RWA in San Antonio Texas, July 23-27...Please come join us at the "Readers for Life" Literacy Event at the Marriott Rivercenter ...Free entrance to readers! Come meet authors and buy some signed books. All proceeds to benefit Literacy. (Yes, the great Nora Roberts, here with a fan, will be signing her books!)
In honor of the ghost of RWA past, here's a blog I did about one of the more embarrassing things ever to happen to Emelle Gamble! Leave a comment below about something embarrassing that happened to you, and you could WIN a FREE signed book and $25 gift card!
What not to do at RWA in San Antonio?
Do NOT spill 10 pounds of shrimp on your shoes at Nora Robert’s party.
I’m sure you are nodding as you read the above, and thinking, “Well, what kind of dolt would do that?”
This dolt.
It was a few years ago, and Ms.
Roberts had graciously invited her home chapter of RWA to join her and
her many other guests for cocktail hour in her suite.
It was perfect…view out the windows
glorious, delicious and varied spread of cheeses and dips and seafood,
waiters with drinks on gleaming trays, fabulous clothes and sparkling
party jewelry. The room was packed with well-known and much loved
writers, very important editors, publicists and fans and fellow WRW
members like me who were thrilled to mingle and have a couple of
munchies and a fortifying drink before the Awards Ceremony.
I was nervous, as always, like most
of us there, hoping to make an impression on those we wanted to do
business with. I had my elevator pitch ready and my new high heels on
and was keeping my eyes peeled for an editor I was dying to chat up. I
decided I’d grab a drink, but realized sensibly it would be much smarter
to first take a lovely little cocktail plate and grab a few bites. The
line was forming, shoulder to shoulder hungry writers were starting to
queue up, and I somehow, with a graceful step or three, managed to plant
myself right in front of an amazing display of shrimp.
A gorgeous silver bowl of the plumpest, freshest, yummy little creatures sat on a table covered with crushed
ice, the enormous bowl tilted just so one could poke a toothpick in and
spear one without any effort at all. Plate in one hand, toothpick in
the other, I first spooned on a tablespoon of lovely red cocktail sauce,
then speared a shrimp.
I plopped it on the plate and frowned, not sure but wondering, did the silver bowl gently, oh so freaking gently, begin to turn on its bed of ice? I
thought it might have, no more than a degree clockwise, if I remember
right. The room was warm, the ice was melting just a bit, but no
problem. Surely.
I speared a second shrimp. When I picked the thing up from the mountain where it perched with a thousand of it’s lovely pink buddies, disaster.
Like card 101 in a design that could only ever balance 100, the silver bowl of shrimp moved again. Wildly.
The thing took a full, dizzying ninety-degree spin, and one second
later tipped forward and spilled at least half its content onto the
table, onto the table cloth, onto the floor of Ms. Nora Robert’s suite.
And onto my totally shocked and humiliated feet.
It made quite a noise. A crash, actually. Ice, silver, shrimp, glass. I don’t know what broke, but something did.
One hundred people fell silent. And then an anonymous voice from across the room asked gently, “Is everyone thinking, Thank god I didn’t do that?”
Which was hilarious at the time to everyone but the woman with seafood stuck between her toes.
In an instant a waiter in a black
coat appeared at my elbow. He smiled at me and then spoke into a
walkie-talkie, which appeared in his hand as if by magic.
“We have a shrimp emergency,” he
said. Clicking sounds. Static sounds. Then a disembodied voice asked,
“Is there sauce involved?” The waiter met my eyes. He looked relieved.
“No, no sauce.”
Many more people in black coats
appeared. The shrimp was cleaned up. Replacement bowls of the jumbo
little devils arrived. The hostess was gracious and kind and did not
have me thrown out of her penthouse window. She waved me to come over to
where she stood, sympathetic and smiling, and had me sit down while
people brought me drinks.
Later that evening, after all the fun, I had an excellent discussion with the editor I was chasing, but it centered on faux pas in public, not my book. I believe she said me vs the shrimp was the worst she had ever witnessed. Ha.Ha.Ha.
Yay! I made an impression!
Okay, so lesson learned and duly passed onto fellow Conference goers. “Step away from the shrimp”, as my dear critique partner, Elaine Fox, now whispers in my ear whenever we’re in a buffet line anywhere.
Especially if the sneaky devils are in a bowl on an ice display, intent on proving Al Gore is totally right about Global Warming.
Especially if the sneaky devils are in a bowl on an ice display, intent on proving Al Gore is totally right about Global Warming.
