The Mistletoe Inn by Richard Paul Evans Page B

She put out her hand. “My name is Samantha.”
    I took her hand, still not sure what to think of her. “Kim Rossi.”
    â€œWhat kind of name is Rossi?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s Italian.”
    â€œI love Italian,” she said.
    The woman at the table said, “Let me find your registration, Samantha. What’s your last name?”
    â€œMcDonald.”
    â€œSamantha McDonald.” She looked through her papers. “Here you are.” She handed her a packet and canvas bag, reciting the same spiel she had for me, ending with, “The opening reception is tonight at seven in the grand ballroom. Enjoy the conference.”
    I thanked the woman again, then walked over to the line at the check-in counter. The line had shortened and there was just one couple ahead of me. Samantha followed me over. “Is this your first time at one of these writers’ conferences?” she asked.
    â€œNo. But it’s my first time at this one.”
    â€œThis is my first writers’ conference. I’m a little nervous.”
    â€œYou don’t need to be nervous,” I said. “It’s fun to be with other writers. They’re all in the same boat as you.”
    â€œAre you from Vermont?”
    â€œNo. Colorado.”
    â€œOh, we’re neighbors. I’m from Montana.”
    â€œAre there many writers in Montana?”
    â€œTons. It’s Montana—what else are you going to do?”
    â€œNext, please,” the man at the check-in counter said.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said.
    I got my room key, then, as I turned to go, Samantha stopped me. “Are you going to the party tonight?”
    â€œI was planning on it.”
    â€œDo you want to go together?”
    â€œSure,” I said. “I’ll meet you here at seven.”
    â€œI’ll be here with bells on,” she said.
    I’m not sure why I had agreed so quickly. She seemed a little crazy. But she also seemed kind of fun. Besides, I hated being alone at parties.

    My room was nice—well designed, modern, but quaint. In the center of the room was a tall, king-sized bed with an antique headboard of dark oak and tufted dark-brown leather. The bed had a thick, greenish-tan duvet cover with matching pillow shams, along with several smaller decorative pillows.
    On the wall opposite the bed was a large, rectangular mirror in an elaborate wooden frame. The mirror made the room look larger.
    I sat down on the foot of the bed and opened up my conference packet. Next to several loose forms and registration papers were stapled pages with a schedule of events. I found a pen next to the telephone, then started down the list, checking or circling some of the classes that interested me.
    LIST OF PRESENTATIONS AND EVENTS
    MEET AND GREET
    Monday evening, 7 p.m., Grand Ballroom. Credentials required.
    Check.
    OPENING SESSION
    Tuesday, 9–9:45 a.m. Presenter: Jill Tanner, Chairperson of the Mistletoe Inn Writers’ Conference Committee, and Kathryn Nebeker, this year’s Vice Chairperson of content.
    Check.
    DAILY GROUP WORKSHOPS
    Tuesday, 10–10:45 a.m.
    Wednesday–Saturday 9–9:45 a.m.
    Important Note: You will meet each day with your workshop group. You have been preassigned to a group of 10 writers. Please check your packet for a yellow sheet with your designated group letter.
    Check. I found an 8 1/2-by-5 1/2 yellow sheet inside the envelope. Printed on it was a large letter C with the instructions that the group would be meeting in the Maple Room. I went back to the list of events.
    TWITTER IN YOUR FACE(BOOK)
    Building a community of readers through social media.
    Maybe. I made a check by it.
    HOW NOT TO GET AN AGENT
    Famous New York literary agent Laurie Liss shares the 5 things not to do when pitching an agent.
    Absolutely. I circled it.
    CLOTHES MAKE THE RO -MAN- CE
    Dressing (and undressing) your characters for success.
    Probably not. Maybe. I put a check by it.
    THE