That Time Again...

This week I’ll once again travel to the ACFW conference. Tracy, my writing partner, is going with me, and we’re pretty excited. On Friday we’ll be attending a pizza party hosted by Rachel Hauck and Susan May Warren. On Saturday, there’s a book-signing at the Mall of America, with over 100 authors scheduled to be there with pens ready.

There’s also a banquet, where I may, possibly, you-never-know, be up for an award. This year I even wrote a little tiny speech on the off chance I place first, since last year it was probably very wrong of me to pray against the top spot since I hadn’t prepared anything. Me, a microphone, and no printed words would probably equal tears. Lots of them. Not a pretty sight. Fortunately, though I placed, it wasn’t first. Unfortunately, that was the story written with Tracy, and she probably didn’t appreciate my prayer.

Angela Hunt is the keynote speaker this year, and though I doubt she’ll lead the crowd in a rousing chorus of Jacob Was a Hairy Man like James Scott Bell did last year, I’m looking forward to hearing her. The author whose slogan is to expect the unexpected. Hmm. Maybe she’ll whip out a silly song after all.

I have my clothes all picked out and tried on a dozen times. I decided to wear black everyday so I can bring fewer shoes—last year I had to tote the left clunker around in my carryon to save myself from the overweight baggage fee. Unfortunately, I still can’t bring myself to narrow down my selection—three pairs of black shoes for the conference. A pair of flip flops for the trip home…But at least this year if I have to carry a shoe around the airport, it’ll actually fit in my shoulder bag. I think.

I love writers’ conferences. There’s just something about being in a huge room filled with people who all hear voices in their heads, the ones who feel naked if they find themselves without paper or computer or pen. Meeting the people who’ve typed the stories that have transported me around the world and through time and space, and find out they’re quirky and almost-normal…like me. If you factor all that in, along with the gourmet food and gorgeous hotel rooms, and, of course, the chocolate party, it’s about as close to heaven on earth that a writer can come.

So this week is my heaven on earth week…as long as my plane doesn’t go down and I walk through gates of splendor instead of gates of airport security. Hopefully I’ll come home safe and sound and fired up to do some more writing. Stay tuned for news, and for more author interviews. I have another one my sweet friend Trish Perry and one with the amazing Sharon Hinck all ready to go, and I’ll try to line up some more while I’m there.

Until then…read a good book. I might just be hanging out with the author.