Tim Tams At The Ready

They say patience is a virtue, right? One I don’t possess. In what seems an eon ago, last June I was talking on the phone to Cherise Sinclair, who invited me to join her at RomCon 2013. I mulled that over for, oh…say twenty seconds or so, and said “Yes!”

A day later, I cruised the Qantas website and confirmed I could snag a direct, albeit sixteen hours long, flight to Dallas. After a quick phone call with Sophie Oak, I had a rough travel plan sorted in my head. I was on my way to the US, baby!

That’s when the whole patience and waiting thing started. So I waited, and waited.
Each Friday I’d check my Outlook calendar. Of course, only one lousy week had passed from the last time I’d counted. And bloody heck, there were forty odd more to go before I’d fly out again. Damn, that infernal waiting!

Contenting myself with phone calls to Cherise, Sophie, and Chloe, and also the release of my first novel, Chloe’s Double Draw, I planned and conjured up marketing ideas. Was I popular enough to have any readers interested in meeting up for lunch? What the heck would I do about swag? Is my arse too big? You know, the important stuff.

Then I gave the calendar a casual glance and squealed—in panic.
Sweet Jesus Almighty, where the heck did those forty weeks go? Mad panic ensured. My local grocer worried I had some weird addiction to Tim Tams. Why else would I have cleared the shelves of this particular Aussie delight? I explained I was shipping them overseas. He simply looked at my umm…rubenesque figure. His doubt was palpable. That bloody arse of mine again!

Bookmarks became top priority. I rigged up a design and rushed it off to my graphic artist chappy. My branding goal? Show that man flesh, baby! And RomCon, my first convention as a published author, loomed like the Sword of Damocles, ready to cut me to ribbons. Would I sit there all alone at my tiny book signing table and watch readers avoid my beseeching gaze like I was some older, scruffy pre-loved pooch at the pound?  What the hell was I thinking signing up for this event?

As I tried to cram a lifetime’s worth of Tim Tams into my Samsonite suitcase, I discovered my overly priced box on wheels held magical properties. Yep, you betcha. It managed to contract two-fold every time I foisted something into the depths of its dark-blue lining. Apparently, it works in the complete opposite way as my arse, which has the ability to increase its girth on a daily basis.

Fantastic!

Since clothing is in fact a necessity—therefore taking up valuable room in said magical suitcase—I made the bold decision to mail all the edible goodies to Sophie, including Chloe Vale’s much-longed-for stash of Violet Crumbles. The cost of mailing boxes to the United States equates to close to buying a new car. Why don’t I just take another suitcase with me? Sure thing, except I’ll have to negotiate declaring my goodies to US Customs. And after reading numerous warnings of the two to three-hour wait to clear border security at DFW, I decided to pass on that folly.

I have requested, no, make that begged, for Sophie to greet me in the arrivals area of DFW with a hug, followed sharply with a glass containing a miniature umbrella and something alcoholic. After a sixteen-hour flight with guaranteed “airplane hair” and two-hour wait to pass through customs, that sounds about fair, right?

As for my flight, I admit, I’m that tragic human that gets excited over the small amenities kit Qantas hands out. I ooh and ahhh over the damn thing likes it’s a Christmas stocking. Miniature toothpaste and brush, how delightful! The idea of my food arriving on a tray thrills me. And having my own personal telly to watch a stream of movies is squeal worthy.

Hi there, my name is Fiona and I am a dork.

Basically, what I’m saying is, I’ve waited a bloody long time for my departure date. With three weeks until lift-off, I’ve rushed around like a mad hatter, and yet I want to hold onto every second of expectation before I fly out. I still have to fit in a dentist’s appointment and the hairdresser the week before. But truly, I’m so excited at the chance to meet some lovely perverts (righteously so!) and other readers/friends as I traipse across America. The twenty-four day trip will go by faster than a Kardashian’s marriage but have much more meaning.

If I have the pleasure of meeting you along the way, please grab me in a hug and say “Hi.” I’m one of those relaxed Aussies who have a ready smile. I’ve come a long way to meet you, so don’t be shy.


Hugs and love,
Fiona