With the Eloquence of a Drunk Monkey...

The RWA Conference is:
a) overwhelming. (Nineteen hundred women and fifteen men raise the decibel level to astounding levels on a regular basis.)
b) exciting. (I get to see people I haven't seen in ages and meet lots of tomorrow's best-sellers. Woohoo!)
c) intimidating. (Stephanie Laurens, Roxanne St. Claire, Janet Evanovich, Julia Quinn, Eloisa James, Allison Brennan, Rachel Gibson... just a few of the people I've breathed the same oxygen as in the last few days. I wonder if they exhale talent and I can get better just by breathing it in?)
d) All of the Above.

Yeah, the correct answer is D. The conference is great. If only I hadn't left a crucial portion of my brain somewhere else. My ability to speak coherently has abandoned me completely. I've babble like an idiot more times than I can count - at my pitch, in an interview with Books-on-Board (more to come about that later - squee!)... I even introduced myself to Angela James, who edited Serengeti Heat, for crying out loud, as if she had never heard of me or wouldn't remember who I was. Because I expect to be forgettable. I'm flat-out-stunned that people actually remember me - whether from online or personal meetings. How pathetic is that?

So now, as I head off to the final day of Conferencey-goodness, wish me luck - and the return of the portion of my brain that will prevent me from babbling like a drunk monkey if they should (by some accounting error) actually call my name to receive the Golden Heart tonight.