked only that we ‘decorate’ her blog with hot firemen. We thought that was pretty fair, so please join us in welcoming the wonderful and wickedly funny LOUISA!

Hello Goddesses! It’s little old me on the Goddess Blogs! Can you believe it? I am just thrilled to pieces to be here especially during the grandest ball of them all – the RWA National Conference. This is my third annual conference and I still feel like Cinderella every time I step into the lobby of the conference hotel and see all of these fabulous princesses of romance – the authors who keep us all turning the pages and sighing for more. This has to be the only place in the world where you can run into Nora Roberts in the elevator or Janet Evanovich in a hallway or our truly glorious goddesses in the bar. (No they aren’t always there. Sometimes they’re chasing hot guys waving their cell phones saying they need a photo for something called FROS. I didn’t know a fireman in full gear could run that fast!)

When I told my wonderful critique partner that I was lucky enough to write this blog post she asked pointedly (she always asks pointedly, trust me, she is a force of nature.) “What are you supposed to write about?”

“Well, you know, the usual – 1) why I am going, 2) what I expect, 3) what is happening . . . Those sorts of things.”

To which she replied, “That’s easy. Answer to Question #1) To have an editor fall at your feet with a 25 book contract. Answer to Question #2: To have the chef at the Dolphin serve you a six layer cake of alternating chocolate heaven and fudge delight that has no calories when you finish that last bite. And Answer to Question #3: You’ll be taking classes that will inspire you so much that during the week you will have completed a 400 page best-sel– Wait! Did you start by saying you write fiction?”

Sigh. As you can see she never allows me to get too full of myself.

Why DO I attend the annual conference? What is it really like? My brothers call it my Romance Writing Powwow. That sounds about right. After all, in the Creek culture of my family, grandmother storytellers are venerated as the keepers of memory, of hope, of dreams. Sounds like a romance writer to me.

Another thing about the conference is that it’s as loud as a powwow. A couple of thousand romance writers talking ninety to nothing about well, ROMANCE! How to write it. How to put more of everything in it. How to make it irresistible to readers. You name it and there is a class on it. Where else can you attend a class like Love Scenes 101 or Understanding the Male Mind or called Body Disposal? (I guess the body disposal is for when you just can’t understand the male mind.)

You remember I said I still feel like Cinderella? The conference is where I go to recharge my batteries so I can keep on searching for that glass slipper. The one that fits just right. I have an agent to help me look now. Trust me, no marriage-minded mama can beat my agent when it comes to trying to find the right “Prints Charming” to buy my books.

Writing romance is one of the few businesses where the sense of sisterhood – of we’re all in this together – is so overwhelming and comforting. Nowhere do you feel that sense of sisterhood more than at this conference. No ugly stepsisters here. Here everybody dances and if you don’t know the steps there’s always somebody here to teach you.

So when guests come into the hotel and see this gathering of chattering women all talking at once about cover models, black moments, GMC and POV, they may think they’ve landed at a convention of female car salesmen. Guess again. This is the annual powwow of the Romance Nation and we have some of the greatest storytellers in the world.

And one day, I hope to become one of them.

Are there any great storytellers in your family? Have you ever learned a skill or an art from a master? Was it one-on-one or was it in a conference-like atmosphere where you had access to some of the best artists in your chosen craft and got to learn from them and enjoy their company? And most important, have you ever snapped a quick photo of a hot guy just because he was hot?

P.S. We have two prizes today to be distributed to two separate posters on today’s blog! 1) an Advanced Reading Copy of Claudia Dain’s Daring A Duke and 2) an Advanced Reading Copy for Madeline Hunter’s Sinful in Satin!

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Our second surprise guest blogger is our own reader goddess Kathy T!

And heeeeere’s Kathy!

I’m a fat chick. I long ago came to terms with it. When I hit 30, I slowed down and so did my metabolism.

Recently I read a non-goddess author’s book and noticed something. Something that had never before occurred to me. This author’s heroines were always described as delicate, tiny females, and paired with huge linebacker type men, usually with longish hair. This got me to thinking; did the author project onto her characters her own body type or her wished-for body type?

And of course this led me to think about all of the characters I’ve read in my favorite books.

It’s human nature to put a little of ourselves into the books we read or write, whether we do it consciously or not. Still, I know we will never get a story about an ordinary man who is balding and paunchy or a woman who has more than just curves to her, but I must admit that I do like a story in which the lady in question is more “fleshed out” than a twig. That makes for a nice connecting moment for me. For my enjoyment, the man doesn’t have to be larger than life either, or have six pack muscles and broad shoulders. I like some reality to my heroes and heroines.

Body descriptions are never described on the back cover, so I’ve never purchased — or not purchased — a book because of this. However, if the author is constantly describing the heroine’s delicate hands and other too-obvious reminders of the hero’s and heroine’s sizes, then it overshadows what I think are the more interesting character traits and I get taken out of the story.

Does a tiny, waifish heroine turn you off of a book? Have you read books where the physical descriptions of the hero and heroine took you out of a book? What size(s) are your favorite heroines? Heroes?

P.S. Today we have a prize for two separate posters … you can win either an Advanced Reading Copy of Sabrina Jeffries’ September 21st release, A HELLION IN HER BED, or a signed copy of Lori Handeland’s SHAKESPEARE UNDEAD and a fancy Shakespeare LOVE coffee mug! WOOT!

