Here's the thing, as my new BFF Dakota would say.
I've been surfing about, reading posts and comments here and there about the "wildness" and the "tackiness" and the lack of "professionalism" here at RT. And you know what?
~If you go to a Romantic Times convention looking to hold onto your dignity with both hands? You're gonna have a shitty time.
~If you go with the intention of turning up your nose at behavior of others? You'll find PLENTY of opportunity.
~And if you sit at home and troll the Romancelandia blogs to find evidence of Authors and Readers Behaving In A Manner Not Befitting A Lady so that you'll have something to post about or comment on? You're an asshat with too much time on your hands. Get a hobby why don'tcha?
RT isn't RWA. This isn't news. RT doesn't want to be RWA, and I can't tell you how many authors I've heard say, "...and thank God for that..." in the four days I've been here.
RT is a readers' convention with a sideline of workshops for writers and booksellers. It's not all that different from DragonCon or some of the other fan conventions that also hold a few workshops for artists in various media. So I'm asking... please... pretty-goddamn-fucking-PLEASE...
...could we quit with the comparisons? I'd really hate to have to break out the fruity analogies again.
For the record, I've never attended an RWA national conference and likely never will. As I age, I'm finding myself more and more allergic to the snobbery and the categorization and the asswipery inherent in organizations like RWA. (Are you PAN? Are you Pro? Should I pucker up to kiss your ass or turn around and bend over?)
I'm having a good time in Pittsburgh. I've met people I like - authors, readers, booksellers, cover models, waitresses, chambermaids and hotel desk clerks (in no particular order) - and I've never once worried that my dignity is suffering as a result of the fact that the chick next to me is dressed as a Domme vampire with bat wings and a quirt, and the hunk o' beefcake on the other side of the piano bar is leering at my cleavage. I've done very little "professional networking," but I've sold some books, given others away (major highlight of my week: the waitress that squealed like a schoolgirl when I autographed a free copy of SIN STREET for her, and then put down her pad and tray to hug me), gotten solid info from editors, visited with old friends and made a batch of new ones. I'm satisfied. If that makes me "unprofessional," then bless my own tacky heart. They say water finds its own level. Mine appears to be the one without the stick up its ass.
Yeah, I know, my metaphors are big with the mixy. Bite me. But not too hard, as I understand my brand of "tacky" may be contagious.
SelahMarch.com - Romance of Dubious Virtue