Last night my husband and I were sitting outside--yes, it was 15 degrees--and I was telling him how I was pretty nervous about doing my first panel at the Washington SCBWI Conference in April. We were going over things I should and shouldn't do--like: Do be funny. Don't show up hungover. Do let other people finish their sentences. Don't tell people to shut up and let you finish. Things like that.
But then he cracked me up.
Him: You know, I've been thinking about it. I think I should do a panel.
Me: Um... on what?
Him: Being married to a writer. I'll call it: The Ups. The Downs. The rollercoaster of love.
Me: That's actually brilliant!
Him: And although no one will show up, I'll talk about how stressful it is to be married to a writer. One day you're the audience, one day you're the therapist. The cheerleader. The friend. And then there's things like learning the names of other authors. You can't just call them the, "Is that the 'I got a huge advance' lady?" And finally you'll need large quanities of alcohol.
Me: I'm pretty sure that's just for me. Other writers are much more balanced.
Him: Oh. Then I guess I'll just do the panel here.