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Since several of the goddesses are at their conference this week, we thought we’d bring in some special guests. In talking about which guests to invite, it dawned on us that several of our reader goddesses have great ideas for blog posts of their own.

Among these is our very own Sheridan. Today, Sheridan is sharing a family treasure with us. In addition to this great, fascinating tale of real life love, thegoddessblogs will give an Advanced Reading Copy of goddess Karen Hawkins’s August 31st release, the prequel to the MacLean Curse Series, MUCH ADO ABOUT MARRIAGE, to one randomly chosen poster. Yes, this could be YOU!

So post today and post often!

And now, without further ado, heeeere’s Sheridan:

Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved romantic stories and fairy tales. I immerse myself into a book and pour through every page just to get to the “happily ever after,” as I think we all do. Some have found their own true love and some of us keep searching, but we can all appreciate a wonderful, heartwarming story – especially if it is a true one.

This particular story began on October 30, 1923 at the annual Halloween carnival held at the Methodist Church. Sixteen year old Florence Powars and a few friends dressed up as gypsies for the fortune telling tent. Little did she know that a tall, blond athlete named Fred Stancliff would walk up to her table and change her life forever.

The two courted for five years as Fred insisted that Florence take advantage of the opportunity to get her college education, for he valued education above almost everything else.

Encouraged by Fred, Florence enrolled in the same college he was attending where she majored in Fred Stancliff and minored in English Literature. Not long after her graduation, they were married and, for the most part, lived happily ever after.

Growing up, I heard this tale many times. It was always accompanied by a smile and a special look between them. Fred and Florence had a very special love. They were also my grandparents.

A few years ago, I was helping my father go through his storage rooms and I came across a couple of boxes marked “letters.” At first, I wasn’t sure what I had, but I figured I could use some of the old letters for collages or photos or something crafty. But it turned out these yellowed pages were not just any letters, but a large collection of letters my grandparents had written while they were courting. Also in the boxes were my grandmother’s journal and some of her scrapbooks.

What unfolds in these pages is a very sweet love story; one that lasted until Fred’s death in 1995 after 68 years of marriage. Things were not always perfect and there were a number of little disagreements along the way (although every good story needs some drama, don’t you think?), but there were also celebrations and a growing affection that held strong through good times and bad.

The other bonus I received from finding those boxes is that it has turned into a family project. My father has undertaken to fill in a few blanks here and there and he has a number of little “asides” to share. One of my favorites being about that fateful Halloween carnival where my grandparents met.

My father told me that my grandmother admitted she’d volunteered to be at the front table that night. Why? Because she knew all of the girls coming into the Gypsy tent would head to the back tables for their fortunes (perhaps to gain some privacy). Meanwhile, the boys tended to go toward the first table they saw – the front one.

My grandmother was always was a cheeky one!

Have you ever chanced upon a family treasure? What was it and how did you find it? Did it change your relationship or viewpoint of anyone in your family?

Click here to check out the amazing website Sheridan has dedicated to her grandparents, Fred and Florence!

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I’ve been hearing that song for two weeks now.  Yes, the time has come for my annual get away to RWA.

In the past I’ve talked about how much I love RWA.  But today I want to talk about how much time it takes to get ready to go there.  At least a week, maybe closer to two depending on how good I’ve been about stockpiling outfits all year long.

Once I have my schedule set, I match clothes.  If Im short, I must shop.

Next I need to match shoes and jewelry to each outfit.  If I’m short . . .  see above.

Then there’s the coloring of the hair, which I’ve been putting off in order to get the ultimate benefit out of the touch up and highlights.  I need to look horrific by the time I sit in that chair.  Since my mom took one look at me Friday and said “oh, witchy,” I think I made it.

Following the hair we have the nails–hand and foot–the waxing–use your imagination–or don’t.  (I wouldn’t.)

Two days before, I check to make sure everything fits in the bag and weighs under 50 pounds.  I make sure I have all my electronics up to date, all my cords confiscated from various rooms where they have wandered off to.  My current WIP loaded onto the laptop.  All my notes in the computer case.  A book for the plane.

In the past, I needed to make sure the kids were parceled out and accounted for.  The dog dealt with.  The refrigerator stocked.  Now I just leave.  They’re 18, 21, 48 and 77 in dog years.  Deal with it.  Because I’m leaving them to “deal with it” I also don’t have to stop the mail, lock the house, make sure the neighbors know we’re gone, get someone to water the plants.

Though the trip takes forever to get ready for, it’s still easier than when we all pile in the car, or on a plane and fly away.

What do you do to make sure your house, family, significant furry other is taken care of when you get away?  And who’s going to RWA?

Woot!  It’s almost here!

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By one very sexy Brit! I was talking to my daughter the other day about Sexy Brits (as mothers and daughters often do) and she mentioned a British musician by the name of Damon Albarn. I didn’t know of him, so I had to look him up and wow, what a fascinating looking man. He has piercing eyes, a noble brow, and a sensual mouth … he’s not classically beautiful, but he’s incredibly masculine and intriguing.

Take a look:

Interesting, isn’t he?

Check out another angle:

Damon has the most intense eyes … fascinating.

I mentioned Mr. Albarn is in a band. Did I also mention he’s won tons of awards, has been named one of the top three lead singers/songwriters of all times, and is a phenomenal musician AND musical producer? Well, he is. He’s all of this and artistic, too!

What do you think of our British Invasion? Do you like men like Damon here who are intriguingly masculine, but not especially ‘pretty?’ What other Brits rock your boat?

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