Foul Play on Words
Page 23
The audience laughed.
“We all know sometimes you need magic to make it all work right. I is for imagination, E is for editing, V is for voice, and last but definitely important, E is for earnings.”
A woman whooped her agreement and a man shouted, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
I explained the seven ideas in more detail and included some helpful hints and funny anecdotes, with a generous dose of encouragement. I ended my speech by reminding them that it wasn’t so long ago that I sat where they sat, looking to launch my own career.
“If I can do it, you can do it.”
The room erupted in thunderous applause. I wiped a tear before Lily jumped to the stage to present me with a leather notebook tied with a pretty bow.
The next day, I walked through the Portland airport talking to Ozzi on my phone. I’d caught him up on everything after the banquet. Today was a bit more subdued, given my attendance at BarCon last night. People had wanted to buy me drinks. Lots of drinks. How could I refuse them that pleasure?
“So I’m through security and almost to my gate. Looks like the flight will be on time. You’ll be at DIA to pick me up?”
“Absolutely. Can’t wait to see you. I have a surprise for you.” He made some sexy noises in my ear.
“Is it ice cream? You know how I love that salted caramel swirl,” I teased.
“Correction. I’ll see you in Denver with two surprises. I love you, Charlee. I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Love you more. See you in three hours and fifty-two minutes.”
I dropped my phone into my bag and wandered around, looking for something to eat before I got on the plane. One kiosk looked interesting, but there was a man in line blocking my view of the menu board. He picked up his order and turned around. It was the man who’d helped me with the acronym for my speech.
“Sir Robin of Locksley! Pip, pip, cheerio, and all that rot.”
He frowned, then grinned in recognition. “Charlemagne Russo! Fancy meeting you here today.”
“What? No accent?”
“Nope. I’m just plain ol’ Ricky today. Too exhausted to pretend.”
“So I take it the wedding was fun?”
“A little too much fun.” Ricky rubbed his head with his free hand. “And it cost me a small fortune.” He tipped his head toward some seating nearby. “Care to join me?”
“Yeah, let me grab a sandwich.”
When I sat down, he said, “I’m dying to know. How did your speech go?”
“I don’t even know where to start.” I told him the entire story of the conference while we ate.
When I finished, he stared at me, stunned.
I laughed at the incredulous expression on his face. “The things we do for friends, right?”
Acknowledgments
I’ve been haunting writers’ conferences since 1999, often as a member of the faculty. While they’ve never been quite like the fictional Stumptown Conference, they are always filled with characters, laughter, and learning. BarCon, you’ll be happy to know, is a real thing. After-hours at the hotel bar is when so much magic happens. If you’re a writer, aspiring or otherwise, I encourage you to find a conference to attend. Go hang out with your tribe. And if they’ve double-booked a dog show, you better send me photos!
If you’re strictly a reader, there are conferences for you too! If you’ve never attended Left Coast Crime, Malice Domestic, or Bouchercon, put them on your bucket list. Enjoy hanging out with your favorite authors, meeting new ones, and attending panels on all facets of crime fiction. Don’t forget to add BarCon to your schedule there, too!
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About the Author
A highly functioning chocoholic, Becky Clark is the seventh of eight kids, which explains both her insatiable need for attention and her atrocious table manners. She likes to read funny books so it felt natural to write them, too. She’s a native of Colorado, which is where she lives with her indulgent husband and quirky dog.
Becky loves to present workshops to writing groups and is a founding member of the Colorado Chapter of Sisters in Crime. Visit her on Facebook and at BeckyClarkBooks.com for all sorts of shenanigans.