I’m happy to report that Carolyn Turgeon and I both survived three nights in the haunted Pride House in Jefferson, Texas. Carolyn heard whispering in her room, and I smelled weird, brief, occasional perfumes in my room, but we didn’t see any ghosts, so I’m going to go ahead and pretend like there were none. And the proprietor, Jenny, cooked us such GORGEOUS and amazing breakfasts that a little haunting would have been totally worth the price of admission anyway.
The Pulpwood Queens Girlfriends Weekend was quite the experience. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but Kathy Patrick put together a downright shindig. That woman is a force of nature. I met so many wonderful, book-lovin’ people, and also got to dress up in a costume. I’m pretty sure those are the components of a perfect weekend.
Here is my new best friend, book blogger extraordinaire Marsha Toy Engstrom, who I’ve met before, but who I really got to know this weekend. She is so smart and lovely and awesome. You should read her blog.
And here are Carolyn and I with my other new best friend, David Valdes-Greenwood whom, after one meal, I felt like I had known all my life. I haven’t read David’s books yet, but I can tell you that he is one of the most natural and delightful storytellers I’ve ever met. Just sitting and listening to him talk was a treat. I imagine that reading his books must be akin to eating a tray of brownies.
And here I am attempting to woo a roomful of awesome, southern ladies with my yankee charms:
And here I am very glamorously signing books, after my attempted wooing:
And then was the COSTUME PARTY, where everyone had to come dressed as a character from a favorite book. David was late for a very important date:
I was A Star Called Henry by Roddy Doyle, which is one of my all-time favorite books, but which reference was apparently too obscure. Nobody knew who I was. And I mean, not for nothing, but my costume even says Henry. And is a star. I thought it was sort of obvious, but NO.
I didn’t have the nerve to ask her, but I presume Susan Vreeland came as the world-famous author Susan Vreeland. Or some very glamorous chick from a Fitzgerald novel.
After the party, we descended on the town’s only bar, where we danced the night away and frightened the locals.