This is the last blog about last week’s writing conference. I promise. But before I close the book on the subject, please scrutinize the photo above and notice my presence on a conference panel of real, live, published, legitimate authors. As you can see, they even let me hold the mike and talk.
Of course, there’s a reason why everyone’s laughing. Before I answered the first question, I stopped the proceedings and asked a member of the audience to take a picture of the panel. I needed proof for my sibs that I was not telling tales again.
See, when we were kids, I lived in my own little world. My mother indulgently called my propensity for story telling “an active imagination.” My dad rolled his eyes. My creativity-impaired sibs, called it lying. Boy am I glad they weren’t in kindergarten with me. They might not have appreciated the stories I invented and told about them during show-and-tell. I thought of it as my personal comedy gig which grew more inventive and outrageous as the weeks rolled by.
So maybe they do have a reason to doubt my recent speaking and writing claims. And maybe I do have a reason to gather evidence to dispel their doubts. Anyway, I’m thankful that Shelly Beach humored my request instead of kicking me off the panel. Of course, after pulling a stunt like that, she may never invite me back, which is another reason I’m tickled to have this picture. It my most shiningest moment of fame since kindergarten – and it may be my last.
