I know, I’m supposed to wax poetic about this week because I am a romance writer. It is rather like carrying the standard in this business. Oh, it’s Valentine’s Day, let’s trot the local romance writers out of their caves, dress them in red and have them go on and on about the power of love. Gads, I think I am going to choke on my box of chocolates.
It’s not that I am against romance. Or Valentine’s Day–because any day where a man actually feels compelled to act on his guilt of not being romantic enough the rest of the year, is cause for celebration, especially when it involves diamonds or roses, preferably in that order. It’s the trotting out the romance writers that bothers me. Like I have some insider’s advantage that makes me an expert on the subject of love. Believe me, most days I am just lucky to get my knitting straight . . .
Now I have to interrupt this blog to explain why it sort of ends right there. I had this entire, wonderful blog about the event at Maple Valley written, and then one of the little
shits, aka little heroes, decided to turn off the router, and when I went to save the blog, I lost it into the ether. Okay, I am not feeling the love at this moment. And it was a great blog. Sigh. Suffice it to say, I explained how I feel about doing public events until I get there, surrounded by friends and readers and good buddies and rediscover the love that is writing romance. You would have shed a tear at the end of it. I did. And that was before I discovered the technical difficulties. So instead, here are the pics and to each and every one of you, I wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day.
And if you happen to see me on the news for selling my child on eBay, please come and be one of my jurors. I know you all will understand my pain.