Wednesday, October 3, 2012
I have a funny way of packing. (Just like Burl Ives had a funny way of laughing. I have that, too.) I make lists.
Huge lists. Something like this:
- the black skirt makes me look fat, so don't forget the lyrcra body wrap thing
- this t-shirt doesn't really fit any more, so don't forget the vest
- if I meet Sara and Elizabeth, I will need a tissue, so I won't make a complete fool of myself, so pack something with pockets for this day
- make sure the camera is charged just in case I stalk Sara and Elizabeth long enough to get my picture taken with them (even if I'm seated in the audience, and they're at the panel table)
- this outfit makes me look sophisticated. I do not resemble the 62-year-old teenager inside, the one who will cry with joy upon meeting certain authors. I will wear this to my own panel.
- am I allowed to give gifts to people like - well, Sara and Elizabeth? or would that be unseemly?
- should I really wear that feather boa or were my fellow Canucks just kidding?
- I do have that Canadian cape. SuperCanuck. For sure, that's going in the suitcase.
- should I die my hair red and white?
- how many books should I bring to give away? Will there be line-ups or will I be alone like...never mind. I'll use up those tissues before the car starts.
I'm famous in Brampton, my hometown. Seriously. Not so much in Cleveland. But that's OK. I have cousins and an aunty there. I will be famous with them. They will probably stalk me. Or at least hug me. Is that allowed with you-know-who too, or would that also be unseemly? Amazon Author page