Wednesday Night at Thrillerfest

I arrived in Phoenix around 2:30 p.m., ready to participate in my first big writer's conference. I've been to several small local ones, but never one of the magnitude of Thrillerfest, and I found out I was pretty nervous. I also found out it's hot here. Okay, kidding. I knew it was hot. But let me say for the record that it's really hot. REALLY, really hot. I took the shuttle to the Arizona Biltmore, which is air-conditioned, like everything else down here, and checked into my room.

Then I sat down and did a little bit of writing, since no one I knew was getting in until later. Around seven, I went down to the restaurant to meet a group of people who had arranged to meet for dinner. Then I passed out when I read the prices on the dinner menu, but hey, I was revived. I had to be, to pay my $42 for a salad. (It's entirely possible I inflated the prices SLIGHTLY). While we were sitting there, I noted that I recognized some faces.

It's an interesting thing about big name writers. You only see their pictures here and there, but usually you don't see them on television screens, or billboards, or in magazines (unless it's Publisher's Weekly). But I recognized faces nonetheless. Gayle Lynds and MJ Rose were sitting together at the table behind us. I got to chat with both Gayle and MJ (both are lovely and friendly, and Gayle is very tall). I sat next to two unpublished writers and one big fan (Hi, MommyKim!) and across from Debra Webb, who is published with Harlequin, and just sold to St. Martin's. Debra is the FIRST person I've actually met (who isn't horribly famous) who shares my editor, so we had lots to chat about. She's from Alabama, and has a great accent, which makes just about everything sound lyrical, including "Where's the baaathrum?"

After dinner we went to the bar (hey, we're writers) and lo and behold, in walks Jeffrey Deaver. No, I am not lying here. He's not actually attending Thrillerfest, but just happened to be in town on tour and is either staying here or dropped by. I did not grill him on exactly which one it was, because I was too busy thinking "Jeffrey Deaver--You just shook Jeffrey Deaver's hand."

One of the aspiring writers who joined our group, Mark, was shaking, because he's read every book Jeffrey Deaver has ever written. He could barely get words out. I had no problem with that. (NO, I did not grill him about where he was staying! I am not stalking him. I do NOT have a cabin, and I will not make him change that scene where... Uh, kidding.)

Also sitting with us for a minute was Lee Child, which was really cool. He's very nice and has a "YOUR-peen" accent (as Deb said. Remember, she's from Alabama), which makes us American ladies swoon.

Another male writer--who shall remain unnamed--got a little peeved that we weren't fawning over him and made a few rude comments. One of the reasons he shall remain unnamed is because I can't remember his name. But I'm bad with names. It has nothing to do with the fact he's not Lee Child.

I also met Elaine Flinn and Jeffrey Anderson (who happens to be from Salt Lake City, and shares the same agent as my friend Karin Tabke).

Towards the end of the night, Debra and I started asking "Who's that. Do we need to know him/her? Can you introduce us?" That's when we figured it was time for bed.

Now, I am getting into the shower, and off to DAY TWO of Thrillerfest. Stay tuned.

FYI, I have photographic PROOF that Jeffrey Deaver and Lee Child were in the bar with us, and will post it later today.