July has been a blur of
activity for me, starting the Fourth of July at Colonial Williamsburg, where I
again sold books at the visitors center bookstore all day, and my family
conducted musket firing demos just outside, to the delight of tourists and the
consternation of the rent-a-cop. But the most frenetic activity occurred 16 –
19 July: five airplane flights in four days that took me from Washington D.C.
and the Daphne du Maurier awards ceremony to Athens, GA and the Harriette
Austin Writers Conference.

The last time I flew was 1999. That meant I had the whole
post-911 liturgy to learn. How many items did I squeeze into the quart-sized
liquids baggie? Fifteen. (I planned well.) Apparently, I don't fit the profile
of a terrorist. I never got wanded, even though I wore all the stuff they told
me not to wear. For the record, I hadn't needed to fly during that ten-year
span, plus I cannot remember the last time I was an enthusiastic flier. Being
the survivor of a plane crash long ago put a dent in my enjoyment of "that
big, white bird." (Hamilton, Joe Frank, and Reynolds, I think.) My fellow
fliers last weekend considered me their good-luck charm.

I flew close to 1300 miles 16 – 19 July. After touring four
airports, one rail system, and two hotels, my feet feel like they logged nearly
as much mileage. Because I'm naturally curious about where travelers are going,
I talked with other passengers. Bless the kindness of strangers, like that of a
spirited lady named Kim Orr, who works for the EPA and writes historical
romance. Upon learning that I'd never been in Ronald Reagan Airport in D.C.
before, Ms. Orr delayed picking up her own baggage there so she could show me where
to find the Metro station.

D.C.'s Metro Rail is similar to Atlanta's Marta Rapid Rail
system, and I'd already purchased a farecard online. The Daphne du Maurier
awards are presented by the Kiss of Death chapter at the RWA's annual national
conference. I had no problems finding the conference hotel, the Marriott
Wardman Park, a mere five-minute walk from a station on the Red line. My
roomie at the hotel was Margie Lawson, who taught a wonderful online
course in March called "Empowering Characters' Emotions." I
spotted Margie immediately upon entering the hotel and got her spare room key.

While she and other conference registrants attended a
luncheon, I grabbed a salad and cooled off in the room. Margie returned early
afternoon, and we went downstairs to socialize with some of her acquaintances.
I spotted Nora Roberts and Brenda Novak and met literary agent Paige Wheeler. And I chatted with Mary Buckham for
a few minutes. Since I knew almost nobody at RWA National, it was a boon
hanging out with Margie, who knows almost everybody. Huzzah for Margie Lawson!

Margie, a number of friends, and I went
out to dinner at Café Paradiso on Connecticut Avenue, a five-minute walk
from the hotel. Here's the lively, fun group of ladies with whom I shared
dinner. From lower left clockwise to lower right: Margie Lawson, Nancy Hunter, Jenny Gardiner, Maureen McGowan, Kimberley Howe
(she was a double Golden Heart Award finalist that weekend), Maria Snyder, and Tracy Mastaler. I had the scrumptious Fettuccini Primavera.
Everyone else reported her meal was just as yummy. What a gem of a restaurant
in the heart of D.C., and reasonably priced. I recommend it highly.

Café Paradiso boasted some seductive desserts, but I
declined eating one. I was holding out for the Death By Chocolate party, held just before the
Daphne awards. I'd heard legends of parties from past years: fountains of
chocolate and so forth. We headed back to the hotel, where I trotted out my
little red cocktail dress and pearls in anticipation of an affair to rival the
extravaganza of the Guppies' Chocolate Challenge and the glitz of the Maggie awards
ceremony last October, at Moonlight and Magnolias.

Alas, at the so-called "Death By Chocolate party,"
there wasn't much chocolate! No mousse or candy. No assortments of petit fours
arranged on tiered trays. No chocolate fountain. No orgasmic immersion in the
worship of chocolate — which is, after all, what the title implies of the
experience. Doggonit! I wish I'd listened to my instincts and indulged in Café
Paradiso's tiramisu. I saw more jeans and business-casual attire than bling and
sequins. Maybe the ladies were saving their sparkle for Saturday night, and the
Rita and Golden Heart awards. One of the door prizes was a skull of some
sort. Granted, this is the Kiss of Death chapter, but every time I
envision the winner trying to get that particular prize past airport security,
I laugh. And I expected the overall awards ceremony to be carried out more
cohesively than it was. Clearly, the committee had encountered organizational
problems. Chapter members began voicing their complaints to coordinators as
soon as the ceremony was over. I sure hope they straighten matters out for next
year's awards. All the authors and attendees deserve a smoother program.

From left to right, Tracy Mastaler, me, Anna Hackett, and Margie Lawson at the awards ceremony. The winner of the Daphne
historical award was the author who won last year, Andrea Pickens, with the
sequel to the book that won last year. There's something to be said for the
skill of replicating an award-winning formula several years in a row. Because
she was in the lineup, I wasn't expecting to win the award. But I sure wish I'd
taken bets on it because I'd have won money.

In addition to my finalist's
certificate, I received a certificate to enroll in any free online class
offered by the chapter through July 2010. Thanks, Kiss of Death chapter!