Glamour Hangover

As a Presents author I spend a huge proportion of my time thinking about glamour (to be honest, I did this way before I was a Presents author, only in then it was called 'daydreaming' and now it is called 'research') and a pitiful amount of time actually experiencing it. Friday was a very pleasant break from the norm.

Savoy experience gets off to an unpromising start when the doorman reaches into the taxi (where I am enjoying a very in-depth discussion with the driver on Turkish poetry, female midlife crisis, and OK magazine) pulls out my bags and bears them off into the plush, marble-colonnaded lobby of the hotel. Hideously embarrassing, as bags consist of an awful raffia shopping basket, befitting an elderly matron buying jam and knitted tea cosies from the WI, and a vile bright blue nylon suit carrier emblazoned with the words 'Johnsons Priority Service' containing my Sainsbury's dress, both of which look utterly incongruous in the gloved hands of the top-hatted doorman. Snatch them away from him swiftly and rush into the Ladies Cloakroom to change. Emerging two minutes later I meet lovely, lovely Susan Stephens ( when I say it like this it sounds like I casually bump into her, and have not been exchanging panicky text messages with her since before getting on the train at Crewe) looking cool and elegant and exactly like everything I want to be when I grow up. She introduces me to the wonderful, glamorous Sharon Kendrick and we go downstairs to get a drink.

Am delighted to discover that I am sharing a table not only with Susan and Sharon, but also with Kate Walker (who is wearing the most exquisite chinese ebroidered cream silk jacket, which I covet very deeply) and the wonderful BM, so go into lunch feeling hugely lucky and v excited. Lancaster ballroom glorious-- like sitting in the middle of a large, ornate wedding cake-- all delicate spun-sugar plasterwork and ravishing gilded swirls and curlicues, softly lit by candles and mirrors. Find myself seated between John Jenkins, charming and entertaining editor of Writers' Forum magazine, and Heidi Rice, newly signed ModX author, whose call story I'd read on the PHS only last week. Heidi was signed at pretty much the same time as I was, so both of us bombard Kate with constant questions, which she answers with her usual good humour, wisdom and grace. Heidi's first book is out this month, and in between courses someone comes over from another table and says she has just finished reading it and thought it was wonderful. Totally cool thing to happen, and a fab tribute to Heidi's debut novel. It's called 'Bedded by a Bad Boy' and is going right to the top of my TBR list.

I nip out in the lull following pudding (oh yes... treacle tart and raspberries. Lovely Mr Jenkins beside me is so amused by the enthusisasm with which I clear my plate he offers to ask for another helping for me) In the ladies' I spot Michelle Styles and can't resist going over to say hello. With the awards imminent, she must be terribly nervous, but still manages to be warm, welcoming and ever so, ever so nice when faced with total unkown person accosting her in the queue for the loo. (She has the most beautiful, clear, forget-me-not blue eyes and is with her teenage daughter who looks so fresh and lovely I instantly feel a little like my raffia bag must have felt in the hands of the doorman; ie. old and battered.)

Back in the glorious opulence of the Lancaster Ballroom the speeches and awards are soon underway. I love Jenny Haddon's tribute to Lucilla Andrews (her boigraphy-- 'No Time for Romance' being re-released this year and another one for the TBR pile.) Dame Tanni Grey Thompson's speech is funny and warm and insanely humble, and I hope that her retirement from athletics in two weeks time will give her lots more time for public speaking as she clearly has a talent for hitting just the right note. Find myself feeling ridiculously nervous for all the nominees for the romance prize, and absurdly tearful for Nell Dixon as she goes up to claim her award. Unsurprisingly, for if there's one thing I've learned over the past year or so it's that romance writers are wonderful, generous people, there is a huge sense of collective joy for her from everyone in the room. Well done Nell!

After that people get up, drift around, chat and hug. I am lucky enough to meet HMB editors Jenny Hutton and Joanne Carr (both of whom are so gorgeous they could very well have just stepped from between the covers of one of the novels they edit), the astonishingly talented and lovely Fiona Harper, whom I adopted last year (without telling her) as my all time Best Friend, thanks to her v useful Plot Board, and the fabulous, awe-inspiring Sara Craven. After this, full of lovely wine, treacle tart and an excess of star-struck excitement Susan, Sharon and I make our way upstairs to find tea and quiet in the perfect, refined grandeur of the Savoy's riverside lounge. For a moment it looks horribly like they aren't going to be able to find a table for us, until Sharon, with a breathtakingly admirable and utterly deadly flirtation-assertiveness combo, asks the waiter to reconsider. He doesn't stand a chance, and a moment later we are being shown to one of the best tables in the room, and sinking down onto the kind of perfect little sofa I picture romantic novelists sitting on to take tea. My delight is further compounded when we pick up our menus (roughly the same length as my novel) and peruse the selection of teas available. Eventually, dazed by possibility, I plump for one that sounds pretty.

When it arrives in a huge cream porcelain pot, my Hummingbird Vanilla tea proves to be as far removed from the tea I am used to as is possible to imagine. Delicate, scented, wonderful, it tastes of distilled cream cakes and is as delicious as it is exotic. I find myself wishing I could drink it all the time but know this is impossible-- it's rarity and glamour belong solely to the Savoy and would not translate well to home.

