For those in the Denver writing community (specifically the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers organization) you may already be aware that last Saturday, yours truly was named 2008 Writer of the Year. Now while this does not have national implications, it means some good local PR and a spot as one of the keynote speakers at our annual conference. My competition was Joan Johnston (yikes—multi-published, multi-NYT bestseller, award winning author with about 1000 books out) Mario (yes, our Mario—talented, funny, popular, national-bestselling author and man about town) and me.
Let me tell you, I was flabbergasted when my name was called as winner. In fact, I was at the function (a picnic) when it was announced and I had kind of backed up to hide behind a tree so if anyone looked to check how the loser was doing, I’d be hard to spot.
I keep pinching myself.
I actually won.
Now, Mario and I had already decided that if he or I won, we’d buy the winner a tiara. It seemed only fitting. It was with some trepidation, then, that I trekked off to writer’s group last night knowing that he would have no doubt already secured the prize.
I was right.
But instead of:
This is what awaited me:
The disco balls are a nice touch, I must admit. The only problem is that I think it was made for a small child or a dog—the headband pinches like a son-of-a-bitch. And no, Mario, it’s not because my head has swelled.
As they say, however, it’s the thought that counts.
Yeah, they do say that, don’t they?
So what’s with the alien disco balls, Mario? What are you trying to tell me?