RNA Conference - I'm packing heat, chat and hello.

 I'm packing for the Romantic Novelists' Conference, which takes place in the salubrious surroundings of Greenwich this year.  At least, I assume Greenwich is salubrious, or at least it is until I get there.  I can lower the tone of an entire city, just by getting off a train.  So.  Me and my packing.  Normally I'm a kind of anti-woman when it comes to packing.  I'll just take a plastic carrier containing one spare pair of knickers (in case I get over-excited) and a toothbrush which will, on arrival, turn out to be the dog's.  I've been known to brazen it out in quite posh company, changing my outfit by the expedient means of taking off my cardigan.  There!  Look!  Completely different!

However.  There is a dark and competitive side to Romantic Novelists. Look, here's mine.  See?  It's where I fell asleep in the sun reading 'Turning the Tide' and got burned all along the top edge.  I bet it's worse than your sunburn.

 And also, we like to compete with shoes.

Not like Stiletto-Wars, you understand, there's no actual fighting, well, not much, well, only a bit and no-one really gets hurt, well... only bystanders.  Generally.  But shoes are of the utmost importance to us Romantic Novelists.  We take our shoes seriously.  As opposed to sniggering at them, which, I understand, is the Sci-Fi Novelists approach.  So. I must pack shoes.  And you can't get shoes in a plastic carrier, despite what the bag-lady down the road might say.  They poke out and kick people when you're walking along.  So I must find a bag.  And, since I am going to all the trouble of taking a proper bag simply to restrain my shoes, I might as well take some other clothes too.

What?  Surely not, I hear you cry!  Take more than one outfit to a Conference where there will be a Gala Dinner??  What's wrong with taking off your cardigan and slipping into your spare (dry) pants?  I know, I know... but since this year the RNA is undergoing its fiftieth birthday celebrations (quite unlike your own dear blogger, my sweetings, who is but a youngling in comparison, for what do I know of fiftieth birthday celebrations - nothing, that is what!), one feels the need not only to push out the boat but also to launch the life-raft and drag the dinghy.  And so, this is what I shall do.

                              You could have someone's eye out with one of those - if I aim right.

For this year I shall be taking not only the dog's toothbrush, but also my Quite Posh Frock, my Lesser Frock and two pairs of Plebian Trousers.  Those of you reading this who were expecting to be able to track my progress through the Conference merely by smell will, this year, be disappointed.  You will, however, be able to follow me by keeping one eye on the ground for discarded sequins and an ear open for the sound of snapping ankles.

If all else fails, head for the screaming.

Hope to see you there!

Timeliness and the importance of Things Happening

Good day, my little chickadees.  You may, in your unswerving loyalty to this blog, have noticed that I am a day late with my post this week.  This is because I was waiting for something to happen.

Nothing specific, you understand.  I don't watch football or tennis and I didn't think the season finale of Doctor Who would sustain an entire blog post. Well, I did, but most of you would get bored and wander off. But I did think something else might come along, presenting itself neatly with its tail in the air, whiskers akimbo, ready to be blog-fodder.

It didn't.  I contemplated blogging on the subject of nail varnish colours, or jam, and I even started to draft up a post on the subject of My Ice Cream Hell (which was yesterday, and less of a Hell and more of a Disappointment, I mean Thornton's Toffee ice cream should at least have hints of toffee in, surely?)  But all of these topics seemed insufficient to engage your rampant attentions, my beauties, what with the competition I face from foot-pumicing or arranging your toe-nail clippings into order of size.

In short, this week has been decidedly light on events.  Tony Robinson has not arrived at my door (despite the fairly heavy hints I dropped last week), and although the delightful people at Choc Lit have begun wafting the delicious scent of newly-minted book-covers under my nose, we have not yet arrived at a suitable recipe, so I have nothing to show you on that score.  My clothes have not fallen off in an amusing or educational way, I have had neither trauma nor triumph to report and even the weather continues to be a rather boring khaki affair.

Short of asking your advice as to what to have for tea, I'm stumped.

I'm a writer, I am supposed to be more full of interesting and original ideas than a dog is full of tapeworms, but having finished polishing up two books, rewriting, editing, changing and generally sprucing up the old manuscripts, I seem to be all out of anything much to say.  I think I may have used up all my brain-words.  I shall attempt to distract you with a picture.

Look at the shiny-shiny.

This is a picture of the sky.  It's not very exciting, but there you go, at least you feel you've had your money's worth.

Pop back next week.  I've got the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse coming round for tea on Wednesday and I'm having my entire body rebuilt by the people who brought you Lego on Friday, so I should have something interesting to talk about by then.

Until then, my wonderful blog-buddies...you may leave.

Oooh, I've just thought of something!  On Monday, I got this phone call from David Tennant...oh.  They've all gone.  Bother.  That would have been quite interesting...

Thinking about Men.

And so, dear reader, my lovely publisher-to-be, Choc Lit (whom I feel I may have mentioned just a smidgeon somewhere upon these blogs) hath recruited some of us writerly types to speak upon the subject of Heroes at the forthcoming RNA Conference.  RNA in this instance, stands for Romantic Novelists' Association, a name purposely designed to strike fear into anyone who doesn't know precisely where to place an apostrophe.  And so, my little snugglebunnies, I must apply myself thickly and evenly (avoiding the eye area) to the problem.

Talking about my heroes.

Now, my taste in men is somewhat... ahem...alternative.  I have to be possibly the only woman who can salivate over the sight of Tony Robinson (apart, presumably, from Mrs Tony Robinson).  I am well aware that he is a small, square man of middle years with very poor eyesight, but there is just something...appealing about him.  He has a touch of the 'last puppy in the pet shop' about him, as does the wonderful (and equally sexy) David Mitchell.  It's the big brown eyes thing.

And herein lies my problem.

How do I begin a talk about men I find attractive without reducing the audience to tears of laughter and, possibly, a whip-round for a George Clooney poster upon which I might imprint myself?  It is a well-known fact that writers of Romance feature men as heroes who have to turn sideways to come into a room as though they have swallowed a cereal box, and whose faces are always craggy and macho. Which doesn't sound much like Tony Robinson to me.  Although, in a desperate bid to appear normal here, I do also quite like Johnny Depp, although he never features as a hero in any of my books.

He's a sex god, I tell you.  A sex god!

Possibly I really like Our Tone because, as a Time Team person, he would find me relatively young.  I mean, compared to Romans and things.  And he wouldn't even have to excavate very much in order to find me, simply opening a door HAS to be a relief to a man who normally has to remove several tons of earth to reach the object of his interest.  He might need to blow off some dust, but what woman doesn't have that problem?

I also have to do something about my hair.  I believe I have covered The Face (as you all should) on a previous blog, well now is the Coming of The Hair.  And I only have two and a bit weeks to subdue it in order for me to be allowed on public transport without a special licence.  So I'd better go and make a start.  Anyone got an industrial-grade razor?