For those of you who don’t already know, I broke my ankle back in February. Short version of a long story is, I fractured a bone at the back of my ankle and messed up a tendon and damaged my midfoot in what’s called a Lisfranc injury, and having spent the past several months wearing Darth Vader’s leg armour and hopping on crutches without getting better, I’m scheduled for surgery now in a couple of weeks.
Which is fine—I like getting things fixed. But my surgery date is July 23, meaning I had to cancel my plans for the Romance Writers of America’s big national conference in New York City, which was a huge disappointment.
Not only because I was looking forward to sharing New York City with my Elder Kid (who’ll now be touring all the sights without me), or because I was looking forward to co-presenting my first RWA workshop with my friends Julie James, Lauren Willig, and Sherry Thomas (on the merits of being a slow writer—luckily Meredith Duran was able to step in to take my spot), or because I was just looking forward to Nationals themselves—the crazy awesomeness of the Literacy Signing, the wealth of workshops, the joy of connecting with old friends and new ones…but because I was REALLY looking forward to the Bluestockings Dinner.
The Bluestockings Dinner is a new tradition at the Nationals, created by my good friend Rachel Hollis, who in addition to running her own successful lifestyle site, The Chic, writes incredibly funny, romantic, and bestselling books. A former celebrity party planner, Rachel knows how to make any event special, and with the Bluestockings Dinner she’s sort of created a modern Salon—a gathering of women writers, intimate and small, where conversation is the key, and over drinks and dinner writers with a range of different sub-genres and styles share their ideas and experiences.
This was what our dinner looked like last year, in San Antonio, where the guests, apart from myself, Rachel, and her right-hand-woman Eryn, were Jennifer L. Armentrout, Laura Kaye, Molly O’Keefe, Jennifer Probst, Nalini Singh, and Sherry Thomas.
So you’ll understand why having to turn down my invitation this year made me literally weep.
I know whoever takes my seat will have a dinner to remember. And that’s got me thinking, now, and wondering…
We’re often asked which long-dead authors or great characters from history we’d invite to dinner, if we could.
But if you had to choose a group of LIVING authors for an evening of fine wine, great food, and sparkling conversation, who would YOU invite?
If I chose from women writers whom I’ve never met or barely know, my invitations might go out to Catherine Gaskin, Evelyn Anthony, Rosamunde Pilcher, Susan Isaacs, Mary Jo Putney, Kate Forsyth, and Donna Thorland (which, with me included, makes an even eight).
What about you?