This past week I was at the Edgar Allan Poe awards in NYC, which was an amazing experience. So many talented published and aspiring authors in one room kind of made my head spin. The champagne may have contributed to that.
Wednesday night I had a panel at Books of Wonder, along with the other 10 nominees in the categories of Middle Grade and Young Adult. My librarian ears were perking as the others read from their books, and I made a few purchases on the plane home as a result. I also managed to get a whopper of a migraine right in the middle of the panel, so if you were there and saw me constantly massaging the back of my own head, it's not because I have an itchy scalp.
The boyfriend and I walked back to the hotel from BoW, while I stifled a deep urge to vomit. He told me to just do it on the street. "We're in NYC," he reminded me. "Nobody will really care. If you did it at home it would be a story for years."
He's not exaggerating. I hit a skunk with my car when I was 17 and the car smelled for weeks afterward and it still comes up in conversation occasionally... and that was 20 years ago.
I felt better the next day - thank goodness. I had my hair and face done, accidentally walked through a movie shoot (that doesn't happen at home), and ate a tuna melt that put all other tuna melts to shame. And... it was time to go.
I had to take a quick shot of the dress and shoes because I had no idea how to answer anyone who asked me about my dress other thank to say, "it's black." That is the true extent of my fashion sensibilities.
This is Edgar, and my awesome editor Mr. Ben Rosenthal. Also my boyfriend's uneaten cheesecake. You can see my wine glass is empty.
And then I ended up in a room with lots and lots of famous, talented people, including Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, which was completely unexpected. I found my awesome editor, Ben Rosenthal, and my equally awesome agent-lady Adriann Ranta, using Kareem as a reference point in the room. Then we all ate dinner and the boyfriend shared his story about a guy in front of Grand Central Station who had decided he just didn't like my boyfriend. Seriously I have no idea what that was about. He called him a scumbag, and then remembered him when we walked past later and said, "Hey, I called you a scumbag earlier."
I told boyfriend to be flattered that apparently he stands out in a sea of New Yorkers.
And, because I think it's important to destroy any mystique I may have garnered, here is a picture of me in my element at home, courtesy of the boyfriend.
And then, long story short, I won the Edgar. Kind of crazy. The lovely and talented Lyndsey Faye read my name out of the envelope and I went into a little bit of shock and touched my nose for a few seconds (this is how I center myself) before getting up. So basically I came to New York and touched parts of my own skull at major public events.