Well, I’m here—in Houston, Tx. at the Romantic Times Convention. If any of you have read my books, you’re probably wondering… “What the heck is she doing at a RT Convention?” Good question! The answer is there are quite a few members from the International Thriller Writers group here, and I was asked if I wanted to do a panel and some other yada-yada stuff that goes on at a convention. So I’m here.
To tell ya the truth, I’m a bit nervous about going down to the registration table. The last time I went to a romance convention it was filled with so many girlie-girls I felt awkward. Ya know, like cactus stuck in the middle of a petunia garden. Here’s why . . .
98% of girlie-girls have beautifully manicured fingernails, all painted the perfect color. Mine stay short because I can’t stand the feel of my fingernails hitting the keys on a keyboard before my fingers do. And nary a one of them puppies has ever seen polish. To put it bluntly, I just don’t have time for that crap.
97% of girlie-girls have magnificent hairdos, not a strand of hair out of place. You’re lucky to see mine out of a ponytail, and when it is loose, my bangs never cooperate. They just do whatever the hell they want to do.
96% of girlie-girls are always well-dressed and perfectly color coordinated, even down to their lipstick, just like in the pages of a magazine. With me, you either get black slacks and whatever color blouse goes with black or jeans. And I literally own but three pairs of shoes: sneakers, black boots, and black heels for when it’s too hot for the boots. Oh, don’t even get me started on lipstick! Ugh! I probably wear it three times a year, and one of those times usually involves a wedding.
95% of girlie-girls always wear the right jewelry with the right outfit. I have no sense of style, especially when it comes to jewelry, so I stick to basics. I wear small, gold hoop earrings that I never take off and a watch…which I seldom wear.
94% of girlie-girls speak eloquently about home decorations and new, scrumptious recipes they tried last weekend. I’m into functionality. I really don’t care what color the walls and chairs are as long as I have ‘em and they work, I’m good to go. As for cooking, you’re likely to get what my daughters’ called, “A Deborah Ann Dinner,” which consists of baked chicken, green beans out of a can (nuked in the micro of course), and macaroni and cheese. Hey, at least it’s balanced!
99% of girlie-girls at conventions like this normally write about sizzling relationships. The only time anything sizzles in my books is when some whacko burns something—like a person. And when it comes to relationships or romance, the closest I ever got to either in my books is when I had a main character checking out her male neighbor’s cute butt. Well, you know what they say . . .write what you know. Yeah, I know, I know . . .I’m workin’ on it!
So there you have it—me, a cacti stuck in the middle of a petunia garden. Lawd, help ‘em!