Reluctantly set my cup down, say grateful, affectionate goodbyes and go to retrieve the raffia shopping bag from the cloakroom. In the taxi I slip off my skyscraper heels and replace them with flat ballet pumps, but drifting down the platform at Euston I feel ridiculously happy, and am tempted to start twirling around pillars and tap dancing in the manner of Gene Kelly in 'Singin' In The Rain'. This could be a result of lunchtime drinking, but I rather suspect it is due to a combination of glamour, good company and Hummingbird Vanilla.

Sainsburys. Savoy. Surreal.

Tomorrow is RNA lunch at Savoy. Am spending today in a frenzy of disorganised last-minute preparation, which should involve lovely things like painting nails in elegant, springlike pink, having split-ends snipped off and selecting uplifting reading material for train. However, am way behind, so shall be mainly tearing around trying to beg/bribe someone to take daughters 1 and 2 to swimming lessons and work out exactly how I'm going to get to Crewe station for 8.34 and also get children to school.

Preoccupation with these issues is preventing me dwelling too long on the event itself, which is a good thing, as when I do think about it the thoughts tend to be of the Doom-Laden Panic variety. Feel utterly unsuited to London on every level, coming as I do from a Small Town, filled mainly with people I have at some time been at school with/shared breastfeeding nightmares with at toddler groups/sold cushions to during the Laura Ashley years. The very word 'Savoy' sends out messages my wardrobe is unable to interpret. Hence, in a gesture of passive fashion-avoidance, I shall be wearing a dress purchased from Sainsbury's last week while buying milk and catfood. Oh dear.

However, on the other hand, lunch at the Savoy will certainly compare very favourably to cheese on toast in front of the computer, and how fantastic will it be to meet people whose names I have seen on the covers of beloved books, and whose characters are as familiar as old friends? Am also secretly delighted by the prospect of two hours suspended from reality on the train, with nothing to do but read and pretend to be ultra-efficient business person on the way to glamorous power-lunch.

Which, in effect, I will be.

Weird.

Annie goes to Hollywood

Actually, being an honest soul (unlike some I could mention) I went to Penrith and stayed in student accommodation at Lancaster University, where the rooms were so sophisticated they actually had wet rooms - which meant you could go to the toilet, shower and wash your hands all at the same time. I'm having one fitted in my own home even as I blog. However, unusually, I digress. Geographically, it might not have been the big H, but with so many wonderful, famous authors, editors and agents flitting around, overcoming their nerves to chat to me, it was glitzier than the big H could ever be.

I am not going to do what Amanda Ashby did and name-drop, suffice to say, Katie Fford, I loved chatting to you in the coffee queue, and Kate Walker, it was great to put a face to the name, and especially nice of you to introduce me to your good friend, Michelle Reid, whilst Penny Jordan, I must say you looked more gorgeous than ever. As for you, Jan Jones, I have never seen anyone seem so relaxed and look so happy whilst working so hard for so long. I could go on, but none of Imogen's new slinky dresses are quite the right shade of green to go with her skin tone any more.

So, how can I sum up what the RNA conference 2006 meant to me - a first timer and unpublished (apart from a few bits & pieces - I only mention that in case there are any potential agents/publishers reading this - optimist? Moi?) writer? It meant workshops run by professionals who had given up their time not only to attend the conference itself, but to prepare for the same; it meant meeting established authors, editors and agents who invited attendees to chat with them on a one-to-one basis at any time during the weekend - even during coffee and meal breaks; it meant making new friends and sharing our hopes, dreams and aspirations and promising to meet up again next year, so we could greet each other in the lobby with hugs and smiles like all those who'd been before us. But most of all it was a lesson in just how hard the RNA work to help those like me who dare to dream that one day we might be published authors too. I, for one, cannot thank them enough for giving me one of the best weekends of my life.

As yet, I cannot put anything back in, but I can ask, on behalf of the RNA, whether anyone reading this has any contacts in the business world who might be interested in sponsoring the RNA's Romantic Novel of the Year Award, as last year's sponsors are no longer involved. If so, please contact the RNA direct.

Oh yes, and Jenny Haddon, I meant what I said - it really was the best RNA conference I have ever attended.

Those of you who visit Amanda Ashby's blog will have noticed her recent excited allusions to the RNA's annual conference, which is being held on 7th-9th July at Penrith. As a member of the RNA's NWS (New Writers' Scheme) and a resident of the north-west of England, I will be attending this star-studded event myself for the first time this year and, like Amanda, I'm getting quite excited. Not least because amongst the line up of stars that I shall be mingling with will be published authors such as Katie Fforde and Penny Jordan, as well as editors and agents.

Having received my 'conference pack' a couple of weeks ago, I had to decide which of the 20 workshops I wished to attend. These range from Ann Lingard's 'Is Science Sexy' to Sue Johnson's 'Banish the Curse of Writer's Block'. Of the six I am attending, I shall learn how to arrest the editor's attention, find out what literary agents are looking for, build a synopsis and create a sense of place through characters. I shall also be finding out what life in the Hollywood Story Department is like, as well as entering the world of the People's Friend magazine - you can't get much more diverse than that!

And if I can't make it after all that, then I'll eat all the leftovers when the conference ends!

If you're a romance writer and haven't yet joined the RNA, either as a published or unpublished writer - get to it. I cannot recommend their friendly support and organised opportunities to meet, mingle and learn from other writers, highly enough. As I said to my husband after a writery party at a particularly well-known writer's home last summer - if I never get published, I will certainly have had a lot of fun trying!