9:00 AM: Arrive in the limo the organizers sent to my house to pick me up. On the ride up, in-limo chef Paula Deen prepares chocolate mousse muffins and mocha lattes for me to enjoy. Fellow authors Tracy Carbone, Scott Goudsward, Morven Westfield, K. Allen Wood, David Price, and Rob Watts's limos arrive at about the same time.
9:30 AM: Express my disgust to the event organizer because Paula Deen refuses to carry my on her back to our authors' tent.
9:31 AM: The event organizer gives me a piggyback ride. Whee!
9:45 AM: The crowds are starting to line up, waiting eagerly to buy our books and get us to sign them. I loudly complain to K. Allen Wood that the eager fans are standing too close, making my hair frizz. K. Allen rolls his eyes, because he is bald and therefore jealous of my golden locks.
10:00 AM: The gates open. I feel bad for the other vendors at the fair because our tent is getting a huge rush. I spot at least four people before the cheers of the crowd make me lose count.
10:30 AM: I'm hungry. I pout until Rob Watts calls me a mulligan. I'm not sure what it means, but it sounds rude. And now I'm hungry for stew.
11:15 AM: I have one groupie, Artie, who offers to drive in to the city to get me stew and freshly baked croissants. I bat my eyes at him seductively and he grins foolishly. I know I shouldn't use my celebrity to manipulate people, but it's so hard not to!
12:30 PM: Our fans must all be at lunch, because we've had a lull for about an hour now at the tent. Plus, one of us has gas. I'm glad it's an outdoor event.
1:10 PM: Where the hell is Artie with my croissants? I settle for fried dough and make a note to demote him as president of my fan club. I hadn't even told him he was president of my fan club yet. That should make him feel bad.
1:27 PM: Wait! That woman in the purple pants with the dark brown hair and glasses that looks just like my mom is looking at one of my books! Please, please, pleeeeeeaaseeee buy it! Is she--she is! She's buying it! Hooray! My first sale of the day!
1:28 PM: I break a nail signing my autograph. I can't work under these conditions. Time to go home!
4:20 PM: Artie calls from the now-vacant Foxboro Green, wondering where I am. He was late getting back because he stopped to go clamming in order to have Paula Deen prepare me a fresh bowl of real New England clam chowder. Jeez, what a mulligan! I'm sure I asked for stew, not chowder. I must lay down and de-stress from this hectic day.
So there you have it. If you've ever wondered if the life of a writer is as glamorous as you've imagined it to be, the answer is yes, it sure is! Though ... I am a creative writer.