Serendipity Strikes

32

Emmaline

"Look up and to the side a little," the photographer directed me. "That's it! Beautiful! I got it!"

I really hoped that this meant we were done. I'd spent half the day getting made up, dressed in various outfits, and then photographed in front of different backdrops. All this for just a writer's conference.

It all started when I was on my book tour. Pam had been stopped by two members of the International Youth Literature Association (IYLA) when I was in Seattle. They were putting together their line-up for the 2024 conference and wanted me to lead a panel that was going to address gender in children's and young adult literature. I agreed since this topic was important to me and a January getaway to California was appealing.

Fast forward to December when I got a phone call from the association president congratulating me on being selected as the conference's keynote speaker after the appointed person dropped out due to a family illness. They'd decided that instead of just having one panel about gender, the theme of the entire event would be focused on the way gender and sexuality is presented in literature and how writers can be more inclusive. This made me the perfect choice as the 'headliner,' and they wanted me to start the week-long program with the opening address. I was also going to be on several panels and would be moderating a debate about gender neutrality. Needless to say, I was honored, but also completely terrified. Pam and my publisher insisted that I couldn't turn something like this down and that I had to accept.

So I did.

This was why I was now pretending to be a model in a makeshift photography studio inside a warehouse in Toronto. My image was going to be on the website, the program for the conference, and on posters that would be hung up at The 1 Hotel in West Hollywood where the event was taking place.

I'd never attended a literary conference, let alone spoken at one. According to those running the show, writers from all over the world would be attending. There'd be speeches, panels, and seminars, but there would also be smaller writing workshops and social gatherings where the attendees could share ideas. The focus was on children's and young adult literature, obviously, but anyone could attend or present.

"That's a wrap," Elliot, the photographer, yelled out and a dozen people scrambled to unassemble the set.

I went to my curtained-off dressing room and changed out of the blue off-the-shoulder dress I'd been wearing and back into my yoga pants and sweatshirt. I couldn't wait to get home to remove the gobs of make-up that enshrouded my face.

As I left, I stopped to thank Elliot.

"You're a natural, Emmaline," he enthused. "If you ever get tired of writing, you could be a model."

I laughed loudly at his overly complimentary words but then stopped when he frowned at me.

"I wasn't kidding. You're gorgeous and you sparkle in front of the camera. I take hundreds of photos of actresses and models each year, and you outshine most of them."

"That's very kind of you, but if I'm being honest, this was torture for me. I'll be cringing every time I see my face at the conference," I said. "Please pick a good photo to make it easier!"

"I'll be sending a dozen or so of the best photos to the association, since they get the final say. If you'd like, I can forward some proofs to you, too."

I thanked Elliot again and drove home through the recently fallen snow to my apartment where Brian and Jordyn were watching Jax. My son had fallen asleep, and my bestie and her husband were collapsed on my couch, both looking thoroughly spent.

"I'm sorry if he was a handful!" I apologized. "His cold and this crappy weather have kept us from playing outside. He's a bit stir crazy right now."

Brian waved a hand dismissively. "He was fine. He just doesn't slow down much. I think he wanted us to play with every single toy he owns."