www.inkthinkerblog.com — Note to self: One day is not enough to do Book Expo. In fact, I don’t even know if the whole three days is enough to do Book Expo. I planned to do a repeat performance of my ridiculously early arrival on Wednesday morning at the Fourth Annual BEA Writer’s Digest Conference, but when the alarm went off at 6 this morning, it soooo wasn’t happening.
I rolled in at BEA around 10:30, and by noon I was already feeling the pain–shoulder pain from the eight bajillion books and giveaways I had picked up. By four, I’d covered the Children’s Pavilion and half of the main exhibit floor. Halfway through half of the exhibit floor, I dumped all of my half dozen or so goody bags (thank goodness for publishers who love to put their names on tote bags!) into the large bag I had cleverly brought rolled up in my backpack. Imagine my surprise when, on my way to check my huge bag of free crap, the bottom ripped out. Yes, my friends, it was like a scene out of a stupid-cheezy teen drama, and I was the charmingly dorky girl everyone wants to get the guy despite her dorkiness.
I did some damage control and then plopped down in a corner, where a slightly odd but hopefully innocuous guy would not stop talking to me, and pulled everything out of the bottomless bag (not as cool as it sounds) and divided it into four piles: business cards and other contact info, free books, literature I couldn’t live without, and “other.” The whole “other pile” went back into the sucky no-bottom bag, which I deposited in a large trash can, and I distributed everything else evenly into my lovely, lovely totes, which I then draped from all available appendages.
Returning to the exhibit floor, I limited myself to ARCs, seriously cool free stuff, and business cards. I decided against checking a bag for fear that I would continue to load myself down to the point that I wouldn’t be able to get home with all my loot–and even with that precaution, I barely made it. Can you imagine if I’d gotten there on time??? I don’t even want to think about it, and my neck and shoulders are having spasms out of sheer terror at the possibility.
So at the end of the day, I made it to only about half of the offerings, didn’t even get near the remainder pavilion (Kristen + cheap books = disaster [as previously noted]), and I didn’t end up attending a single educational session. BUT, I got a few dozen awesome books to enjoy (and some definite possibilities for reviews and interviews–score!), made some great contacts (including one publicist who introduced me to her managing editor who may be interested in my editing services), and had just an amazing time.
Shortly after I arrived, I ran into a guy from my grad classes. We palled around together for most of the day, which was nice. Good to have a familiar face among all of those people. I think my excitement (“Oh my God, this is better than Christmas!”) amused him.
And speaking of amusing, as soon as we stepped into the exhibit hall, I passed along the warning that several colleagues had been kind enough to share with me: When you get to the Scientology booth, no matter what, keep walking or you’ll be there for hours (and will possibly emerge as some kind of Theton). Well, we got to the Scientology booth about an hour and a half into our trek. It spanned the entire walkway, and there were enormous posters for L. Ron Hubbard books on either side of us (which clued me in–I’m bright like that), along with several very aggressive staff members. I had warned him ahead of time that I planned to blast past it despite the fact that I will generally talk to anyone, so when I put my head down and started speed walking (I wasn’t a big rude jerk, I promise), I figured that he would be right behind me. About 20 feet later, I realized that he wasn’t. I really didn’t want to go back because I wasn’t interested in getting into a conversation with anyone, so I tried calling his cell phone so I could give him an out–but he didn’t answer it! Finally I just went back and said, “Oops, I lost you!” and all but dragged him away. “So that’s what you were talking about!” he said when we got clear. “As soon as she started talking, I realized why you were sprinting through.” I know, I know, it’s not as funny in the retelling, but my goodness, I was laughing so hard that I was practically crying. The look on his face when he figured out what was happening was priceless.
Oh, and there were dogs. Cute ones. Three of them. And a lady in an old-West costume (including a somewhat disquieting wig) deputized me with a plastic sheriff badge–but she said it “dep-yoo-TAAAAAAAHZED,” so I did, too. And shrimp cocktail and lots of fruit, and yes, they were in the same booth, which struck me as odd but also delicious.
Perspective for future BEAs to come at a later time. Now, I’m going to take some ibuprofen and lie on a heating pad until my poor book-stretched shoulders unknot.
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