I wasn't surprised to see the terrapin sitting next to the doorway. It was a writer's conference, after all. Stranger things could happen. I asked him if he knew where I could find the nearest literary agent. He shook his head and moved slowly away. Not wanting to stop his journey, I
stepped away from him and felt a stab of pain. I kneeled down, slipped off my shoe to find a bunion. When did I get that?
With my foot back in my stilettos, I surveyed the other conference attendees. This was supposed to be a literary conference, but it didn't make sense that the roar of greasepaint thundered in my ears, and the smell of the crowd reminded me of carnies. These people really needed to get a life. I decided that I was in the wrong hallway.
I proceeded to the main entrance just as a line of promenading poodles strolled past. I was mesmerized when I saw that Killer Yapp led the pack. I hoped he didn't notice the galleycat shirt that I wore. My allegiance was to him, but I'd no clue that he'd be here. I
instinctively crossed my arms over my chest and was able to muddle through the awkward moment.
If KY was here, then the ever-popular literary goddess, Miss Snark, had to be close. Would she tell me to drop and give her ten...books? Or say that your mother wears Army boots? I'd give anything to have ten minutes with the Queen, even all of the archives of Bat Segundo on my iPod. Maybe even a pail or two of gin thrown in for good measure.
As I searched for the anonymous agent, the crowd dispersed into the conference hall. I stood alone, heart-broken that my muse had not shown. I went back looking for the literary workshop, but could only find science fiction. Defeated for the moment, I sat down next to a pale, ghostly figure. Of all people, he would the whereabouts of my literary snark. When asked, his long finger beckoned me to follow. I did. I knew that the will of the wisp would take me, but if it led to Miss Snark, I'd gladly succumb.
Oh silly one, you know where Miss Snark is! Miss Snark is at the bar!!
Scores to come.