They say getting there is half the fun...

They say getting there is half the fun... but whoever "they" are, they're liars. All of them. This was written on the way to Reno for the Romance Writers of America Conference this past week - sorry it's late, but deadlines have been calling!

Bad luck is supposed to come in threes. I must be heading into a second round then, because I’ve had quite a run recently. Sometimes I think Bad Luck is my best friend – him and Bad Choices. They’ve both been pals of mine for years, always by my side, nudging me in the wrong direction. But today, I’ve been hanging with just Bad Luck, who seems to travel with me when I fly. Lost luggage, mechanical problems, stewardesses who spill drinks on my head, missed connections – and I’m not getting into the crying babies, airsick passengers and other undesirables I inevitably get stuck sitting next to.

Today, it will take me five extra hours to get to Reno above and beyond the original ten hours it was to take in the first place. I’m not bitter. Well, not too much. After all, Delta gave me a meal voucher for SEVEN dollars. HA! But a free sandwich is better than jack squat, I remind myself. She only gave it to me because I didn’t unleash a fury on them. I know this because she thanked me for being so patient (stop laughing! I've been patient before. That one time back in 1994...) What was the point of complaining? Bad Luck screwed me. There wasn’t anything else to do but eat my sandwich and go to the airport bookstore to count the whole passel of Black Lace books they had there.

Now I’m sitting beside a guy who has his cell on speakerphone. He’s old and deaf, so he has it cranked. Come on now! Have mercy!! But lucky for me, Bad Choices caught an earlier flight, so I’ve resisted the urge to tell him about cellphone etiquette.

I’m going to a writing convention, very serious and all that – editors and other publishing professionals everywhere. It’s best behavior time. Last year, I made a complete ass out of myself in front of Nora Roberts. It made a good story, though. Nora told me I was “refreshing” afterwards, repeating my name several times. I’m not sure that was such a good thing, no matter how amused everyone seemed to be by it.

In six hours, I’ll make it to Reno. I figure Bad Choices is already there, swigging a shot of tequila with a beer chaser. He’s an ass, but never boring. I plan to resist temptation. I will resist temptation. I promise to resist temptation, no matter how much fun it seems like it might be at the time.

To Be Continued….