Top 10 things you should never do at a writer’s conference

  1. Arrive late and ask, “Did they really start without me?”
  2. Walk up to the first person that smiles at you and hand them your business card and say, “Here’s my card. I’m a fabulous writer.”  Later you find out the man you handed the card to was a publisher.
  3. Walk up to the front of the room to get the instructions for getting online, so the guest speaker has to search for it. “Excuse me, can I please have my guide for starting this presentation?”
  4. Humming hymns, songs, lullabies in class. (This is not song writing 101!)
  5. Try to sell your unpublished novel to someone so you can buy a cup of coffee.
  6. Sit in the front of the class with your hearing aid on your lap and start yelling, “I can’t hear you! Speak up!”
  7. Sign up to pitch your script with the agent that says, “I don’t like women’s fiction. I don’t like women’s nonfiction. I don’t like women.”
  8. Tell the guy sitting by you, “I’m not just funny looking, I’m also a funny writer.”
  9. Listen to the creepy old guy who keeps asking you to put ice down your shirt.
  10. Tell the agent you are pitching your manuscript to, “This is normally my nap time. I’m just going to tell you the truth my novels sucks, it’s broken and stupid.”

Confession of a Naked Shoe Thief


I was a typical boring housewife. I worked as a teacher once for a small private preschool, but when the economy turned for the worse in 2008, enrolments dropped and I was let go. My husband felt that teaching was more work than good. I only earned minimum wage, so technically most of my check went towards my wardrobe of khakis and cotton shirts, lunch and gas money.  Jobless, I became a homemaker. I spent my days making organic homemade dinners, cleaning, going to the gym, organizing the home, and spending more time with my family.  Spending time with my family was great but that was the only spending I was doing. Not earning a paycheck anymore meant I was forced to stop spending except on essentials.

Now, two years later unemployed, when I should not be facing drama or stress I found I could no longer sleep. Insomnia sucks!  Typical Saturday night, my husband was fast asleep snoring, and my adolescent child laid tucked in bed with his dog and I was awake laying in bed. Bing! I rolled over to reach for my cell phone. It was a text message. I won the opportunity to test an iPad. Really? At 2am the telemarketers are texting me? WTB (What the Buck not What the F**k). You see, I gave up cussing years ago when my child started picking up words.

I decided to take a Lavender oil bath to put me to sleep.  Sitting in the tub with my eyes wide open I stared down at my cellulite rolls. The daily trips to the gym were not even putting a dent into the four inches around me. I heard my neighbor pull into his driveway. There was loud techno music, the slamming of car doors followed by laughter, lots of laughter. I stood up and gazed out the window watching the bachelor accompanied by two young women that could be models.  Water from my body was dripping on the floor, but I stood there peeking out the blinds thinking about those women in the small skirts with slender legs and small waist wearing beautiful shoes. The kind of shoes one would never wear to church, let alone to teach preschoolers or for housewives to run errands in.

Then one of the beautiful ladies tripped on the stairs leading into the neighbor’s house. She took off her shoes. Then she crawled to the edge of the patio to throw up. The man helped her up and carried her into his house. The shoes were abandoned, left on their sides on the cement steps. I looked around for a towel. Buck! It was laundry day the racks were empty. I looked for my robe but I had left it in the bedroom. My dirty pajamas were soaking with water on the floor where I had stood dripping. I felt my heart race and my loins awakening inside me. I wanted something for the first time in a long time. I wanted those shoes. I feared waking up my family, so if I were to go I would have to go naked. Time was against me. I tiptoed to the door.  I slipped out of the house and I cautiously hunched over with my naked obese body to snatch up those beautiful pink heels. My toes sank into cool thick grass.

Holding my breath, I made it to side of the patio. I reached up for the shoes. Without warning, the sprinklers went on. I jittered, but I withheld any screams.  I embraced the suede leather pink shoes against my sagging naked breast.  The soft leather felt soothing against my skin.  The cold droplets of water from the sprinkler encouraged me to run. I ran with pride clutching to those shoes as my buttocks flopped with each stride. For the first time in my life I felt liberated.  I smiled with joy as I reached my home with my bounty in hand.

Inside, I stood still drenching, but I slipped into those beautiful five-inch heels. My calves tightened, my legs lengthened, my stomach sucked in and buttocks sat perched as I walked around the living room naked in the stole pink leather shoes.  I felt sexy. Yes, I was still forty pounds overweight but the dining room mirror told a different story as I stood there in those fantastic heels. I looked delicious. I was hot and for once in a long time, I felt sexy! The insomnia I had awakened the naked shoe thief inside of me.