I spent the weekend hanging out with a gaggle of awesome ladies! I made new friends, reunited with old friends and met some amazing author’s I wish I could take home and hide in my closet. The conference inspired me, fried my brain and opened my eyes to the nature of women and the lack of proper planning by hotel developers.
I learned that no matter where you go, what you do for a living, or what social circle you belong to, women talk. When I say talk, I mean gossip. Holy cow. I loved it!
I also learned that writers, especially romance writers, are the greatest group of people to hang with. Didn’t matter what stage in their writing career, these ladies were so, so gracious and more than willing to share their knowledge.
I learned something about myself, too. Tolerance? Yeah, I don’t have much. Don’t do crowds very well. Attention span? Um, I thought I had one. Turns out, I can focus for about half an hour before drifting off to la-la-land.
I blame it on the zombies — and my children for asking me this question on a daily, sometimes hourly basis…Mom, if the zombies attacked, where would you rather be. Costco, or the mall? Or if we’re in a store…Mom, if the zombies attack, where will you hide?
So you can understand why, instead of absorbing wisdom from the amazing speakers, I planned escape routes. A fancy-schmancy hotel is not the place to be during the zombie apocalypse. Not one door in any of the many conference rooms had handles that you could wedge an axe through to keep the zombie horde out. There weren’t even axes hanging by the doors. What? And the chairs were metal. How are hotel guests supposed to defend themselves with chairs that can’t be broken down into clubs or spikes?
I considered how long it would take to stack the chairs high enough that I could climb into the ceiling panels. Conclusion? In a crowded room, I didn’t stand a chance. If I could stop the chit-chat and clanking of coffee cups long enough to pull a team together, I figured half of us might survive.
Zombies can’t climb, right? I thought about climbing to a chandelier and hanging out up there but then I remembered, I can’t do one pull-up. How in the hell could I pull myself onto a chandelier? Were there enough bolts holding the thing up to bear my weight?
Could I break a window and climb on the ledge until help arrived? No. The uppity hotel didn’t have the foresight to plan escape routes let alone ledges for us to dangle off if need be. Inconsiderate much?
Despite the hotel’s lack of concern over their patron’s safety during a zombie outbreak, I had a hoot at ECWC. And I made it home with all of my body parts. I’m at peace because my house, according to my offspring, is properly equipped for the imminent War of the Undead.
Now I can write.