In Which an Author Turns Various Shades of Red

Given my ability to embarrass myself quite frequently, it’s not surprise I didn’t escape the RT Convention unscathed. The first such incident happened the first day of the convention. Kiddo and I headed over to Starbucks for a quick stop for coffee, water and juice. She decided she wanted a muffin, so I sat and waited for her to eat. The few days we were in the Chicago area prior to the con, I’d been parking beside the building but this particular morning, there was a free slot front and center (this will come into play later).

Anxious to get to the Hyatt, I juggled my keys, wallet, brand new cell phone and steaming hot latte (this will also come into play) I’d yet to take a sip of. Let me stop here and preface this part with this statement – curbs and I are NOT friends. Evidently, I’ve done something to a curb at some other point in my life and it decided to take revenge right at that moment. Keys, wallet, and cell phone crash to the ground. Piping hot latte had just become my new accessory. Not to mention, the rental car got a nice bath from my five dollar latte as well (I hope it enjoyed it).

Of course, kiddo promptly freaked out and ran around the car. I was back on my feet by the time she got there. I turned and found countless eyes staring at me through the Starbucks window–rows of business men in their fancy suits, staring at me. Thanks for all your help, guys! /sarcasm

I was fine physically, though maybe a little bruise emotionally, but my shirt and jeans definitely took a beating. No way could things be more embarrassing, right? Oh ho – how wrong I was. Enter Saturday. The last day of the convention–not to mention the busiest. At some point I wandered down to the YA author party, where kiddo was. I ended up sitting down to wait for her and found myself sitting with Ann Aguirre and Rachel Caine. (Um, yeah, the fangirl squealing that was happening in my head in that moment? Y’all have no idea.)

The party was winding down and who should happen upon the small group where kiddo was a few feet away but Francine Pascal. I stared. I couldn’t help it even though I know it’s rude, rude, and rude. Couldn’t help it. I still own all my Sweet Valley High books from 5th/6th grade. I got called over to meet her, which I did–lovely, lovely woman.

That’s when she noticed my badge. (Those who haven’t attended a con before may not know it had your name and your credentials on display. My obviously said “Sara Brookes Published Author”). I hadn’t thought twice about it until just a few seconds before Francine asked what I wrote.

Um…

I promptly turned several different shades of red. I couldn’t speak. Thankfully (or maybe not) she could…”Oh! You write those HOT romances. The BSD…what it is again?” And so began the next three minutes of shear embarrassment as I explain not only what it is–but what it stands for. What? She kept asking me questions, I couldn’t be rude.