YALC was a weird experience of almost passing out, every time I looked at one of the authors I love. At one point, Samantha Shannon walked past me and I nearly broke my mother's arm, I grabbed on so hard. I was more nervous than I have been in a million years going up to Alice Oseman to get my book signed, and babbled at her about the blog post I wrote about her book a few months back. I could have been witty and articulate. Instead, I half-shrieked at her about how I'd written a blog post about her book and then randomly told her that I gave it "the most pretentious title possible" because I am incapable of behaving like a rational person in front of one of my biggest girl crushes ever.
I will put up pictures tomorrow-because I saw Cassandra Clare and Malorie Blackman and a bunch of other brilliantly interesting authors (and heard so much about the Mortal Instruments TV show *gaspsforbreath*)
Also, I listened to the awesome agent Molly Kerr Hawn talk with Kat Ellis, which was awesomely intriguing for anyone who wants to get stuff published, etc. Also, I have pictures of Judy Blume's talk. JUDY BLUME, PEOPLE. Which I will talk more about tomorrow.
In the meantime, I spent the afternoon curled up on the balcony overlooking the kitchen, finishing The Kite Runner, before my cousins and I held an important debate over whether to watch Harry Potter on the TV or play Harry Potter Cluedo. I'd just spent a week with my cousin on holiday, where she called her boyfriend over and over, while I got winked at by some lifeguards, and the two of us sang "Teenage Kicks" at each other, and danced to "Chelsea Dagger" together in the middle of a shop. My people-filter was faltering a little, and I was starting to need some time to let my brain breathe, even when we were in her bedroom, dancing around to "I Write Sins Not Tragedies" blaring on Kerrang! radio while we fixed our make-up.
My father, knowing the feeling, sat down with me later while I scribbled away in a notepad and told me stories I'd forgotten to distract me. He told me about the time we all went out to celebrate my grandfather being given an MBE, and Edwina Currie was sitting in the corner and asked to shake his hand, while a bunch of excitable children from our family flanked round her and ended up taking turns to jabber at her. (She was lovely). Then, he told me how my grandma would have loved to see how much I was reading. He told me how knowledgeable she was and how proud she was of how much I read. It didn't feel like a year since she'd died. I wished that she'd been able to see some of the things I've written since.